Next morning, after breakfast, I bade adieu to Griff Hall and honest Grundy; had my hand almost squeezed to a jelly by the good-natured son of the provost, and, repairing on board my bolio, was soon once more under weigh for the “far west.” Very different, however, were the feelings which now attended my onward progression. I had lost my kind and pleasant Mentor, Captain Belfield, and his amiable maiden sister. There were no more social rambles, no more agreeable disquisitions, no more tours in search of the picturesque, no more chess. I felt how insufficient my own thoughts were to supply the _hiatus_ caused by their absence, and mentally ejaculated, as I occupied my lonely cabin at night, with poor Alexander Selkirk, “Oh, solitude, where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face?” I cannot quit the subject of my two friends without saying a few more words regarding them. I have already stated briefly that Captain Belfield and his sister afforded a fine example of that tender attachment—that perfect love and affection which should ever subsist between persons so nearly connected. They truly lived for each other, and the imparting of mutual pleasure seemed to constitute one of the highest gratifications of their lives. It was quite refreshing to observe the warmth and cordiality with which they met in the morning, as she, the picture of neatness and refined simplicity—the very beau ideal of the real English gentlewoman—stepped from the sleeping apartment of the budgerow, whilst he, closing his ponderous Sanscrit or Persian folio, and laying it on the breakfast-table, would rise with extended hand and a cheerful smile to greet her. Then at night, too, after the short but fervent prayer to the Father of all, which the captain himself would offer up extempore, how attentively would he light her taper, and then with a tender salute commend her to her chamber and repose. If two or three can love in this way, I have since sometimes thought, why not all the world? but all the world, my good griffin, are not brothers and sisters. True, true; I had forgotten that. The more, alas! the pity.