I forgot to say that my friend, Lola Maddon, whom I used to know in Paris, is here, married to Marquis San Carlos, who was a fascinating widower with several children, whom Lola, like the dear creature she is, had taken under her youthful wing. She rushed to see me the moment she heard that I had come, and has already begun to "turn the stones" which are to be turned for me to make my "visit illustrious" here. She has invited us to the opera to-morrow, and gives a _soirée_ for me on the following evening. I confess I am rather curious to see a _soirée_ in Havana. I hope they have ice-chests to sit on and cool conversation. I shall not talk politics; in the first place I can't, and in the second place because it is heating to the blood. Lola says her husband is a rabid Spaniard. "A rabid Spaniard!" Could anything be more alarming? No; I will not be the innocent means to bring about discussions, and precipitate a conflict between the Cubans and the Spaniards! I have pinned upon the bed-curtains, next to the precautions for preserving health and the washing-list, the words, "Never talk politics, nor be led into listening to them," I can always, if pushed into a corner, assume an air of profundity and say, "Is the crisis--" and then stop and look for a word. The politician, if he is anything of a politician, will finish the phrase for me, with the conviction that I know all about it but am diplomatic. To see the cows in Havana is enough to break your heart. I weep over them in a sort of milky way. I have always seen cows in comfortable stables, with nice, clean straw under their feet and pails full of succulent food placed within easy reach, while at certain intervals a tidy, tender- hearted young milkmaid appears with a three-legged stool and a roomy pail, and extracts what the cow chooses to give her. But here the wiry creatures roam from door to door, and drop a pint or so at each call. It is pitiful to see the poor, degraded things, with their offspring following behind. The latter are graciously allowed to accompany them; but no calls on Nature are permitted, the poor little things are even muzzled! Whenever I wish to go into the public parlor, where there is a piano, I meet the Countess C----, who has evidently just been singing to her son and her husband. The first day I met her I approached her with the intention to talk music; but she swept by with a look which withered me up to an autumn leaf and left the room, followed by her music, son, and husband; but afterward, when she saw the Captain of the Port in full gala offering me "_Cuba et ses dépendences_," she changed her manner, and _then it was my turn!_ When she asked me if I also knew Count Ceballos, the Governor General, I answered, with a sweet smile, "Of course I do." "And many other people here?" she asked, "All I think that are worth knowing," I replied, getting up and leaving the room as abruptly as she had done. It was great fun, though L---- thought I was rude.