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pleasure a gun is fired, and a cry of land acts like a charm on the belligerents. We rush and scramble up the hatchways, and look upon the bleak and frosty shores of Maine at a distance-a cheerless sight, said to be the contested land about which so much has been said and sung. "We'll not quarrel with you about it, gentlemen," said an American, as he looked at the desolate coast, from which a piercing blast hissed over the freezing water. We want a pilot, and espying a small coaster, send a boat after her, but strange to say, the fellow sheers off with all sail, and we haul up our boat again, the poor fellows quite stiff with cold, and the quartermaster, who sat in the stern sheets, frostbitten. A pilot at last-go-a-head! All right; we have him on board, and crowd round the tall bluenose as eagerly as if he was a South Sea islander.


"A captain bold at Halifax,”— Halifax, immortalized in the world of song by the misfortunes of Baily —“ unfortunate Miss Baily." Where did she live-shew me her house. Stop her-ease her-stop her-let go-a crash drove Miss Baily out of my head. We are alongside of Cunard's wharf, scrambling over the Queen's side, and dropping into the arms of the mob of Halifaxonians, waiting to receive us with broad stares. Away we go, racing up-hill, to the Freemasons' Hall, led on by a gallant bewhiskered dragoon, attired in a bernoose, fur boots, red sash, a red skull-cap adorning his bald pate, bestriding a cart-horse, tugging at full speed, and a reeling load of Germans and Frenchmen waving their caps and handkerchiefs, while the mob bring up the rear, shouting like so many devils let loose. "Verily, Freemasons' Hall hath not received such a singular visitation for some time, I calculate," said a Yankee, as we took that hotel by storm,

and frightened the black waiters into a state of lamentable stupidity.

Happy is the man who can get a bed in the Freemasons' Hall; first come first served. We early birds may go to roost, while the late arrivals are doomed to gallop all over Halifax in quest of bed, and, finally, several return, much against their will, to sleep on board the British Queen. Here, for the first time, I taste that truly American beverage, egg-nog, a goodly jug of which is prepared by a jovial Virginian, who frequently directs our attention to the number of niggers in Halifax; he declares they are runaway slaves, every one of them. Certainly they are the ugliest race of men I have ever seen-all lips and eyes. Visit the House of Assembly, Governor's house, barracks; &c., the town seems to be little better than an unsightly jumble of grog-shops. House rent is said to be very high, the country round about barren and cheerless. I was not sorry to hear that our royal vessel was ready for sea again, the smiths and carpenters having worked all night at the wheels, and the best part of the inhabitants of the town and country poured through the hatches and gangways, till, their curiosity at length satisfied, we hoist our blue peter, and get up the steam, amidst the farewell cheers of the good people of Halifax; but even here, and at such a critical moment, our worthy captain is doomed to be disappointed. He stood triumphantly on the starboard paddle-box of his royal mistress, and doffed his bonnet to the assembled multitude; the crew cheered, the passengers cheered, the red-hot poker was sent forward, the gun fired,-" stop, stop-ease her. Stop her; and we make an inglorious pause, and stop short in confusion, in the midst of all the

cheers. A few fathoms from the wharfs, a long cable has been entwined and entangled round one of the paddle-wheels; axes are procured, and the tedious process of cutting up a hawser gone through; this is pleasant-off-off; fairly started now, at all events. "Don't whistle till you're out of the wood," says the Iowa man. I hate croakers. We have two pilots on board, our own old fellow and the long blue-nose. Sitting down to tea at dusk, we are all thrown on our beam-ends with a sudden jerk, followed by a rumbling noise, and a trembling, quaking motion under our feet. Hello! what's the matter? A general rush on deck, when, running aft, we gratify and satisfy ourselves with looking back at a black-headed rock, against the base of which our ship's bottom or side has been scraped; meantime the blue-nosed pilot has made his escape, and gone ashore. In the general confusion, fortunately for himself, he has saved his bacon before it was generally known that through his close shaving and obstinacy we should have run right on the rock, had not our own wary old pilot seen it. Some proposed that we should return to Halifax and report his conduct; others proposed that we should pursue the renegade ashore, and reward him with a good rope's-ending: and, talking of reward, a subscription is entered into forthwith for our own old pilot, who saw the rock, and sung out to the men at the wheel, to which, as an amendment, some propose to reward the men at the wheel; others, to hang a medal round the neck of the royal figure-head, and thus reward the Queen, because she obeyed the helm so promptly. Only one man speaks in the renegade pilot's behalf; he says the pilot wanted to go ashore-his supper was waiting for him-he wished to save us the

trouble of lowering a boat-he only wanted to run the bowsprit of our royal vessel right up to his own door, so that he might, without loss of time, step into his wife's bed-room window.

This being the last night we are doomed to spend on board the British Queen, a tone of joyous hilarity expands among us; mirth, smiles, and laughter, in lieu of frowns, and fear, and rage. It is a most delectable change, and I find the grave gentleman has resumed his seat at the little table, where, amidst the congratulation of the knot of odd fellows who have set themselves round him, and inspired with a goodly rummer of bishop, he favours us with his last "moving tale."


Adventures of a Gentleman in search of an estate-Dennis M'Gwiggan and his valet—A mountain farm-The gold mine-My whip -The seekers-Botanists versus Geologists—Race to Dublin.

"To be sold by private contract, part of the lands of Ballycragmorris, containing sixteen hundred and ten acres, two roods, and nineteen perches, more or less, delightfully situated in the romantic, picturesque, peaceable, and sporting county Wicklow," &c.

"This reads pretty well," said I, throwing down the Mail;'"it is, moreover, slily hinted that the lands will be sold considerably under their real value; and though I perfectly agree with Sir Hudibras, that

"Th' intrinsic value of a thing,

Is just so much as it will bring,'

I may stumble upon a prize, a real good bargain, such as civilized wiseacres made with the natives in the good old times." And having finished my breakfast, fortified with tongue, chicken, and an extra cup of café noir en avant, I shouldered my umbrella, because, even in the month of June, "the weather is not the most secure" in the sister island, and marched with

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