“Oh, Clara! how can you call this lovely spot dull? I wish so much that father would let me stay here all the year, instead of spending half of it in that nasty Havana, where one is bothered all the day with foppish cavalleros, dressed to death, and thinking of nothing but their own sweet selves; and all the evenings with parties or the theatre.” “Well, Miss Rusticity, you can stay here, and flirt with boors, and look at the water and flowers, as long as you please; but I intend to have father take me to that “nasty Havana,” as you call it, next week.” Her words Francisca found were true, for in a few days after this conversation, an unusual bustle about the quiet mansion, the harnessing of horses and mules, and the noise of servants, gave evidence of a removal. The family were about starting for the capital of the island. We will not, however, accompany them over their long and rough road, but will join them in Havana, the day after their arrival at Don Manuel’s splendid town-house. Clara was all joy, gayety and animation at the thought of again being in the city, where she shone the observed of all observers; but Francisca was moved to tears whenever she contrasted the city with their beautiful country-seat; and knowing that she was obliged to attend a large ball that evening, given at the palazza, by the governor-general, she felt more than usually dull. The evening came, and in a sea of light, a flood of music, amidst the waving of plumes, the rustling of silks, and the flashing of jewels, the sisters appeared, the most lovely of all the galaxy of beauty that ever surrounds the vice-royal court in Cuba. Clara was in her natural element in the light and graceful dance, or attended by a circle of admirers, returning their compliments with flashes of wit, or sallies of gay repartee, she wished for no greater happiness. Francisca was soon fatigued and ennuied with the excitement, and retired to the shelter of a large window, shaded by orange trees in blossom, where she was comparatively alone; and sinking into one of those dreamy reveries young ladies so much delight in, had nearly forgotten the ball, when she was aroused by a rich and manly voice at her side, asking for the honor of her hand in the next dance. There was something so fascinating, so deep and tender in the tones of the speaker, that though not inclined to grant his request, she paused ere she denied him; and turning around, discovered in the person who addressed her a young American gentleman, to whom she had been introduced in the early part of the evening, and whose tall, graceful and well knit figure, sparkling and intelligent eye, beautiful mouth, and commanding air, had unconsciously made a deep impression upon her fancy, and whose image had usurped a large share of her late meditations: her reluctance to join the dance instantly vanished, and, for nearly the first time in her life, she was willingly led on the floor.