It was a welcome to which I looked forward on my return to England, as only secondary to the pleasure I would have in meeting Min; and, I confess, when I heard of his loss, I mourned him more than I had ever mourned one whom the world calls "friend," before.

He was faithful always; changing never.

How many reputed "friends" will you find to act thus?
I think that Lord Byron's recollection of his trusty dog must have absolved him from a hundred character blots.

Do you remember those lines he wrote to the memory of "Boatswain," on the monument he erected in his honour at Newstead Abbey?
I would like them on Catch's tomb, if I only knew where the dear old fellow lies; for, what "Boatswain" was to Byron, so was he to me:-- "In life the foremost friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth!" Min's news did not come all at once.
It was spread over an expanse of many months, during which I was rambling over the States;--reporting this speaker and that;--studying "life and character" in every way--from the inspection of negro camp- meetings, where coloured saints expounded doctrinal views that would have made Wilberforce shudder, to participating in a presidential election, wherein I had the opportunity of seeing the inherent rottenness of the Transatlantic "institution" thoroughly exposed.
When I was thus bustling about, amidst so many varied phases of life, I could not very well sympathise with the quiet doings of Saint Canon's.
But, on my return to my Brooklyn lodgings, when once more appointed to regular newspaper work at the office of the journal with which I was connected in New York, the old home longings returned also as strong as ever--stronger, as time went on! I got in the habit of again marking my almanack, as Robinson Crusoe notched his post, every day; saying to myself the while, that I was brought one day nearer to my darling as the sun went down; one day nearer as it rose on the morrow:--one day nearer to the date of my exile being ended! I remained in America much longer than I intended.
However, as Mrs Clyde did not carry out her threat of closing our correspondence at the end of the first year of our quasi-engagement, I had still Min's dear letters to encourage me and cheer me on.
I do not know what I should have done without them.
There was no benefit to be derived from my going back until the Government appointment, which the vicar had the promise of for me, should be vacant.

But, this, the wretched old gentleman who continued to hold it, would not give up until he reached the age of superannuation, when he would be forced to retire--in which respect he was not unlike many old field officers in the army, and "flag" ditto in the navy, who _will_ persist in remaining on the "active list" of both services long past the age of usefulness, to the prevention of younger men from getting on! O "seniority!" Thou art the curse of all classes of officialdom in England--"civil" and "military" alike! By-and-by, however, when my patience had become exhausted, and I was seriously thinking of starting home with the few hundred dollars I had made on the American press, the vicar wrote for me to come.
The old gentleman--might his "shadow never be less," I devoutly wished-- had betaken himself to his plough after an arduous official service of forty years.