Snow-cold in sculptured calm she lies,
    Apparelled saintly white;
On her sealed lips no sweet replies,
And the blue splendor of her eyes
    Gone down in dreamless night;
All empery of Death expressed
In that inexorable rest!

Now leave this fair and holy Thing
    Alone with God’s dear grace! 
Her grave is but the entering
Beneath the shadow of His wing,
    Her trusty hiding-place,
Till, in the grand, sweet Dawn, at last,
This tyranny be overpast.

A TRIP TO CUBA.

CAN GRANDE’S DEPARTURE.—­THE DOMINICA.—­LOTTERY-TICKETS.

I have not told you how Can Grande took leave of the Isle of Rogues, as one of our party christened the fair Queen of the Antilles.  I could not tell you how he loathed the goings on at Havana, how hateful he found the Spaniards, and how villainous the American hotel-keepers.  His superlatives of censure were in such constant employment that they began to have a threadbare sound before he left us; and as he has it in prospective to run the gantlet of all the inn-keepers on the continent of Europe, to say nothing of farther lands, where inn-keepers would be a relief, there is no knowing what exhaustion his powers in this sort may undergo before he reaches us again.  He may break down into weak, compliant good-nature, and never be able to abuse anybody again, as long as he lives.  In that case, his past life and his future, taken together, will make a very respectable average.  But the climate really did not suit him, the company did not satisfy him, and there came a moment when he said, “I can bear it no longer!” and we answered, “Go in peace!”

It now becomes me to speak of Sobrina, who has long been on a temperance footing, and who forgets even to blush when the former toddy is mentioned, though she still shudders at the remembrance of sour-sop.  She is the business-man of the party; and while philosophy and highest considerations occupy the others, with an occasional squabble over virtue and the rights of man, she changes lodgings, hires carts, transports baggage, and, knowing half-a-dozen words of Spanish, makes herself clearly comprehensible to everybody.  We have found a Spanish steamer for Can Grande; but she rows thither in a boat and secures his passage and state-room.  The noontide sun is hot upon the waters, but her zeal is hotter still.  Now she has made a curious bargain with her boatmen, by which they are to convey the whole party to the steamer on the fourth day.

“What did you tell them?” we asked.

“I said, tres noches (three nights) and un dia, (one day,) and then took out my watch and showed them five o’clock on it, and pointed to the boat and to myself.  They understood, perfectly.”