course to pass under the

The

stern, we observed that the steam-boat took the same direction. Presence of mind in the boatman might even yet have saved us, as by hugging the stern of the ship we should have had a wide enough berth to pass between her and the steam-boat, which of course could not lie so close as we could. But the waterman was stupified with horror at his predicament; and then, gathering the courage of despair, he sprang from his seat, and stood with outstretched arms on the bow-grating. I saw in an instant what the fellow meditated, and saw, too, that the move. ment which might save him could not possibly avail me or my companion in the stern. The steam-boat was now directly upon us, and but one chance remained of saving her from a certain and horrible death. I seized the lady in my arms, and sprang as far from the boat as I could into the river. The terrible machine came crashing on, and struck the boat even as I sprang. waterman with wonderful agility seizing a hold upon the square bow of the steam-boat, leaped to her deck just as she was in the act of demolishing his frail vessel, which was crushed by the centre wheel an instant afterward. The sparks from her chimney revealed to me a piece of the wreck tossing on her foaming track; and my success in the first attempt to seize upon it alone prevented my companion and myself from sinking. The engine of the steamer was at once stopped, and the confusion on board indicated that every effort was making to save us. Owing to a culpable negligence, however, which prevails aboard of these steamers, there was no small boat provided for such an exigency. The plank, by whose aid we sustained ourselves, being from the bottom of the small boat, was already water-soaked, and it required all my skill and strength as a swimmer to uphold my companion, whose clothes soon began to drag her downward. Thanks, however, to years of practice in the noblest of gymnastic arts, I was still enabled to keep the lady's head above water, even after she became senseless; although, when a boat from one of the ships near had transferred us to her deck, I fainted from exhaustion the moment we were at last in safety.

From this my first and last weakness of the kind I soon recovered, and then a cloak being provided for the lady by the kindness of a mate in charge of the vessel, we were immediately transferred to the shore we had so perilously attempted to gain. Here, after placing my fair charge in a hackney coach, I was nearly seized with a fit of the ague as she detained me shivering at the door while overwhelming me with thanks for her preservation. I cut them short by asking her address, and promising to call upon her in the morning; and thus at last prevailed upon her to give her

directions to the coachman, and let him drive off. And thus, without baggage or letters, and with but what coin I had in my pocket, cold, dripping and forlorn, I made my entré into the great metropolis, after an adventure which, though not so remarkable as some I have since met with, was destined to have no slight influence upon my future life.

To be continued.

VOL. IX.

THE HUNTER'S FLIGHT.

SULTRY and close was the noontide air
In the August heats that were burning there:
No cloud sent its shade, and no wind its sigh,
To the thirsty earth, through the brassy sky-
E'en droop'd in the depths of the forest bowers
The shrivelling leaves and the shrinking flowers;
And faintly, and slowly, the Hunter strode
By the blaze-tree and moss of his lonely road.

He saw, as he look'd through his narrow bound,
But a red haze mantling each object around

So thick, that his footfall nearly trod

On the blacksnake basking along the sod,

And touch'd with his rifle the rabbit that crouch'd
More close in the bush where it tremblingly couch'd;
The gossamer motionless hung from the spray
Where the weight of the dew-drop had torn it away,
The rock, by the aspen, was not more still
Than those delicate leaves an air whisper could thrill,
And the seed of the thistle, that whisper could swing
Aloft on its wheel, as though borne on a wing,
When the yellow bird sever'd it, dipping across,

Its soft plumes unruffled, fell down to the moss.

The foot of the Hunter sunk deep in the mass

Of green slime, which late gush'd a clear brook, through the grass;

And on, as he struggled, his breath came thick,

And his limbs turn'd faint, and his spirit sick.

Upon a prostrate lichen'd trunk

At length the toil-worn Hunter sunk.
The insect's whirring clarion, wound
Up from the grass, with lulling sound,
The quail's quick whistle echoed clear
From a root spotted stubble near,
36

The drowsy murmur of the bee,
The bird's low twitter from the tree,
His beating pulses sooth'd, till sleep
Stole on his eyelids, sweet and deep.

Dreams held their empire now,

The cool stream leap'd to meet his lip; he felt
Round his hot skin the balmy breezes melt,
And from his throbbing veins depart the glow.

Now on the mountain ledge

With his fleet hound he track'd the flying deer,
And now, with its loud thunders in his ear,
He urg'd his bark above the torrent's edge.
Louder and heavier swell'd the sound,
It seem'd to fill the air around,
And wakening with a start of fear,
That deep stern roar still met his ear;
Thick stifling smoke obscur'd his view
With fiery spots fierce glaring through;
Up a rock's side he sped his flight,
There burst the scene upon his sight.

