CHAPTER XVII.
THE BOLERO DANCER WITH THE GYPSY BLOOD.
Porto Rico as a territory of the progressive American republic will soon be transformed—while advancing with giant strides along the material road that may lead to statehood, the island must gradually lose those picturesque and distinctly national features that have marked Spanish rule for centuries.
Never again will San Juan be the same gay, careless, pleasure seeking capital of the past—the business loving, bustling Yankee shopkeeper banishes such folly, or at best makes it play second fiddle to his trading.
San Juan will be swept and garnished, her streets paved, her narrowest calles lighted, and within a few years she may vie even with Boston in regard to the conditions that make life worth living to the average American.
But the halo of romance and the worship of military heroes that has been her portion during these long centuries—alas! they have fled, to return no more.
Many will sigh as they raise the curtain of the past, and take one more peep at the gay bright scene stamped upon memory's tablets.
There is a peculiar fascination about Spanish and Oriental cities, a barbaric splendor that attracts the eye, even while our common sense tells us of its tawdry nature.
Many have described the San Juan of the past, and as a picture that has been turned to the wall, let us for the last time see the Porto Rican capital through the glasses of a clever newspaperman, whose pen paints its colors just as might the faithful camera. This was as Roderic saw it the day after his safe entry into the town:
San Juan wakes early.