that I was obliged to take refuge in my room that I might say a few words and take leave of my friends.
I really sate down and grieved for an hour after the S.'s had left me, and I was borne upon the waves farther and farther from them. At night I dreamed that they were with me, and I thought, then, they are not gone, and we are not parted; it was merely a bad dream! But the dream was true enough.
The whole of the first day of the voyage was cold, grey, and cheerless. I avoided everybody excepting a couple of Quakers, Friends as they are commonly called, a man and his wife, with whom I became a little acquainted, and who pleased me as Friends generally do by their quietness and their peaceful, silent demeanour. Their earliest youth was past; she had one of those pure, beautiful countenances which one so often meets with among Quaker women; he seemed to be out of health, and they were travelling to the South on his account. The next day we had splendid sunshine, but still cold, till towards noon, when we seemed, all at once, to come into really warm spring. It was like magic. Sky and sea were bathed in light; the air was full of life and delicious influence. It was enchantingly beautiful, divine! My whole being was suffused with this glory. I avoided the catechising conversation and sate down on the upper deck, and saw the sun go down and the full moon ascend in mild splendour; saw the north-star shining at yet greater distance from me, and Orion and Sirius ascend to the zenith. Hour after hour went by and I was unconscious of everything excepting that the new world was beautiful, and its Creator great and good. I feared nothing excepting that somebody might come and talk to me and thus interrupt the glorious silence, the repose and gladness of my spirit.
I saw, on the lower deck, young men and their wives come out into the clear moonlight, pair after pair, cooing
