"There was no indication of a cessation of hostilities by the insurgents. If they do not voluntarily cease, their tactics are such that Spain cannot conquer them, if at all, before the reconcentrados will have had the finishing stroke. But even the speedy termination of the war would not save many of them. What they need is instant pecuniary assistance to the extent of $20,000 a day, distributed by our consuls. Private charity, it seems, will hardly produce the amount. Twenty thousand dollars would be but ten cents apiece for medicine, clothes and food. When I left Havana I was informed that Consul General Lee had received $5,000 and some hundreds of cans of condensed milk. As there are about 30,000 sufferers in Havana alone, the inadequacy of such contributions is manifest. Whether Congress should make an appropriation, as in the case of the San Domingo refugees and other cases, it is not for me to say, but I beg the charitable to believe the statement of facts which I have made, and try to realize what they mean." A correspondent in Cuba gives an interesting account of a case that came under his notice among the reconcentrados in the town of Guadaloupe. It is substantially as follows: In all misery-ridden Cuba there is no town in which the reign of misery is so absolute as in Guadaloupe. Even the situation of this place might be said to be in "the valley of the shadow of death." It is not upon the earth's surface, but far below, in a broad, deep hole. The all-surrounding hills are not green, but black. For these up-sloping fields, upon which many a rich tobacco crop has been raised, lie now under blackening ashes--the work of insurgent torches. In this low-lying town 3,000 reconcentrados are naked, shelterless and starving. That aid has not come to them till now is because of the ingratitude and treachery of two of their own number. As the two guilty ones have just paid the penalty of their crime, the Red Cross Society will probably have a relief corps in Guadaloupe by the time this letter is printed. The tragedy of Guadaloupe, to the denouement of which I was an eyewitness, shows that the insurgents have learned the art of butchery as taught by the Spanish, and that a reconcentrado will sometimes betray the Samaritan who helps him. A faithful mule carried me into Guadaloupe at 2 o'clock in the afternoon, the siesta hour. I had come from the coast many miles away, over the hills. As I rode into the town, I said to the mule: "The next artist who is given an order to illustrate Dante's 'Inferno' ought to come here. He could draw from life, pictures more infernal than a mere human mind could conceive." Reconcentrados lay everywhere under the broiling sun. The mule picked his way between human heaps that looked like so many little mounds of rags. Skeleton legs and arms protruded from out the heaps. Soft moans of mothers and the wailing of little children gave evidence of so many living deaths. ONE KIND-HEARTED SPANIARD.