London!!! Oh, my dear Falkland, how shall I take to my narrative, and resume an occupation which _has been_ so delightful, but which loses its charm in this disgusting round of idleness and dissipation? In any other mood than that which I now am in, I could dilate with melancholy pleasure on every step of my journey. I could tell you that I felt as if my heart would break when I lost sight of the last mountain which is visible in the distance from Glenalta. While I could gaze upon its lofty peak, I felt as if some connecting link still bound me to a place where all my best affections were deposited; and when all trace was lost of every object that continued the illusion, I could not speak. The pang was unutterable, and a thousand vague fancies crowded over my mind, perplexing it "with fear of change," and whispering unwelcome thoughts that I should not revisit my Irish home. There can be no _reason_ for this, but I find now by experience what I have _read of_ before, that low spirits enfeeble the understanding, and make one start, though at nothing. "'Tis only the willows that wave in the wind." Yet the imagination conjures up phantoms of ideal existence, and I worked myself into such a dread of death, separation, misfortune, and I know not what, that the turning of a straw would have sent me back again, envious of the very rocks that bent their faces towards the happy valley which I left behind. Mrs. Fitzroy was a charming companion, for she felt as I did; and we were neither of us inclined to talk on any subject foreign to Glenalta. I cannot give you a detail of our progress. We reached Dublin, where the bustle of a new scene obliged us to turn our thoughts from those dear friends, whose society we missed so grievously on the preceding day. We rested only one night, and, after a calm passage of seven hours, found ourselves at Holyhead.