There was no longer any cause to stop De Lancaster’s return to England. All duties were discharged; all ceremonies had been observed towards the unburied body of his father, which man’s inventive fancy has devised to decorate the case, that holds our clay, and make the ostentatious living pay large contributions for those empty honours which they bestow on human dust and ashes. Mutes, who would keep no silence, and, mourners, who expressed no sorrow, in rooms, hung round with “customary suits of solemn black,” had regularly sate up all night long, with their full complement of wax-tapers, to watch a thing that could not run away, and which no one wished to steal. All these ceremonies, which, had poor Philip been alive, would have given him such intolerable annoyance, had now with religious punctuality been performed, and his corpse was committed to a ship, which, unlike to that wherein he came, was not bound to the coast of slavery, but to the land of liberty. All things were now on board; the morning dawned; the dog-vane witnessed an auspicious breeze; the crew sung out at the cap-stan and the pacquet was under weigh. Devereux’s eight-oared galley was in waiting, and nothing now remained but to put off and part. Although the friends, who stayed on shore, as well as those, who put to sea, took the very course, to which their wishes pointed, and which their own immediate happiness prescribed, yet they could not separate without sorrow, and the last farewell drew tears from the brightest eyes in Portugal, and sighs from some of the best hearts in nature. Philip the whilst, in his narrow house of lead, slept undisturbed, and was as perfectly untouched by sensibility as if he had been alive. The gallant vessel in the mean time, as if conscious of the charge she had on board, cut her passage through the waves, not deigning to rise to them, but throwing them aside, and dashing them from her bows, as her spreading canvass pressed her down in the water, and hurried her along before the steady breeze. Our hero and his friend, having cast a parting look upon the towers of Lisbon, retired into the cabin, whilst the master kept the deck, regaling himself in the prospect of so fair an outset, for the weather was delicious, and the sky prognosticated a continuance of the breeze.