Entering the drawing-room, they found Clara and Captain De Vere, to whom Don Manuel introduced Willis as “Captain Brewster,” of the Portuguese navy; the gentleman who had rendered such distinguished service to Francisca. Clara received him with much kindness; but De Vere’s inclination was as cold and haughty as if he had been made of ice. During the evening the family treated him with the greatest attention and consideration, and seemed hurt at De Vere’s reserve. But Willis, certain that his true character would soon be known, and feeling that he was deceiving them, though he had been forced into his present situation against his inclination, retired as soon after supper as politeness would allow, and promised Don Manuel to make his house his home, with the intention of never coming near it again. ----- [6] It is necessary for the condemnation of a slaver, to capture her when she has either negroes on board, or slave-irons and extra water-casks. These they always disembark before they come into port, and do not take on board until they are ready to sail. [_To be continued._ * * * * * TO EVELYN. BY KATE DASHWOOD. “I had a dream, and ’twas not all a dream.” Dear cousin mine, last eve I had a vision— Nay, do not start! There softly stole into the bright Elysian Of my young heart— A glowing dream, like white-winged spirit stealing Amid the shadows of my soul’s revealing. The sunset clouds were fading, and the light, Rosy and dim, Fell on the glorious page where wildly bright “The Switzer’s Hymn” Of exile, and of home, breathed forth its soul of song— Waking my heart’s hushed chords, erst slumbering long. Then that sad farewell-hymn seemed floating on, Like wild, sweet strain Of spirit-music o’er the waters borne— Bringing again Fond memories, and dreams of many a kindred heart, Dim cloistered in my bosom’s shrine apart. And then came visions of my own bright home— The happy band Far distant—who at eventide oft come, Linked hand in hand— When to my quickened fancy love hath lent Each thrilling tone, and each fond lineament. They come again—the young, the beautiful— The maiden mild, The matron meek—whose soft low prayer doth lull Her sleeping child; The proud and fearless youth, with soul of fire! Who guides his trembling steps—yon gray-haired sire. And then came thronging all earth’s gentle spirits— That minister Like angels to our hearts—thus they inherit From Heaven afar— Their blessed faith of Truth, and love for aye, Which scatters sunbeams on our darksome way.