On the Mexican highlands, with a passing glimpse of Cuba . ough asteady metamorphosis from the yellow to the blue. We lingered upon the fine iron bridge span-ning the river San Juan, watching the abundanttraffic of the waters beneath us, composed chieflyof fishing and fruit boats, although some wereladen with more bulky commerce. At a little shopjust across the bridge, we tarried to fill our pock-ets with delicious cigars, cheaper than even ourstogies at home; and we let the boy behind the17 257 On the Mexican Highlands counter take up a huge cocoanut in its green huskand with his big knife ha
On the Mexican highlands, with a passing glimpse of Cuba . ough asteady metamorphosis from the yellow to the blue. We lingered upon the fine iron bridge span-ning the river San Juan, watching the abundanttraffic of the waters beneath us, composed chieflyof fishing and fruit boats, although some wereladen with more bulky commerce. At a little shopjust across the bridge, we tarried to fill our pock-ets with delicious cigars, cheaper than even ourstogies at home; and we let the boy behind the17 257 On the Mexican Highlands counter take up a huge cocoanut in its green huskand with his big knife hack it open and pour outthe Hquor within. Milk, they call it, but morelike nectar it is, and he filled two deep glasseswhose contents we quaffed with great content. The stars were out when we returned to thecity of Havana. The American squadron wasablaze with electric lights, and only the gloomymast of the Maine, thrusting above the placid wa-ters, hinted at the final provocation to war whichso short a time ago brought to Cuba peace withliberty. 258 ^: P^. DRESSED FOR THE DAY XXIII Cuba—The Tobacco Lands of Guana-jay—The Town and Bay of Mariel GuANAJAY, Cuba, December 28th. It was dark. Through the wide-open windowof my chamber crept the soft morning air of thetropics. Some one was shaking my door andcrying, Hay las seis, Hay las sets/* It was sixoclock. I was to leave on the seven oclock trainfor Guanajay, and the fertile tobacco plantationsof PInar del Rio. In the spacious, airy diningroom, I was the first guest at desayuno. The railways of Cuba and the railway coachesare yet of the antiquated sort. Our car must havebeen made fifty years ago, with Its small seats ofhard plank and windows without glass. The clerkwho sold tickets spoke no English. I just keptputting down Spanish dollars until he said has-tante (enough). Later, I found that, presumingon my Ignorance and the throng pushing behindme, he had gathered In two dollars too much, tohis personal profit. The railway Is
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