So much had been told me of the antiquated observances of the Holy-Week in Havana, of the religious processions presenting to us of the nineteenth century an image of the _naïf_ faith of the middle ages, of the rare spectacle of a whole city in mourning for the death of the Saviour, that even had my duty not called me to the church, my curiosity would have carried me thither. As it was, I resolved this Lent that, although I resided at an inconvenient distance from town, and ladies who have no carriage of their own find it sometimes unpleasant to go on foot in a country where walking is unfashionable, and considered even unfeminine, yet I would disregard disagreeables of every kind, and attend all the impressive ceremonies of this great week in the cathedral. PALM-SUNDAY. On Palm-Sunday, then, at six o'clock in the morning, I got into the nice, clean, well-managed cars that pass our door every few minutes all day long. The blessing of the palm branches was not to commence until a quarter after eight; but I like to "take time by the forelock," and I also feared that, as the "superior political governor of Havana" had invited "the grandees of Spain, the titled of Castile, the knights grand crosses, the gentlemen, (_gentiles hombres_,) and civil and military functionaries to contribute their assistance to render the religious acts more solemn," there _might_ be somewhat of a crowd, and so I determined to arrive betimes and secure for myself a seat where I could both see and hear well. The early morning in Cuba is always delightful, and this 21st of March was very bright and lovely, the sky intensely blue and without a cloud, and a cool breeze gently waving the tall tops of the cocoa-nut trees, and rustling the light, feathery sprays of the graceful bamboos. The white colonnaded houses of the _Cerro_ looked very pleasant among their palms and laurels. _La Carolina_ was in full bloom in some of the gardens, its spreading, leafless branches covered with great plumy tufts of rose-colored filaments; honeysuckle vines and the yellow jasmine climbed about the railings, and the large, brilliant flowers of the _mar pacifico_ completed the floral landscape with that bright "bit" of scarlet so agreeable to the artistic eye. As we approached the city, however, the pretty houses became fewer, and the mean suburban shops and _fondas_ appeared more grimy than ever in the bright sunlight; their dirty awnings hanging in rags over the badly-paved, broken sidewalk. The houses, all of one or two stories, their exteriors washed with blue, yellow, lilac, or apple-green, wore a general look of never being repaired, and their gay coloring was faded, spotted, stained, and smeared by the exceeding dampness of the climate. I had glimpses, too, as we passed, into narrow streets so frightfully gullied and filthy that they made me shudder. The population of this part of extra-mural Havana was not more prepossessing in appearance than its haunt.