EXERCISE XLI.

THE SAME SUBJECT, CONCLUDED

The night was perfectly dark; so that the boy was not once to be seen, after he fell. We could not see so far as the breadth of the vessel. A drenching rain, coming on at the same moment, added to the confusion of the furious gust that was already howling through our rigging, and laying the vessel almost on her side; the tops of the waves being swept by the wind into sheets of spray, and raising their voices as if in triumph over their helpless victim. But over all, yet sounded that despairing death-cry, shrill, though fainter, — telling us that still he struggled against prolonged though certain destruction. I could bear it no longer, and rushed down into the cabin to escape the sound. But, incredible as it may appear, I still heard him distinctly even there, though he must have been already nearly a mile off from us. I never can forget that sound. It was like nothing else that I ever heard. I shudder now in recalling it. I have since seen death in many shapes, but never in a form so terrible.

The sound of the sailors resuming their labors on deck, called me up again; and, when I came out of the cabin, they were lowering and stowing the mainsail, a measure which had already become urgently necessary. The cry was heard no more, no more forever! We flew on our gloomy way before the blast; and there were dark and hardened faces, among us, wet with something else than the rain and spray.

I thought and studied all the circumstances over, many times, with a deepening conviction of our total inability to help him. Our small-boat was hauled up astern, and 'parbuckled,' and lashed with many fastenings, that would have much delayed an attempt to save him in a smooth, calm sea, in broad daylight. It would have required four men to row the boat, and one to steer her in the proper direction. This would have taken every man from us, except the captain and the cook; if every circumstance had favored us. An accident to the boat, then, would have left the brig totally unmanned. The boat itself, if lowered, would have struck the sea 'broadside on,' which, with our velocity, would have swamped her, and torn her to pieces. Our long-boat was out of the question, of course, being stowed, bottom upwards, between the masts,

and requiring our whole force, for half a day, when in port, to get her into the water.

The result was the painful conviction of the utter hopelessness of relief to any person that should fall overboard on the passage, while we were making such headway. Under such circumstances, the most enviable fate would be that of one who could not swim, and who would go down immediately. That day, according to custom, the lost boy's chest was brought on deck, and his clothes and other little property sold at auction; the proceeds being deposited, with the balance of his wages, for the benefit of his friends. He was a rough, neglected-looking boy, about sixteen or seventeen years old. He had been abandoned in New York, by the shipmaster who first employed him, and brought him from home; and being a tutally friendless stranger, he fell into great want and suffering, begging his food, and sleeping in the markets. In this condition, he was found by some benevolent persons, and came under the notice of Captain Howland, who took him under his care, and provided him a place in the Rondout, where he showed himself active, industrious, and obedient.

Knowing these circumstances of his previous degradation, I was surprised when we found in his chest a very well written letter to his parents, which he had composed entirely by himself, in the forecastle, since he came on board, in preparation for any possible opportunity to send it to his home on Turk's Island. The language was grammatical and well chosen, though simple; and it was written in a legible hand, though with a bad pen, and the worst of accommodations. He gave his friends a general account of his situation, told them he was doing well with Captain Howland, and was treated very kindly by him. As I read this, the honest captain's tears burst out afresh; and I was not far from joining him, when I read further the poor boy's kind little message to his brothers and sisters, in that beloved island home, to which his heart yearned in his woeful exile, and especially the anxious affection which he fondly expressed for mother and the baby.' Never had a stranger a more heartfelt mourning than was made over him, by some 'unused to the melting mood.' His name was Ernest Augustus Darrell. This is his only funeral rite, epitaph, or memorial, except in the sorrowful remembrance of that poor family that looked so long in vain for him, and, perhaps, never learned the particulars of his sad loss.

I am not concerned to know
What, to-morrow, fate will do;
"T is enough that I can say,
I've possessed myself to-day:
Then if haply midnight death
Seize my flesh, and stop my breath,
Yet to-morrow I shall be

Heir to the best part of me.

Glittering stones, and golden things,
Wealth and honors that have wings,
Ever fluttering to be gone,
I could never call my own:
Riches that the world bestows,
She can take, and I can lose ;
But the treasures that are mine,
Lie afar beyond her line.
When I view my spacious soul,
And survey myself a whole,
And enjoy myself alone,
I'm a kingdom of my own.

I've a mighty part within,
That the world hath never seen;
Rich as Eden's happy ground,
And with choicer plenty crowned.
Here, on all the shining boughs,
Knowledge fair and useless grows;
On the same young flowery tree
All the seasons you may see;
Notions in the bloom of light,
Just disclosing to the sight;
Here are thoughts of larger growth,
Ripening into solid truth;

Fruits refined, of noble taste;

Seraphs feed on such repast.
Here, in a green and shady grove,
Streams of pleasure mix with love;

There, beneath the smiling skies,
Hills of contemplation rise;
Now, upon some shining top
Angels light, and call me up;
I rejoice to raise my feet,

Both rejoice when there we meet.
There are endless beauties more,
Earth hath no resemblance for;
Nothing like them round the pole,-
Nothing can describe the soul:
"T is a region half unknown,
That has treasure of its own,
More remote from public view
Than the bowels of Peru;
Broader 't is, and brighter far,
Than the golden Indies are;
Ships that trace the watery stage
Cannot coast it in an age;
Harts, or horses, strong and fleet,
Had they wings to help their fect,
Could not run it half way o'er
In ten thousand days or more.
Yet the silly, wandering mind,
Loth to be so much confined,
Roves, and takes her daily tours,
Coasting round the narrow shores,
Narrow shores of flesh and sense,
Picking shells and pebbles thence;
Or she sits at fancy's door,
Calling shapes and shadows to her:
Foreign visits still receiving,
And to herself a stranger living.
Never, never would she buy
Indian dust, or Tyrian dye;
Never trade abroad for more,
If she saw her native shore:-
If her inward worth were known,
She might ever live alone.

EXERCISE XLIII.

BRADY'S LEAP.. Silliman's Journal.

Captain Samuel Brady seems to have been as much the Daniel Boone of the northeast part of the valley of the Ohio, as the other was of the southwest; and the country is equally full of traditionary legends of his hardy adventures and hairbreadth escapes, although he has lacked a Flint to chronicle his fame, and to transmit it to posterity, in the glowing and beautiful language of that distinguished annalist of the West.

From undoubted authority, it seems, the following incident actually transpired in this vicinity. Brady's residence was on Chartier's Creek, on the south side of the Ohio; and being a man of herculean strength, activity, and courage, he was generally selected as the leader of the hardy borderers, in all their incursions into the Indian territory north of the river.

On this occasion, which was about the year 1780, a large party of warriors, from the falls of the Cuyahoga and the adjacent country, had made an inroad on the south side of the Ohio River, in the lower part of what is now Washington county, but which was then known as the settlement of Catfish Camp,- so called after an old Indian of that name, who lived there when the whites first came into the country on the Monongahela River. This party had murdered several families, and, with the 'plunder,' had recrossed the Ohio, before effectual pursuit could be made.

Brady directly summoned a party of his chosen followers, who hastened on after them; but the Indians having one or two days the start, he could not overtake them in time to arrest their return to their villages.

Near the spot where the town of Ravenna now stands, the Indians separated into two parties; one of which went to the north, and the other west, to the falls of the Cuyahoga. Brady's men also divided: a part pursued the northern trail; and a part, with their commander, proceeded to the Indian village lying on the river, in the present township of Northampton, in Portage county.

Although Brady made his approaches with the utmost caution, the Indians, expecting a pursuit, were on the lookout and ready to receive him, with numbers fourfold to those of