An ocean of flame there was blazing and roaring,

And whirling and surging, swift onwards, was pouring;
The forest was rocking and plunging below

In a gulf, which each fall made more fiercely to glow,

The tallest trees melted away like a breath

As those waves circled on, full of horror and death;

And the ground seem'd to crumble, while high over all,
Dense, black, and gigantic, smoke hung like a pall.
As onward this cataract awful career'd,

The scene to the terrified Hunter appear'd,
Like a demon arous'd, marching on in his ire,
With his trumpet of thunder and banner of fire.

An instant gaz'd the Hunter there,
The instant whelm'd in deep despair.

Then bounding, he flew on his footstep of wind
From the flames, that more fiercely came rolling behind.
Red streaks were darting o'er his head,

Like rain, the coals were round him shed,
And a huge pine beside him thunder'd,
Blinding his sight with fragments sunder'd,
As swifter speeds he, wing'd with fear,
Hark! piercing howls come swelling near.
With jaw of foam, and skin scorch'd black,
And rolling eye, and bristling back,
Tearing his flesh with pain and wrath,
A panther bounds along his path.

But now, quick-silvery sparkles break
Upon his eye, the lake-the lake--
Bursts to his view, oh! cool and sweet
The waters gurgle at his feet:

One plunge in its crystal-the Hunter laves
His feverish limbs in the laughing waves,
And he cleaves his way to the refuge before,
Where the forest stands green on the opposite shore.

On the moist soft grass the Hunter bends,
His incense of thanks for his safety ascends.
To the brink of the lake yawns the red abyss,
Like serpents the flames on its edges hiss,

But a gleam flash'd o'er, more quick and keen
Than the dart of the blaze in that burning scene,
And a sound roll'd by, more stern and deep
Than the roar of that element's wildest sweep;
'Twas the frowning storm cloud's voice and eye
Spreading his mantle across the sky.

In thick gray sheets pour'd the drenching rain,
And the flames shrunk back with their greedy train,
Now cowering low, and now flashing high

With a fitful start, to sink down and die.

Still more fierce and more fast dash'd the rain, till attir'd
In his shroud of thick smoke, the red Demon expir'd.

MONTICELLO, Sullivan Co. N. Y.

A. B. S.

COPY RIGHT LAW.

NO. II.

TO THE PUBLISHERS OF AMERICA.

In our last number we addressed ourselves to the writers of our country, entreating them to exert themselves in favour of the Copyright law; we now turn to the publishers throughout the United States, and call upon them to direct their energies, earnestly and industriously, to the same object.

In making this appeal to the publishers, we choose to place the question on the highest ground; i. e. of duty, justice, and right. We will afterwards speak of it as touching the interests of our publishers; but it must first be considered merely in reference to the standard of right, Before proceeding farther, however, we wish to disclaim all feeling of hostility towards publishers. With only three or four exceptions, we have no fault to find with them; the laws of our country are such as to compel them to adopt precisely the course they do it is impossible for them to give much encourage

:

ment to native literature, or to do justice to foreign writers under existing circumstances: they would be ruined if they were to attempt it. We therefore throw no blame upon publishers; the fault is in the legislation of our country: our laws are deficient, lamentably deficient in this respect; and we earnestly invite the publishers to make one common cause with the writers in endeavouring to remedy this deficiency.

The bad legislation of our country is the source of the mischief, but unfortunately the publishers are the instruments by which the mischief is done. All the argument in the world cannot prove that they do not reprint English books; that they do not do this without asking leave of the English author, and without making him any compensation for his work; and thereby do foul injustice to foreign writers. No amount of ingenuity and sophistry can con vince rational men that the American publisher would be foolish enough to pay a native writer an adequate sum for his manuscript, when he can republish for nothing an English work that will sell as well as the American book: such a course would very soon ruin him. Our publishers then, however innocent their intentions and wishes, are compelled by circumstances to do a great wrong, viz: to throw an incubus upon American literature, and to lead a life of theft; for the republication of foreign works, without the consent of the author, and without making him a suitable compensation, is to all intents and purposes a theft; sanctioned by law, or rather by the want of law; but still, when judged by a high unyielding morality, no better than sheer robbery. It is no answer to this, that the publisher does sometimes pay the foreign writer after reprinting his work; honour to those who have had the generosity to do this: but if the work was republished without making any terms with the author, there is no more justice in it than there would be in the conduct of a strong man who should seize upon his neighbour and compel him to work for him, and when the work was done should pay him whatever he thought proper for his services.

It may be said, perhaps, that if our publishers could be made to view the subject in this light, they would do justice to English wri ters without waiting for a law to compel them: they would feel bound as honest men to do it; and this sense of honour would effect the same purpose as the desired copy-right law. But we reply to this, that if all the just minded publishers in the country should combine to do this justice to foreign writers, at that very moment hundreds of rogues would rush into the business, and ruin the honest and well-meaning of the trade.

Till the passage of the copy-right law shall take place, then those who are engaged in reprinting English works must be obnoxious to