Birmingham age-herald., 1895-02-03
RECOLLECrIONS OF CUBA.
NO. 9.

NO. z.
 Written for the Age Herald.
 Last weeks letter might have been pub lished under the head of "Notes by the Way,' for it was little more than hasty chronicle of the events of q fortnight. There are many things which might have been noted had time and space permitted. Yield ing to sense of appreciation born of crystalized impressions, an impatient pencil dips itself into tropical sunlight to gild Cuban pictures
 In an old cemetery in Havana there is a mortuary chapel, to which we paid brief visit. On entering the first object which strikes the eye is magnificent painting, which serves altar piece. 1t is the carrying out of the Biblical picture of the judgment. At the right hand of the mys- tic Father sits Christ, the Man of Divinity, with arms extended. The right hand speaks invitation-the invitation, "Come, ye blessed''-and the sweet, pure face above, placid with the calmness of divinity, suggests and smiles benediction. The left hand is turned palm downward, and so wonderfully executed is the face, which, viewed from the right, speaks invitation, that as it looks to the left one can fancy the pronouncing of the words of doom, s'Depart, ye cursed, into everlasting fire. ''
 Upou the right, rising to meet the bene- diction, is happy host, whose rapt ex- pressions mark them of the elect. On the left the antithesis is powerful. Falling headlong into hell are those to whom tho blessed palm was turned, yet their faces tell that even in the first moment of con- demnation hell was understood in all its horror. They had beheld the face of the Emanuel, and having seen that part of their being which partook of the infinite awakened to a full realization, and eternity would be filled with the sense of loss.
 l studied the picture in silence. There seemed to be something familiar about it, but what it wa. could not decide. Sud- denly one of the party, dear, silver- haired "veteran," Major Screws, stood beside me.
 that white e-rooed figure?' he asked.
 Then 1t came to me. Close to the right hand of the Saviour was figure cast in heroic liness Robed in white, with folded arms and rapt expression, Heaven seemed to have fallen already upon the white hairs which were it's crown; borne upward in tho arms of jubilant angels, the gloriied face suddenly grew dear to me as l recog- nized likeness to our beloved Robert D. Lee. It was startling; the gentle benignity fold; otherwise there was little change. After that America seemed not so far away; we fell to talking of home like banished children, recalled to sense of our tempo. rary exile by the sight of an ideal face.
 We visited pineapple farm just outside Havana. Row after row of the sword leaved plants stretched before us, and here and there Cuban boy would dart to pro- cure for our delectation armfuls of the luscious fruit. The latter was served to us in Cuban style and utmost simplicity, be- ing pared and sliced and eaten from the fingers. The children-dark little mites of hnmanity-brought us haudsfal of flowers and pineapple buds, which many of the party preserved as souvenirs.
 During this same drive we stopped at the ruins of an ancient palace, part of the es- tate of the Duke D'Alvarades. What stories might be written of scenes those walls once held; of dainty, satin clad feet that made scarce sound as they glided to the slow, lanquishing Spanish music; of pretty love scenes between maid and cavalier; of domestic tragedies, maybe, for they are fiery, these dark races. Who can say what the old place might tell of love and death.
 Today it stands fit pointing of moral, just as in old days it might have adorned many tale. Slouchy, uncleanly women sit in the ruined doorways, Cuban and negro, talking together in the unmusical patois, which is not language, but merely s7ingo.o SquaIling, filthy children squabbIe or play together, negro and native, so nearly alike that only their re- spectiye mothers can distinguish them. Dismaatled walls and broken floors, be-