of which we have never had occasion to question,
that skilled labour of nearly every kind
is in demand in the manufacturing districts;
and that all sorts of capable "hands" can
have work. Everything indicates improvement.
If, indeed, our friends the Croakers
will only look their phantom "Ruin" boldly
in the face, his gaunt form will soon assume
the smiling semblance of Prosperity.

AN EMIGRANT AFLOAT.

I KNEW very little of the sea when I
determined to emigrate. Like most emigrants,
I thought beforehand more of the dangers
than of the disagreeables of this voyage; but
found, when actually at sea, that its
disagreeables seemed more formidable than its
dangers. I shall describe the voyage, in
order that those who follow me may know
precisely what it is that they have to
encounter, satisfied as I am, that nothing will
tend more to conduce to the comforts of the
emigrant at sea, than his being able to take a
full and accurate measure of its disagreeable
as well as its agreeable accompaniments,
before stepping on board.

It was late in the afternoon of a bright
May day, when the Seagull, 480 tons register,
and bound for Quebec, spread her wings to
the wind, after having been towed out of the
harbour of Greenock. A gentle breeze
carried her smoothly by the point of Gourock,
the Holy Loch, Dunoon, and other places
familiar to the tourist on the noble frith of
Clyde. We were off the neat little town of
Largs, when the shadows of evening thickened
around us. I was one of more than a hundred
steerage passengers, most of whom soon afterwards
went below for the night, many with
heavy hearts, thinking that they had seen the
last glimpses of their native land.

I remained long enough on deck to perceive
the approach of a marked change in the
weather. We were still landlocked, when the
wind veered round to the west, directly ahead
of us. It increased so rapidly in violence,
that by the time we were off Brodick, in the
Island of Arran, it was blowing more than
half a gale. As we tacked to and fro to
gain the open sea, the vessel laboured heavily,
and I soon felt sufficiently squeamish to
descend and seek refuge in my berth. Here a
scene awaited me for which I was but little
prepared. With very few exceptions, all
below were far advanced in sea-sickness.
Some were groaning in their berths; others
were lying upon the floor, in a semi-torpid
state; and others, again, were retching
incessantly. What a contrast was the Seagull
then, to the neat, tempting picture she
presented when lying quietly in dock, and when,
as I paced her white, dry, warm, sunny decks,
visions filled my mind of the pleasant days at
sea before me, when, reclining on the cordage,
beneath the shelter of the bulwarks, I could
read the live-long day, whilst the stout ship
sped merrily on her voyage. Delightful
anticipations! Let no one be extravagant in
forming them, unless he has a preference for
disappointment. My faith in the romance of
the sea was greatly shaken by my first night's
experiences on board, and it soon received a
fatal blow from the commotion which was
being gradually engendered within my own
frame, and which, at length, resulted in a
catastrophe. I could not sleep, for as the
gale increased, so did the noises within and
without. I could hear the heavy wind
whistling mournfully through the damp,
tight-drawn cordage, and the waves breaking
in successive showers on the deck overhead.
It made my flesh creep, too, to hear the water
trickling by my very ear, as it rushed along
outside the two-inch plank which (pleasing
thought) was all that separated me from
destruction. As the storm gained upon us,
the ship laboured more and more heavily,
until, at length, with each lurch which she
made, everything moveable in the steerage
rolled about from side to side on the floor.
Pots and pans, trunks, boxes, and pieces of
crockery kept up a most noisy dance for the
entire night, their respective owners being so
ill as to be utterly indifferent to the fate of
their property. In the midst of the horrid
din, I could distinguish the distressing groan
of the strong man prostrated by sea- sickness,
the long-drawn sigh and scarcely audible
complaint of the woman, and the sickly wail
of the neglected child; and, that nothing
might be wanting to heighten the horrors of
the scene, we were all this time in perfect
darkness, every light on board having been
extinguished for hours.

Morning was far advanced as I fell into a
fitful and feverish sleep. On awaking, I found
all as still as before leaving port. My fellow-
passengers were all on deck; and I hurried
up after them to ascertain the cause of the
change. It was soon explained. The gale
had, at length, become so violent, that the
ship had put back for shelter, and was now
lying quietly at anchor in the beautiful bay
of Rothesay.

But what a change had, in the meantime,
taken place in the appearance of my fellow-
passengers. The buoyant air of yesterday
had disappeared; and those who were then
in ruddy health, now looked pale and woe-
begone. Such was the effect of our night's
prostration.

For my own part, I began to feel that I
had already had enough of the sea, and
heartily wished myself safe ashore on the
banks of the St. Lawrence. I had formerly
experienced a sort of enthusiasm in listening
to such songs, as "The sea, the sea, the open
sea!" "A life on the ocean wave!" &c., &c.
But had anyone on board now struck up
either of them, I should assuredly have set him
down for a maniac. We remained for two
days in Rothsay Bay, waiting for a change
of wind, during which time we recruited