“We, ignorant of ourselves, Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers Deny us for our good: so find we profit By losing of our prayers.” The silent caresses and touching tears of her daughter, contributed to console, rather than to afflict her: so sweet, so amiable, so excellent a creature, was she not destined to ornament and to bless mankind?--The heart of a fond mother answered in the affirmative; and like the sick person who courageously bears the crisis of a disorder when the paroxysm is expected to work his cure, she roused herself to support a parting which she hoped would lead to permanent re-union. Though flattering herself that many months would not elapse ere the path should be open for Sebastian’s return to Portugal, she exhorted Blanche, as if their separation were to endure for years: her admonitions were few and impressive; she had nothing new to teach her daughter, but what she had been hitherto teaching her every day by example rather than precept, she now summed up, in easily-remembered maxims. This discourse with her mother was never forgotten by Blanche. Gaspar had provided the accommodations requisite for his young mistress; all their arrangements were completed, and the day was fixed for the sailing of the vessel which was to convey them to Europe. Sebastian confided to his friend a packet for Don Emanuel De Castro, signifying the extent to which he would engage himself with any foreign power willing to assist him: this packet contained also a letter to Queen Elizabeth, which Blanche was to deliver at their first meeting. Sebastian had written with the dignity of a King, and the tenderness of a father: by the warmth of his paternal expressions, he sought to make her sensible that she could not hope to injure or distress his child with impunity. He expressed himself strongly, yet with such courtly address, that although Elizabeth must feel his meaning, and see his doubts, she could not openly reply to them. The hour of separation drew near; the ship was to sail on the morrow. Having resolved to let no other objects share her heart with her parents, at that moment in which she alone would occupy theirs, Blanche took leave of the Indians on the preceding evening: their uncontrolled lamentations affected her powerfully; and it was not till the night was far advanced, that she recovered from the mournful impression. Day-break awoke her: when she first opened her eyes at the rustling of the breeze among the tall tops of a grove of Magnolias, when she saw their beautiful foliage, and heard the birds singing from their branches, she felt a sudden shock; for this was the last time in which she should see these trees, or feel this air!