A THRILLING SKETCH.

Cromwell Argus, Volume 1, Issue 49, 19 October 1870, Page 7

A THRILLING SKETCH.

The following graphic sketch of an incident which occurred some years since, at the Natural Bridge in Virginia, comprises a passage in a lecture on genius, delivered by the celebrated Eliliu Barrett, the learned blacksmith:— The scene opens with a view of the great natural bridge in Virginia. There are three or four lads standing in the channel below, looking up with awe to the vast arch of unhewn rocks, with the almighty bridge over these everlasting abutments, when the morning stars sang together. j$J The little piece of sky spanning those raea- " sureless piers is full of stars, although it is , mid-day.. It is almost live hundred feet from where they stand, up those perpendicular bulwarks of limestone, to the keyrock of the vast arch, which appears to ~ them only the size of a man's hand. The silence of death is rendered more impressive by the little stream that falls from rock to rock down the channel. The sun is darkened, and the boys have unconsciously uncovered their heads, as if standing in the presence-chamber of the .Majesty of the whole Earth. This feeling at last begins to wear away : they begin to look around them. They see the names of hundreds cut in the limestone abutments. A new feeling comes over their hearts, and their knives are in hand in an instant. " What man has done man can do," is their watchword, while they draw themselves up and carve their names a foot above those of a hundred full-grown men, who had been there before them. They are all (satisfied with this feat of physical exertion except one, whose example illustrates perfectly the forgotten truth, that there is no royal road fcTiutellectual eminence. This ambitious youth sees a name just above his reach—a name that will be green in the memory of the world when tiie names of Alexander, Ciesar, and lionapirte shall rot iu oblivion. It was the name, of Washington Before he marched with Braddoek to the fatal field, he had had been there, and left his name a foot above all his predecessors. It was the glorious thought of a boy to write his name side by side with that of the great father of las country. He gras;>s Ids knife with u iinn hind, and clinging to a little jutting crag, he cuts again into the limestone, about a foot above where lie stands ; but as he puts his feet and hands into these gains, and draws himself carefully up to his full length, he duds himself a foot above every name chronicled on that mighty wall. While his companions are regarding him with concern and admiration, he cuts his name in huge capitals, large and deep, into that flinty album. His knife is still in his hand, and strength in his sinews, and a newly-created aspiraration in his heart.

Again lie cuts another niche, and again he cuts his iiiihiß in large capitals. This is not euough. Heedless of the entreaties of his companions, he cuts ami climbs again. The graduations of his ascending scale grow wider apart. Ke measures his length at every gain he cuts. The voices of his friends wax weaker and weaker, till their words are finally lost on his ear. He now for the first time casts a look beneath him. Had that glance lasted a moment, that moment would have been his last, lie clings with a convulsive shudder to his little niche in the rock. An awful abyss awaits his almost certain fall. He is faint with severe exertion, and trembling from the sudden view of the dreadful destruction to which he is exposed. His knife is worn half way to the haft. He can hear the voices, but not the words, of bin ter-ror-stricken companions below. What a moment! What a meagre chance to escape destruction! There is no retracing his steps. It is impossible to put his hands into the same niche with his feet, and retain his hold a moment. His companions instantly perceive this fearful dilemma, and await his fall with emotions that " freeze their young blood." He is too high, too taint to ask for his father and mother, his brother and sisters, to come and witness or avert his destruction. But one of his companions anticipates his desire. Swift as wind he bounds clown the channel, and the fatal situation of the boy is told upon ins father's hearthstone.

Minutes of almost eternal length roll on and there were hundreds standingin that rocky channel, and hundred* on the ridge above, all holding their breath and awaiting the fearful catastrophe. The poor hoy hoars the hum of new and .numerous voices, both above and below. He can just clistingimh the tones of his father's voice, who is shouting with nil the energy of despair, "William! William! don't look down. Your mother, and Henry, and Har-

net, are all here praying for you. Don't look down. Keep your eyes towards the top."

The boy didn't look down—his eyes are fixed like a Hint towards heaven, and his young heart on Him who reigns there. He grasps again his knife. He cuts another niche, and another foot is added to the hundreds that remove him from the reach of human help from below. How carefully he uses his wasting blade ! How anxiously he selects the softest place in that pier ! How he avoids every flinty grain ! How he economises his physical powers ! Resting a moment at each, again he cuts. How every motion is watched from below ! There stand his father and mother, brother and sister, on the verv spot where, if he falls, he will not fall alone.

The sun is half down iu the west. The lad had made fifty additional niches in the mighty wall, and now finds himself directly under the middle of that vast aivh of rocks, earth, and trees. He must cut his way in a new direction, to get over this overhanging mountain. The inspiration of hope is dying in his bosom ; its vital heat is fed by the shouts of hundreds perched upon cliff's and trees, and others who stand with ropes iu their hands on the bridge above or with ladders below. Fifty gains more must be cut before the longest rope can reach him. His wasting blade again strikes into the limestone.

The boy is emerging painfully, foot bv foot, from under that lofty arch. Spliced ropes are ready in the hands of those who are leaning over the outer edge of the bridge. Two minutes more, and all will be over. That blade is worn to the last half-inch. The boy's head reels ; his eyes are starting from their sockets. His last hope is dying in his heart—his life must hang upon the last gain he cuts. That niche is his last. At the last faint gash he makes, his knife, his faithful knife, falls from his nerveless hand, and rin»in« along the precipice, falls at his mother's feet.

Aii involuntary groan of despair runs like a death-knell through the channel below, and all is still as the grave. At the height of nearly three hundred feet, the devoted hoy lifts his hopeless heart and closing eyes to commend his soul to God. Tis hut a moment—there! one foot swings oil'—he is reeling, trembling, toppling over into eternity. Hark! a shout falls on his ear from above. The man who is lying with half his length over the bridge has caught a glimpse of the bov's head and shoulders. Quick as thought, the noosed rope is within reach of the sinking youth. No one breathes. With a faint, convulsive effort, the swooning boy drops his arms into the noose. Darkness comes over him ; with the words " God !" and " Mother ! T ' whispered on his lips just loud enough to be heard in heaven, the tightening rope lifts him out of his last shallow niche. Not a lip moves while lie is dangling over the fearful abyss ; but when a sturdy Virginian reaches down, and draws up the lad, and holds him up in his arms before the fearful, breathless multitude, such shouting, such leapin" and weeping for joy, never greeted the ear of human being so recovered from the yawning gulf ot eternity.

It is rumored that Mr Brodie will be a candidate for the Superintendency at the ensuing election.

A Leap for Life.—The following anecdote is recorded of Marshal M'Mahon, when a young man in Africa : \fter the battle of Col de Terchia, in which he was aide-de-camp to General Archard, the latter said to him, " Can you carry to Colonel B. Rullieries at Bildah the order to change his march 1 As the mission is dangerous I will give you a squadron of Light Dragoons as an escort." The young officer refused the escort, as it was either too little or too much, and went alone. On arriving within half-n-mile of Bildah, he saw groups of the enemy's horsemen on each side as well as behind him, but he rode on until he came to a deer) precipice, at which he drove his horse, a high-blooded animal, at a tremendous pace. The horse sprang into mid-air, the rider held his seat firmly, but when they alighted together he WrtS obliged to abandon his charger, which had broken both its forelegs. None of the Arabs would take the desperate leap, and the young officer reached Bildah in safetv. An impudent literary amateur called upon an editor and asked permission to write the fine-art, criticism and the theatrical critiques, as he was in want of something to do. "I am sorry to say that both departments are filled," responded the editor; " but if you really want something to do, you can clean the office windows."