The day following was Sunday. I went to say adieu to the remains of those whom I had loved even in their tombs. I heard for the last time the divine service in the modest little church which I had erected, and in which for a long time, surrounded by my dearest friends, I was happy to assemble, on the same day of the week, the small congregation of Jala-Jala. After the service I proceeded to the beach, where the boat was waiting, which was to take me to Manilla. There--surrounded by my Indians, the good parish priest, Padre Miguel, and my friend Vidie--I bade adieu to them all for the last time. Dolorès and I got into the boat, which was scarcely pushed off from the shore when every arm was stretched out towards me, and every one exclaimed:--"May your voyage be happy, master! And oh! return soon!" One of the oldest Indians made a sign for silence, and then in a loud voice uttered these solemn words:--"Brothers, let us weep and pray, for the sun is obscured to us; the star which is going has shed light on our best days, and now for the future, being deprived of that light, we cannot tell how long will last the night in which we are plunged by the misfortune of his departure." This exhortation of the old Indian were the last words that reached us: the boat moved away, as I, for the last time, fixed my eyes on the beloved land which I was never again to behold. We reached Manilla late: it was one of those enchanting nights, which I have described in the happy period of my voyages. Dolorès insisted that I should not lodge in any house but hers. Before she set out her careful friendship had provided for everything. I was surrounded by all those little attentions of which woman alone has the secret, and which she knows how to confer with such grace on him who is the object for whom they are designed. My windows looked on the pretty river Pasig. I there passed whole days in looking at the graceful Indian canoes gliding over the water, and receiving the visits of my friends, who came with eagerness to endeavour to divert my thoughts, and to afford sources of pleasing conversation. When I was alone I sought to dispel my melancholy by thinking of my voyage; on the happiness I should experience on seeing again my poor mother and sisters, a brother-in-law whom I did not know, and nieces born during my absence. The obligation of returning the visits I received, and the re-establishment of my health, allowed me at length to enter into affairs connected with my departure. My friend, Adolphe Barrot, consul-general of France, was every day in expectation of intelligence from his government, with orders for his return home. He proposed to me to wait for him, so that we might make the voyage together. I accepted the proposal with pleasure, and we decided amongst ourselves that, for our return, we should take the route of India, of the Red Sea, and of Egypt.