have a rational curiosity to become acquainted with
scenes and manners so different from those of a long-civilized county,
it is hoped that this little work will afford some amusement, and
inculcate some lessons not devoid of moral instruction.

LETTER I.

Departure from Greenock in the Brig. _Laurel_.--Fitting-up of the
Vessel.--Boy Passenger.--Sea Prospect.--Want of Occupation and
Amusement.--Captain's Goldfinch.

Brig. _Laurel_, July 18, 1832

I RECEIVED your last kind letter, my dearest mother, only a few hours
before we set sail from Greenock. As you express a wish that I should
give you a minute detail of our voyage, I shall take up my subject from
the time of our embarkation, and write as inclination prompts me.
Instead of having reason to complain of short letters, you will, I fear,
find mine only too prolix.

After many delays and disappointments, we succeeded at last in obtaining
a passage in a fast-sailing brig, the _Laurel_, of Greenock; and
favourable winds are now rapidly carrying us across the Atlantic.

The _Laurel_ is not a regular passenger-ship, which I consider an
advantage, for what we lose in amusement and variety we assuredly gain
in comfort. The cabin is neatly fitted up, and I enjoy the luxury (for
such it is, compared with the narrow berths of the state cabin) of a
handsome sofa, with crimson draperies, in the great cabin. The state
cabin is also ours. We paid fifteen pounds each for our passage to
Montreal. This was high, but it includes every expense; and, in fact, we
had no choice. The only vessel in the river bound for Canada, was a
passenger-ship, literally swarming with emigrants, chiefly of the lower
class of Highlanders.

The only passengers besides ourselves in the _Laurel_ are the captain's
nephew, a pretty yellow-haired lad, about fifteen years of age, who
works his passage out, and a young gentleman who is going out as clerk
in a merchant's house in Quebec. He seems too much wrapped up in his own
affairs to be very communicative to others; he walks much, talks little,
and reads less, but often amuses himself by singing as he paces the
deck, "Home, sweet home," and that delightful song by Camoens, "Isle of
beauty." It is a sweet song, and I can easily imagine the charm it has
for a home-sick heart.

I was much pleased with the scenery of the Clyde; the day we set sail
was a lovely one, and I remained on deck till nightfall. The morning
light found our vessel dashing