Spanish province whose boast it is to wear coat nor vest by day or night.  The representatives of the various provinces maintain their individuality here, and preserve for festive occasions the costumes which characterize them in Spain.  Some of these are very rich, and many of the men, especially of the lower orders, being stalwart and handsome, their gala appearance is decidedly striking.  In the fete in honor of Alfonso XII. there were some beautiful groups of men, women and children in Spanish costumes, dancing in the procession with silk emblems and flower wreaths, and singing provincial songs.  Others were mounted on the splendid Andalusian horses, which make one’s mouth water with desire to ride them.  They are as beautiful as Fromentin and Gerome have painted them—­such eyes and nostrils, and such action!  It has taken centuries to produce him, but at last there is a saddle-horse:  if only for parade occasions, that is no matter.  He is perfect in his kind.  The Arab keeps his horse in his tent, but the Cuban keeps his in his house.  We should say that the horse-owning Cuban sleeps over a stable, but no doubt to his mind his stable is merely under his room.  A rich gentleman in town has encased his horses in a beautiful drawing-room of cedar and satin-wood, and it is rather pleasant than otherwise to pass through it on the way to the other apartments.

The houses of Havana are low; the streets are narrow; the sidewalks ditto:  there is an occasional plaza of broad, white glare, which must be intolerable in summer-time.  The Prado has trees which are rather Dutch than tropical; and the Paseo, where the driving is, is quite a fine avenue.  This afternoon, though it is Lent, the Carnival will rage there.  Some people go in masks, but not many; and there are no confetti.  It is mainly a parade—­rich people turning out in their best, poor people making light of their poverty:  the rich gorgeous in apparel, and splendid in equipage, the poor arrayed in some gay, inexpensive motley, and crowded into miserable vehicles.  The particolored costumes give an aspect of brightness to the street; but it is a solemn sight to see four Cuban women, of the middle age, drawn by a four-in-hand, arrayed in full ball-dress, powdered and bejeweled, and passing in review of admiring mankind.

The ugliness of the women amounts to a vice, and is unredeemed by any quality such as sometimes palliates plainness of features.  I have cried aloud for the beautiful Cuban, but in vain.  I am assured that she exists, am told, “My dear fellow, you never made a greater mistake in your life,” am poohpoohed in various ways; but I cannot find her.  I hear it said that owing to the political chaos here she has retired from public view, but it is not denied that she will go to the Carnival and the opera.  I was warned not to expect her at the ball in Alfonso’s honor at the Spanish Club, and certainly it was a timely warning.  Fancy a long hall of colored marble, pillars running the length of it forming arcades;