The following Narrative of an extraordinary escape from drowning, after being wrecked among the Rapids of the St. Lawrence, first appeared in the Liverpool Mercury, the Editors of which state that they have published it by permission of the writer, who is a well-known merchant of great respectability in that city.  We have extracted it from the pages of the Edinburgh Magazine, the Editor of which remarks,—­“We have been induced to transfer it into our Miscellany, not merely from the uncommon interest of the detail, but because we happen to be able to vouch for its authenticity.”

On the 22nd day of April, 1810, our party set sail in a large schooner from Fort-George, or Niagara Town, and in two days crossed Lake Ontario to Kingston, at the head of the river St. Lawrence, distant from Niagara about 200 miles.  Here we hired an American barge (a large flat-bottomed boat) to carry us to Montreal, a further distance of 200 miles; then set out from Kingston on the 28th of April, and arrived the same evening at Ogdensburgh, a distance of 75 miles.  The following evening we arrived at Cornwall, and the succeeding night at Pointe du Lac, on Lake St. Francis.  Here our bargemen obtained our permission to return up the river; and we embarked in another barge, deeply laden with potashes, passengers, and luggage.  Above Montreal, for nearly 100 miles, the river St. Lawrence is interrupted in its course by rapids, which are occasioned by the river being confined in comparatively narrow, shallow, rocky channels;—­through these it rushes with great force and noise, and is agitated like the ocean in a storm.  Many people prefer these rapids, for grandeur of appearance, to the Falls of Niagara.  They are from half a mile to nine miles long each, and require regular pilots.  On the 30th of April we arrived at the village of the Cedars, immediately below which are three sets of very dangerous rapids (the Cedars, the Split-rock, and the Cascades), distant from each other about one mile.  On the morning of the 1st of May we set out from the Cedars, the barge very deep and very leaky.  The captain, a daring rash man, refused to take a pilot.  After we passed the Cedar rapid, not without danger, the captain called for some rum, swearing, at the same time, that ——­ could not steer the barge better than he did!  Soon after this we entered the Split-rock rapids by a wrong channel, and found ourselves advancing rapidly towards a dreadful watery precipice, down which we went.  The barge slightly grazed her bottom against the rock, and the fall was so great as to nearly take away the breath.  We here took in a great deal of water, which was mostly baled out again before we were hurried on to what the Canadians call the “grand bouillon,” or great boiling.  In approaching this place the captain let go the helm, saying, “Here we fill!” The barge was almost immediately overwhelmed in the midst of immense foaming breakers, which rushed over the bows, carrying