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England! The Canadian hawthorn has no smell; its, leaves are larger than ours, and resemble an acanthus in shape. Chicory roots are indiginous here, as in England; and are discovered by the beautiful blue flowers of the plant. You come upon labyrinths of wild-roses, which yield a richer smell than our choicest varieties. If cultivated, the scent distilled from them would make the best otto of roses. The long, creeping stems of the twinflower have their tiny leaves flecked with dots of cherry bloom. The young ladies of Canada are pleased to have it bound round their hats in wreaths, if the office is undertaken by certain hands. I have noticed a similar plant growing in Via Gellia valley, Derbyshire; but do not know its scientific name. The young gentlemen of England were not a whit behind their Canadian cousins in its use. A tiny flower of the speedwell order has been known to flourish on the south bank of the St. Lawrence for twenty-seven years; but in all that time it has not by natural means, been floated to the other side. This is singular, for one would have thought that birds would have carried the seed, or that particles would have been drifted over on logs ! Anemone grows here ; and on wet land, deep blue edgings of gentians.

What the skunk is among animals, the carrion-flower is among plants. On one occasion my companion cut down a bush of it in the swamps, and at nightfall carried it on his shoulder through a “ habitant” village. The Canadians grumbled and cried sacré, but did not find out the reason of the smell. The same gentleman, being a scientific man, conducted a conversazione to which flocked the Governor-General and the élite of Quebec. He had small pieces of “ blood-root” among his specimens; when he described its properties to the audience, his words seemed to act as magnets instead of deterrents, for officers crowded round him to obtain particles of the root so that they might stain their gloves with it. Prompted by a more mischievous spirit, they also carried off his store of skunk-cabbages, to make fun by popping them into each others pockets.

We must return to River Grand at Ottawa city, to take ship for Montreal. Moored to the wharf is a small steamer. Upon the wheelhouse is the symbol of a royal crown, and the boat is honored with the name of Queen Victoria. The journey down the river for fifty-eight miles is pleasantly made. Low banks and shallow-waters, endless forests, with now and then an open clearing and a settler's shanty, are characteristics of this section of the stream. Then a few islands appear, increasing its beauty. The woods have begun to assume autumn tints; yellow poplars and crimson maples stand out amidst a framework of green pinos. Occasionally we approach a rude pier of logs—the point of communication for some small hamlet of French Canadians. As a rule this region of the Ottawa is the wildest, and yet a most beautiful feature of Canada,

Then come a series of rapids for twelve miles, which are avoided by means of canals. We traverse this region by means of an old-fashioned line of rail ; again reaching quiet waters, we embark on the steamer in waiting. This vessel made its first trip with the Prince of Wales to Ottawa, in 1860. It now bears upon its paddle-box the three ostrich feathers, and the motto “Ich dien.” We had a party of Southerners with their families and servants on board. In speech and dress they were rather more like the English than the Yankees. Two little boys were dressed in Highland costume-Scotch bonnets and tartans. Charley and Harry were the most noisy youngsters I have met. Some gentlemen on board, to tease them, asked them if they were Yankees, and received in reply an answer couched in withering sarcasm. The

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bitterness of North and South has not yet passed away, even with the young.

We have a clear run down the river to Lake St. Louis. A slight chain of rapids occur. To avoid them, the steamer passes down a lock, built alongside for that purpose. At the same place the stream is crossed by a narrow but handsome bridge, with iron tubular-way, resting on tall piers of blue limestone. This is the spot which has been made classic ground by the Canadian boat song. The scenery is described in the well known lines :

Faintly as tolls the evening chime
Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time.
Soon as the woods on shore look dim,
We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn.
Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,
The Rapids are near and the daylight's past.

Why should we get our sail unfurl?
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl ;
But, when the wind blows off the shore,
Oh ! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar.
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
The Rapids are near and the daylight's past.

Utawas' tide! this trembling moon
Shall see us float over thy surges soon.
Saint of this green isle ! hear our prayers,
Oh, grant us cool heavens and favouring airs.
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,

The Rapids are near and the daylight's past. Lower down the river there is the same expanse of woodland scenery, but it is of softer tone and more pastoral. Islands are numerous. They appear like leafy gems showered here and there. Now Ottawa and St. Lawrence have become one. The floods of the former are brown and muddy, those of the latter, light green. Both rivers flow side by side, with distinct color, for many miles after their junction, until at Bont de l'Ile, River Grand is finally merged into the noble St. Lawrence,

PALACE BEAUTIFUL.

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YEMBERS of Parliament coming from Canada West

to Ottawa, must stay the night at Prescott Junction; it became my rendezvous also. I left Toronto early in the morning, and spent the whole day upon the Grand Trunk Railway. The line is single; the trains run slowly, but not surely enough to prevent accident; for near Kingston we came upon the scene of a disaster which had happened the previous day. Both sides of the permanent way were strewn with débris of broken carriages. Peat is burnt in some of the locomotive furnaces. The architect who planned the pretty railway stations between Toronto and Montreal has made them models of neatness ; with trim flower-gardens such as you see on the English 6 Little North Western Line.” This section of the Grand Trunk runs through some of the best settled lands of Canada West. They are peopled almost wholely by English and Scotch, who are more thrifty than the “ Habitants,” and make headway better than the Irish. Still, Irishmen who have settled in Canada, and are possessed of land, or other property, are no Fenians, and have no sympathy with the cause.

I alighted at Prescott Junction and was casting dissatisfied glances at a dingy tavern hard by, (the probable place for a night's entertainment) when a gentleman seeing my dilemma, told me of a better plan. “You can sup on the station and sleep at the chalet over the way,'' said he. I took the hint gladly and was soon in comfortable quarters. A wooden building, containing a sitting-room and 16 or 18 bed-rooms has been erected for the use of Members of Parliament. Everything about it was simple, yet kept scrupulously clean, under the charge of an intelligent young matron. Winter is the busiest and gayest time at the little “sleeping-house." Legislators are then coming and going every day, and this is the only way. After supping on corn-cake, Gruère cheese, and strawberries, I armed myself with a stout pole; sallied out into the swamps and remained in the pine-groves until sun-down. All was still as in the northern forest; the solitude being relieved only by tinkling cow-bells. I found beautiful ferns growing round decaying stumps of hemlock-trees. At the chalet I had a pleasant sitting-room until time to go to rest.

In the morning I strolled out, and had a chat with a gang of Canadian plate-layers; then, after an early breakfast, took train for Ottawa. For most of the journey, the rail runs through rough, half-cleared farms; stumps, among fields of wheat and grass, are a common sight. I had a chatty companion all the way. He was a young Scotchman from Perthshire; by trade a tanner. He left home alone ten years ago. Having saved 1000 dollars, he bought a farm in Vermont; and sent over money to bring out his father and mother with their eight children. These he settled upon the farm. The transactions of Tapscott and Co. will prove that thousands of families have been assisted in this manner, (by remittances from friends,) to leave the Old land for the New.

The young man himself had been obliged by ill-health to give up his own trade; then he came to Montreal, and is now doing well in the confidential employ of a large "shipping and forwarding Company.” He likes his

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