I remained a few days at Plymouth, to feast my eyes on scenery such as I had long been a stranger to;—­scenery, I may say, unrivalled by any I had ever beheld at home or abroad.  What spot in the world, in fact, can present such varied charms, as the summit of Mount Edgecumb? where the most refined taste, aided by the amplest means, has been employed for a thousand years in beautifying the glorious landscape.  To me, just arrived from Ungava, the beauties of the scene were undoubtedly heightened by the contrast; and one short visit to Mount Edgecumb effaced from my mind the dreary prospect of bleak rocks, snow banks, and icebergs, with which it had been so long and so sadly familiar, and inspired it with a rapture and delight to which it had long been a stranger.  Yet this terrestrial paradise, I am informed, belongs to a noble lord, who is a miserable invalid.  Alas, for poor humanity! neither wealth nor grandeur preserve their possessors from the ills that flesh is heir to:  and this nobleman may, perhaps, envy the lot of the humblest individual that visits his enchanting domain.

Bidding adieu to Plymouth, and its delightful environs, I set out for London on the 11th of September.  The desire of home, however, now urged me forward; so that even the wonders of this wonderful city could not detain me.  Passing over the uninteresting incidents of steamboat and railroad travelling, I arrived on the 20th of September at the spot from which I had started twenty-three years before.  The meeting of a mother with an only son, after so long an absence, need not be described, nor the feelings the well-known scenes of youthful sports and youthful joys gave rise to.  These scenes were still the same, as far as the hand of Nature was concerned:—­there stood the lofty Benmore, casting his sombre shades over the glassy surface of Lochba, as in the days of yore; there were also the same heath-covered hills and wooded dells, well stocked with sheep and cattle; but the human inhabitants of the woods and dells—­where were they?—­far distant from their much-loved native land in the wilds of America, or toiling for a miserable existence in the crowded cities of the Lowlands,—­a sad change!  The bleating of sheep, and lowing of cattle, for the glad voices of a numerous population, happy and contented with their lot, loyal to their sovereign, and devotedly attached to their chiefs!  But loyalty and attachment are but fancies, which, in these utilitarian and trading days, are flat and unprofitable; yet the aristocratical manufacturers of beef and mutton may live to feel the truth of the lines of Goldsmith:—­

  “But a bold peasantry, their country’s pride,
  When once destroyed, can never be supplied.”