your feet, a vale of pure delight, a glimpse of Paradise that
bewilders the eye and fills the soul with ecstasy.

It is larger than it seems at first sight; through it meanders the
river, coiling and uncoiling, hidden here and there by jungle
growths, and seeking final outlet through a cleft in the wall not
unlike a crack in the side of a painted bowl. The place seems to
have been fashioned as a dwelling for dryads and hamadryads, for
nixies and pixies, and all the fabled spirits of forest and
stream. Fairy hands tinted its steep slopes and carpeted its level
floor with the richest of green brocades. Nowhere is there a clash
of color; nowhere does a naked hillside or monstrous jut of rock
obtrude to mar its placid beauty; nowhere can you see a crude,
disfiguring mark of man's handiwork--there are only fields, and
bowers, with an occasional thatched roof faded gray by the sun.

Royal palms, most perfect of trees, are scattered everywhere. They
stand alone or in stately groves, their lush fronds drooping like
gigantic ostrich plumes, their slim trunks as smooth and regular
and white as if turned in a giant lathe and then rubbed with pipe-
clay. In all Cuba, island of bewitching vistas, there is no other
Yumuri, and in all the wide world, perhaps, there is no valley of
moods and aspects so varying. You should see it at evening, all
warm and slumberous, all gold and green and purple; or at early
dawn, when the mists are fading like pale memories of dreams and
the tints are delicate; or again, during a tempest, when it is a
caldron of whirling vapors and when the palm-trees bend like
coryphees, tossing their arms to the galloping hurricane. But
whatever the time of day or the season of the year at which you
visit it, the Yumuri will render you wordless with delight, and