If there be one place on earth where the spirit of life has a separate individual existence, as pure, as pleasant, as full of vitality as when it first was breathed forth by the Lord of life and love, it is—here. The atmosphere here has a kind of vitalising life, which is a perpetual marvel to me and a perpetual delight. It is especially in the afternoons, after two or three o'clock, that this peculiar, wonderful life arises. It is one constant pleasant wafting, not from any particular distance, but everywhere, and from all points, which makes every light and moveable thing around you waft, and, as it were, breathe and live. That indescribable, but at the same time pleasant and life-giving wafting caresses your brow, your cheek—lightly lifts your dress, your ribbons—surrounds you, goes through you, as it were bathes you in an atmosphere of salutary, regenerating life. I feel its influence in both soul and body; I drink that wind, that air, as one might drink a renovating elixir of life, and I am ready to look round to see whether any angel is near, whether any heavenly presence sits on the crowns of the palms, which produces this wonderful life. I call it the breath of God, as I softly walk to and fro on the piazza, or lean over the iron railing and give myself up to its caresses, and until late at night inhale its salutary life. Oh my Agatha! it whispers to me wonderful emotions and anticipations of the Creator's wealth—of those hidden glories which “no eye hath seen, no ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive, but which God hath prepared for those who love Him.” This wonderful spirit of life is to me the greatest marvel of Cuba; and I cannot describe how beneficial its influence seems to me.
Since I last wrote I have spent more deliciously tranquil days at Matanzas, the beautiful, healthy situation
