were made for the night. Outside, the scene
presented was picturesque, and even gay;
there were nearly three thousand people
ashore, and a universal washing of clothes
of all kinds was going on; the water being
heated by hundreds of wood fires, which were
blazing and smoking amongst the rocks in the
open air. When there were families, the
families belonging to them washed for them;
such as were alone had to hire the services
of professional washerwomen. The appliances
of washing are rather peculiar. Between
high and low water-mark the island was very
rocky, and the action of the water had here
and there scooped out bowls of various sizes
from the rock. Into them, for the most part,
the hot water was poured, and in them,
between tides, the clothes were washed.
They were then spread upon the rocks, or
hung upon the trees to dry, which gave the
island a holiday look. It was anything,
however, but a holiday time for hundreds, who
were forced to tenant it.

To our great satisfaction, we were permitted,
after but one day's detention, to resume our
course. With wind and tide in our favour, we
soon dropped up to the city. It was a clear and
brilliant morning in June when we left Gros
Isle, and as we made our way up the narrow
channel between the Island of Orleans and the
southern bank of the river, nothing could
exceed the beauty of the scene, the great
basin, into which the city juts, being visible
in the distance, directly ahead of us, whilst
the precipitous bank on either side, particularly
that on our left, was covered with the
most luxuriant vegetation, in the shade of
which we could, every here and there,
discover foaming torrents, dashing headlong from
the country above into the river, like those
which, after heavy rains, rush with such fury
down the western bank of Loch Ness. On
opening one of the points of the Isle Orleans,
the cataract of Montmorency burst suddenly
upon our view, looking in the distance like a
long streak of snow amid the rich green foliage
which imbedded it. Considerably higher up,
Point Levy still projected between us and the
city, but long before we turned it, we could
see over it the British flag floating in the
distance from the lofty battlements of Cape
Diamond. On turning the point, the change
of scene was as sudden and complete as any
ever effected by the scenic contrivances of the
stage. The city was at once disclosed to view,
skirting the fort and crowning the summit of
the bold rocky promontory on which it stands,
its tinned roofs and steeples gleaming in the
sunlight, as if they were cased in silver. Very
few vessels were at the wharves, but abreast
of the city hundreds were anchored in the
middle of the stream, some getting rid of their
ballast, and others surrounded by islands of
timber, with which they were being loaded.
The clearness of the air, the brightness of the
sky, the merry tumble of the water, slightly
ruffled by a fresh easterly breeze, the singular
position and quaint appearance of the town,
with its massive battlements, its glistening
turrets, and its break-neck looking streets, zig-
zagging up the precipice, with the rich greenery
of the Heights of Abraham beyond, and
that of Point Levy right opposite, and with
hundreds of vessels lying quietly at anchor
on the broad expanse of the river, whilst the
echoes reverberated to the merry choruses of
their busy crews,—all conspired to form a
picture calculated to make an impression upon
the imagination too deep to be ever effaced.

The anchor had scarcely dropped,
terminating our long and weary voyage, when we
were boarded by a Custom-House officer, and
by an officer of the Board of Health. After
another inspection, we were permitted to land;
and it was not without many anxious reflections
upon the novelty of my situation, that I
found myself retiring that night to rest within
a stone's throw of the monument raised to
the joint memories of Wolf and Montcalm.

Such were the incidents of my voyage. I
have set them down simply, and exactly as
they occurred, for the purpose of presenting
a true picture of the emigrant's life afloat. I
have since learned that, in all respects, ours
was an average journey across the wide waste.
Intending emigrants, therefore, who picture
to themselves in bright colours the glories of
a sea voyage, will, by reading these pages,
have their dreams modified by some touches of
reality and truth, if not entirely dispelled. If,
however, they are adapted for success in the
other hemisphere, they will not be daunted
by the trials and inconveniences I have
pictured.

THE SISTER'S FAREWELL.

DEAR Sister, sit beside my bed,
And let me see your gentle smile,
And let me lay my aching head
Upon your kindly arm awhile;
I shall not long be with you now,
My time is drawing to an end:
May we our spirits meekly bow,
And He release from suffering send.

The longed-for summer's drawing near;
The wind is softer, and the sun
Streams down so brightly on me here,
It almost seems already come.
But now—I never more shall see
The fields and lanes, all gay with flowers,
Nor near the murmur of the bee,
Nor song of birds among the bowers.

For here, no beauteous change we see
In nature, as the year rolls on;
No green bursts forth on bush and tree
When winter's chilling frosts are gone.
No gentle flowers or odours sweet,
In summer cheer us as we go;
Nought see we but th' unchanging street,
And weary passing to and fro.

The summer, though 'tis summer still,
Seems not the same while we are here.
How sweet the thought of that clear rill,
That trembled from the hillock near