Voyage Bome.

"Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds,
And streams renowned in song:

Farewell ye blithesome braes and meads
My heart has loved so long."

THE time allowed for my visit to Scotland having now elapsed, I took passage in the good steamship "City of Glasgow," under the command of the veteran Captain Matthews. As we left the quay at Glasgow, thousands thronged the banks of the river for a great distance, to see us off. When the farewell gun was fired, as we got fairly under weigh, the welkin rang with the hearty and enthusiastic cheers of the vast multitudes of spectators.

The first day was very fine; the sea was calm as the Hudson, and our vessel pursued her course as smoothly as do the river steamers on their way to Albany on a summer evening. During the day we drew near enough the Irish coast to obtain a good view of that extraordinary natural wonder, the Giant's Causeway. At the distance from

which we saw it—perhaps three or four miles— it resembled somewhat the Palisades on the Hudson River.

We had, upon the whole, a remarkably pleasant voyage. The prevailing weather was fine, with one or two rough days,-just enough to exhibit Old Ocean in his varying moods, and enable us to get some kind of an idea of a storm. At one time,

while it was blowing what seemed to me at least considerable of a gale, I scrambled upon deck, resolved to "improve my opportunities," and witness, for once in my life, "the raging of the sea," even at the risk of some inconvenience and discomfort. Casting about for a secure location, I finally fixed myself on a wooden grating near the ship's funnel, where, by bracing my feet against two protruding pieces of iron, and holding fast to the grating, I could retain my position without difficulty. According to my landsman notions, we had a very respectable storm. The sea seemed boiling and seething like a cauldron all around us. The waves, though they did not "invade the skies," and were not as large as some which have figured in descriptions of tempests at sea, seemed really mountainous, and as they came tumbling

confusedly in great raging masses toward our ship, hissing and roaring in their course, each seemed sufficient of itself to overwhelm and engulph us in its surging bosom. Our good ship, which, lying at her dock, loomed up a mighty structure—a veritable ocean leviathan-appeared a mere cork in the midst of these swelling and tumultuous billows.

When about a week out, we encountered a number of icebergs, which presented a truly gorgeous spectacle, by the variety and brilliancy of the colors which they reflected.

"Just at the far horizon's verge,
A mountain 'mid the main,
As erst Philistia's giant towered

O'er Israel's tented plain,

While hoarsely o'er the wave it seemed

A threat of terror sped,

'Who thus, with foot of fire, hath dared

My realm of frost to tread.'

Yet on the gallant steamship pressed,

Her flaming heart beat high,

And boldly flowed her fervid breath,
In volumes o'er the sky."

It was a beautiful Sabbath morning, just about the break of day, when five of these visitants from the northern seas appeared in sight.

"Up rose the morn, and touched the crowns

Of all these arctic kings

With lustre of a thousand rays

That the rich diamond flings:

And flashing from their vitreous shields

Reflected colors streamed,

While towers and minarets of pearl
In fearful brilliance gleamed."

During the voyage, my thoughts often recurred to the pleasant sights I had seen, and the kind friends I had met in my native land—a land celebrated beyond all others in the history of the past, and equaled by none of its size in the present-a land, the active energy, the sterling honesty, farsighted intelligence, and enterprise of whose sons has rendered her celebrated to the ends of the earth. For go where you will, you find a Scotchman there before you. He may be found indulging in all the ease and luxury of a tropical climate in Australia, or piercing the frozen regions of Nova Zembla in quest of adventure-teaching the Hottentot and Caffre the truths of Christianity and the arts of civilized life, like the illustrious Moffat; or waging war on Chinese idolatry and the doctrines of Confucius, like the heavenlyminded Burns; "planting the standard of the cross in the jungles of Bengal, or on the frozen

heights of Labrador." Though she cannot boast of the wealth and commerce of her sister kingdom, or the mighty republic of the Western world, yet from her shores have issued a living stream of intellect, which is refreshing and fertilizing the empire of mind, as it flows over the old world and the new. She can boast of a Ferguson, to whom we are indebted for much of our knowledge of the heavenly bodies; of a Watt, who first rendered the steam engine of practical utility; of a Reid, whose common-sense philosophy is the glory of the age; of a Scott, the mighty wizard, whose enchanting spells has held so many in bondage; of a Pollok, whose Christian epic, the "Course of Time," is read wherever the English language is spoken; of a Chalmers, the mere mention of whose name suggests to our mind the strongest representative of the great and good; a man who, with the simplicity of his Divine Master, taught the humble, the ignorant, and the poor, and yet the magnitude of whose genius was more than a match for the subtleties of a Hume. But their names are legion-her Jeffrey, Robertson, Wilson, Mackintosh, Brewster, and many others, whose