The next evening my friend came
tomy room with a manuscript and some
letters in his hand. The extracts he
read from some of these letters startled
me, as relating to myself, and one
whom I had accidentally encountered
in my own country —no less a person
age than Francis Abbot, the hermit of
Niagara Fails. 1 had been fortunate
enough once to save him from drown
ing at the risk of my life; and in con
sequence, had been distinguished by
some mark of grateful recognition of
the advances 1 bad lone made towards
intimacy. The first letter from which
he read was written by Francis himself.
And the warm manner in which be ex
pressed his eralitude for the friendship
I had manifested towards him, wade
“Pledged but to Truth, to Liberty and Law,
No FAVOR SWAYS US, AND NO FEAR SHALL AWE.”
me join the disconsolate father in his 1
tears. The next communication he
opened,was from my own pen, acquain- j
ting the family, addressed under a for
eign name, with the particulars of his
death. Penetrated to my inmost heart
with gratitude that had thus sought,by
every means, to pay me for accidental
service to whom 1 had loved as a bro
ther, I arose and threw myself into the
old man’s arms; and, on recovering, I
told him all 1 knew of his son, for
which in return, he gave me the follow
ing narrative.
CHAPTER It.
