ere stood, in 1519,
an old ceiba tree under which the newly arrived settlers celebrated their
first mass. The yellow Palace, for many years the official headquarters and
the residence of successive Governors-General, stands opposite, and speaks
for itself. In this building, somewhat devoid of architectural merit, much
of Cuba's history, for the last three-quarters of a century, has been
written. The best time to see all this and much more that is to be seen,
is the early morning, before the wheels begin to go around. The lights and
shadows are then the best, and the streets are quieter and less crowded.
The different points of interest are easily located by the various guide
books obtainable, and the distances are not great. A cup of _cafe con
leche_ should precede the excursion. If one feels lazy, as one is quite
apt to feel in the tropics and the sub-tropics, fairly comfortable open
carriages are at all times available. With them, of course, a greater
area can be covered and more places seen, though perhaps seen less
satisfactorily. There is much to be seen in the early morning that is best
seen in those hours, and much that is not seen later in the day. In all
cities there is an early morning life and Havana is no exception. I confess
to only a limited personal knowledge of it, but I have seen enough of it,
and heard enough about it, to know that the waking-up of cities, including
Havana, is an interesting process. I have, at least, had enough personal
experience to be sure that the early morning air is delicious, the best of
the day. I am not speaking of the unholy hours preceding daybreak, but
of six to eight o'clock, which for those of us who are inclined to long
evenings is also the best time to be in bed. The early morning church bells
are a disturbance to which visitors do not readily adjust their morning
naps. Mr. Samuel Hazard, who visited Cuba about the year 1870, and wrote
quite entertainingly about it, left the following description of his
experience in Havana:

"Hardly has the day begun to break when the newly arrived traveller is
startled from his delightful morning doze by the alarming sound of bells
ringing from every part of the town. Without any particular concert of
action, and with very different sounds, they ring out on the still morning
air, as though for a general conflagration, and the unfortunate traveller
rushes frantically from his bed to inquire if there is any hope of safety
from the flames