A THRILLING SKETCH.

Tuapeka Times, Volume III, Issue 142, 27 October 1870, Page 7

A THRILLING SKETCH.

The following graphic sketch of an incident which occurred some years since, at the Natural Bril^ein Virginia, comprises a passage in a lecture on genius, delivered by the celebrated Elihu Burritt, 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. The little piece of sky spanning those measureless piers, is full of stars although it is mid-day. It is almost five hundred feet from where they stand, up those perpendicular bulwarks of limestone, to the key rock 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. At last this feeling begins to wear away ; they begin to look round 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 to intellectual eminence. This ambitious youth sees a name just above his reach, a name that will be green in the memory of the world, when those of Alexander, Ceesar, and Bonaparte shall rot iv oblivion. It was the name of Washington. Before he marched with Braddoclc to the fatal field, he had been there, and left his name a foot above all his predecessors. It was a glorious thought of a boy to write his name side by- side with that of the great father of his country. He grasps his knife with a firm hand — and clinging to a little juttiug crag, he cuts again into the limestone, about a foot above where he stands ; but as he puts his feet and hands into those gain:, and draws himself carefully to his full length, he finds himself a foot above every name chronicled in the mighty Avail. While his companions are regarding him with concern andadmiration, he cuts his name in huge capitals large and deep, into that flinty album. His knife is still in his hands, and strength in his sinews, and a newly created aspiration in his heart. Again he cuts another niche, and again he carves his name in large capitals. This is not enough. Heedless of the entreaties of his companions, he cuts and climbs again. The graduations of his ascending scale grow wider apart. He measures his length at every gain he cuts. The voice 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. He 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 exertions, and trembling from ane sudden view of the dreadful destructions to which he is exposed. His knife is worn half way to the haft. He can hear the voices but not the words, of his terror-stricken companions below. What a moment! What a meagre chance td~ escape destruction ! There is no retracing his steps. It is impossible to put his'hands into the same niche with bis feet, and retain his bold a moment. His companions instantly perceive this new and fearful dilemma, and await his fall with emotions that " freeze their young blood." He is too high, too faint to ask for his father and mother, his brother and sisters, to come and witness or avert his destructions. But one of his companions anticipates his desire. Swift as the fatal situation of the boy is told upon his father's hearthstone.

Minutes of almost eternal length roll on, and there were hundreds standing in that rocky channel, and hundreds on the ridge above, all holding their breath and awaiting the fearful catastrophe. The poor boy hears the hum of new and numerous voices, both above and below. He can just distinguish the toneß of his father's voice, who is shouting: with all the energy of despair, "William! 'William! don't! look {down... Your mother, and Henry, 'and Harriet, are all here praying for you. • Don't look down.. Keep your eyes "towards the top."- • - I The boy didn't look f down — bis eyes are fi^xed like a flint towards heaven, and this .young - 'heart on Him ,w.ho reigns there. He grasps again his knife. He cuts, another niche, and another foot is added to the hundred that jreinove him from the reach of I human help from below. How carefully he uses hid wastiug blade ! How anxiously he selects the softest place in that pier! How he avoids every flinty grain ! How he economises his physical powers ! Besting a moment at each, again he cuts. How every motion is watched from below ! There stand his father, mother, brother, and

sister, on the very spot where, if he falls, he will not fall alonp.

The sun is half down thn west. The lad had made fifty additional niches in the mighty wall, aud now iinds himself directly under the middle of that vast arch 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 fed by the increased shouts of hundreds perched upon cliffs and trees, and others who stand with ropes in 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 by foot, from under that lofty arch. Spliced ropes are ready in the hands of those who are learning 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 ringing along the precipice, falls at his mother's feet.

An 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 boy lifts his hopeless heart and closing eyes to commend his soul to God. 'Tis but a moment — there ! one foot swings off — he is reeling, trembling, toppling over into eternity. Hark ! a shout falls on bis ear from above. The man who is lying with half his length over the bridge has caught a glimpse of the boy'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 arm into the noose. Darkness comes over him ; with the words Grod ! and mother ! 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 he 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 leaping and weeping for joy, never greeted the ear of human being so recovered from the yawning gulf of eternity.