In the year 1825 I sailed for America in a ship conveying emigrants to Canada, all of them humble people from a rural district, to whom the inside of a ship or the waves of the sea were as strange objects as a sight of the man in the moon would have been, or a slice of the green cheese, of which, according to nursery traditions, it is composed. Fine hearty, sturdy country people they were, as rich in children as they were poor in pocket. Most of them had connexions in the land they were going to; but beyond a belief that there were no taxes in America, and consequently there could be no want, their ideas on the subject were vague enough. It was an amusing sight to an unretlecting young fellow, as I then was, to see their bits of furniture brought on board, the old carved chests containing their wardrobes, their various cooking utensils, and the little things with which they could not part, because "they had had them so long." Amongst these were various birds, a cat or two, and a dog; one little girl had a field-mouse in a cage; and a nice matronly woman had a Scarlet Geranium. Now my mother had been fond of Geraniums, and she had often permitted me when a child to water them as they stood near a spot where she was engaged with her household duties; so that it was like an old acquaintance, this said Geranium, in its green-painted tub.

Its owner had been repeatedly told "it would die" on the voyage. "Never mind, then; let it die, so long as it dies with me," was her reply, as she fastened it up in a corner of the rude were going north about,) it became a dead noser, with all the usual amount of miseries.

To a set of poor country folk, what can exceed the miseries of the temporary lower deck of a collier, converted into an emigrant ship, hatches battened down, to keep out the washing seas or heavy rain, foul air, seasickness? Miseries indeed! The word as understood when applied to felons in goal, or paupers in a workhouse ashore, conveys no conception of the wretchedness in question. It was soon found of no use to contend with the violence of the elements; so, when things were at the worst, the captain ordered the helm to be put up, and we made a fair wind of it by running to the south. As soon as the ship was fairly before the wind, the hatches were unbattened, light and air were admitted, attempt was made to get things snug. As a sailor boy, part of this pleasing duty fell to my lot; and well do I remember the thoughts of my comfortable home which were awakened when, amidst the desperate confusion of that lower deck, the old Geranium caught my eye. It had flowers on when it came on board; they had soon fallen off; day by day it sickened and languished; the color went little by little out of its leaves; and then they drooped offal-together, and were succeeded by smaller and feebler ones, till at last all appearance of life had entirely vanished. Still it was kept.

It had flourished for years in the cottage window of its owners, which looked out upon pleasant green fields. That cottage and those fields, now tenanted and tilled by others, still lived in their recollection, and were associated no doubt, with the plant in question. And so it went with us; crossed the wild dark ocean, accompanied us up the St. Lawrence, and there we parted, for it went ashore with its owners. Yet I saw it once again; for being on shore upon some duty, I went upon Goudie's wharf, where I found a family group sitting upon their effects preparatory to embarkation up the river in a steamboat. They were part of our emigrant passengers. And standing by the side of their bedding and boxes was my old acquaintance, the Scarlet Geranium - dead, dead - looking as hopeless and miserable as the unhappy exiles themselves. But if, as I have little doubt, they have long ere this made for themselves a happy and independent

Domestic notices.