CHAPTER XIV.
_Departure of the sun--Effects of darkness on dogs--Winter arrangements in the interior of the "Dolphin."_ It is sad to part with an old friend, especially if he be one of the oldest and best friends we ever had.

When the day of departure arrives, it is of no avail that he tells us kindly he will come back again.

That assurance is indeed a comfort after he is gone, and a sweet star of hope that shines brighter and brighter each day until he comes back; but it is poor consolation to us at the time of parting, when we are squeezing his hand for the last time, and trying to crush back the drops that _will_ overflow.
The crew of the _Dolphin_ had, in the course of that winter, to part with one of their best friends; one whom they regarded with the most devoted attachment; one who was not expected to return again till the following spring, and one, therefore, whom some of them might, perhaps, never see again.
Mivins became quite low-spirited about it, and said "as 'ow 'e'd 'ave a 'eavy 'eart for _h_ever and _h_ever, _h_amen," after he was gone.
O'Riley remarked, in reference to his departure, that every man in the ship was about to lose a _son_! Yes, indeed he did; he perpetrated that atrocious pun, and wasn't a bit ashamed of it.

O'Riley had perpetrated many a worse pun than that before; it's to be hoped for the credit of his country he has perpetrated a few better ones since! Yes, the period at length arrived when the great source of light and heat was about to withdraw his face from these Arctic navigators for a long, long time, and leave them in unvarying night.

It was a good while, however, before he went away altogether, and for many weeks after winter set in in all its intensity, he paid them a daily visit which grew gradually shorter and shorter, until that sad evening in which he finally bade them farewell.
About the middle of October the dark months overspread the Bay of Mercy, and the reign of perpetual night began.