Clara studies with so much application the Spanish language that she can already hold with tolerable ease a conversation, especially with the seignora Jacinta, whose eyes are so eloquent that it would be impossible not to understand her. She is a native of the Havanna, was married very young, and her husband having been appointed governor of Barracoa, was obliged to leave the gaiety and splendour of her native place for this deserted spot, where fashion, taste or elegance had never been known. It has been a little enlivened since the misfortunes of the French have forced them to seek in it a retreat. Jacinta has too much sensibility not to regret the change of situation; but she never repines, and seeks to diffuse around her the cheerfulness by which she is animated. From early prejudice she loves not the French character. Fortunately Clara is an American; and the influence of her enchanting qualities on the heart of her fair friend is strengthened by the charm of novelty. We are waiting for a vessel to carry us to St. Jago, and its arrival, I assure you will fill us with regret. LETTER XVI. _St. Jago de Cuba._ We have left Barracoa, the good father Philip, his generous sister, and the beautiful Jacinta. Removed from them for ever, the recollection of their goodness will accompany me through life, and a sigh for the peaceful solitude of their retreat will often heave my breast amid the mingled scenes of pleasure and vexation in which I shall be again engaged. Fortunate people! who, instead of rambling about the world, end their lives beneath the roofs where they first drew breath. Fortunate in knowing nothing beyond their horizon; for whom even the next town is a strange country, and who find their happiness in contributing to that of those who surround them! The wife of the governor could not separate herself from us. Taking from her neck a rosary of pearls, she put it round that of Clara, pressed her in her arms, wept on her bosom, and said she never passed a moment so painful. She is young, her soul is all tenderness and ardour, and Clara has filled her breast with feelings to which till now she has been a stranger. Her husband is a good man, but without energy or vivacity, the direct reverse of his charming wife. She can never have awakened an attachment more lively than the calmest friendship. She has no children, nor any being around her, whose soul is in unison with her own. With what devotion she would love! but if a stranger to the exquisite pleasures of that sentiment she is also ignorant of its pains! may no destructive passion ever trouble her repose. She walked with us to the shore and waited on the beach till we embarked. She shrieked with agony when she clasped Clara for the last time to her breast, and leaning against a tree, gave unrestrained course to her tears.