and we set sail immediately; yet I had time to contrast my own forlorn neglectedness with the lot of others; and bitterly did I feel the kind farewells, the blessings implored on my companions. I envied them even the sorrow of parting.
At length the sun set in the waters, and till the final close of the evening I lingered by the side of the vessel. It was a calm sky: not a shadow was on the face of heaven, not a breeze ruffled the sleeping waves, no sound nor motion broke the deep repose; but repose was at this moment irksome to my soul. Was I the only one disturbed and agitated? A cloud, a breath of wind, would have been luxury—they would have seemed to enter into my feelings, to take away my sense of utter loneliness. I left the deck, for there were hurried steps around, and my idleness weighed upon me like a reproach; I felt useless, insignificant; there were glad voices talking close by my side—there were tones of hope, exultation, sorrow, and affection—I could sympathise with none of them. I hastily threw open the window of the cabin, and saw the country I was leaving for ever, like a line in the air, and all but lost in the horizon. No one can say farewell with indifference; and there I leant, gazing on the receding land anxiously, nay even fondly, till darkness closed around and I could no longer even fancy I saw it. Lost in that vague, but painful reverie, when the mind, too agitated to dwell on any one subject, crowds past sorrows and future fears upon the overburthened present, time had passed unheeded, and the moon, now
