From Toronto I proceeded to Halifax and awaited the arrival of the royal squadron there. But in order to make my narrative of the tour complete I give the following account of the ovation at St. John's, Newfoundland, compiled from the special correspondence of the New York Herald:

The popular idea seems to be that Newfoundland is a large, barren island, with a climate colder than Greenland's, shut off from all intercourse with the civilized world, occupied only by a few fishing stations, perpetually enveloped in the densest of fogs, and inhabited by a few hundred modern Robinson Crusoes, who live in semi-barbarous style, earning a living by catching codfish, and are prevented from holding much intercourse with each other by the heavy mists, which render navigation by land and water equally difficult and dangerous.

Newfoundland is four hundred and twenty miles in length, three hundred miles in breadth at its widest part, about one thousand miles in circumference, and with an area of thirty-five thousand nine hundred and thirteen miles. It lies just east of the river and gulf of St. Lawrence, which separates it from the American continent, and its latitude is between 46 deg. 37 min. and 51 deg. 40 min. north. The island is located upon an immense bank, its shores are broken and rugged, and its bold and lofty sea-cliffs tower like natural fortifications above the Atlantic waves, with soundings of from twenty-five to ninety-five fathoms, up to their very bases. Its interior conformation presents innumerable hills, intervened with valleys, marshes, woods, and barrens, intersected by few considerable watercourses, but jeweled here and there with hundreds of lakes.