12th.--We are opposite the Pan of Matanzas, about sixty miles from Havana.
Impatience becomes general, but the breeze rocks up and down, and we gain
little. This day, like all last days on board, has been remarkably tedious,
though the country gradually becomes more interesting. There is a universal
brushing-up amongst the passengers; some shaving, some with their heads
plunged into tubs of cold water. So may have appeared Noah's ark, when the
dove did not return, and the passengers prepared for _terra firma_, after a
forty days' voyage. Our Mount Ararat was the Morro Castle, which, dark and
frowning, presented itself to our eyes, at six o'clock, P.M.

Nothing can be more striking than the first appearance of this fortress,
starting up from the solid rock, with its towers and battlements, while
here, to remind us of our latitude, we see a few feathery cocoas growing
amidst the herbage that covers the banks near the castle. By its side,
covering a considerable extent of ground, is the fortress called the
_Cabana_, painted rose-colour, with the angles of its bastions white.

But there is too much to look at now. I must finish my letter in Havana.


HAVANA, 13th November.


Last evening, as we entered the beautiful bay, everything struck us as
strange and picturesque. The soldiers of the garrison, the prison built by
General Tacon, the irregular houses with their fronts painted red or pale
blue, and with the cool but uninhabited look produced by the absence of
glass windows; the merchant ships and large men-of-war; vessels from every
port in the commercial world, the little boats gliding amongst them with