"Among his favorite, daily gratifications, was that of bathing. The few who interested themselves in his welfare, supposed that he pursued it to excess, and protracted it after the severity of the weather rendered it hazardous to health.

"He scooped out, and arranged for himself, a secluded and romantic bath, between Moss and Iris islands. Afterwards, he formed the habit of bathing below the principal Fall. One bright, but rather chill day, in the month of June, 1831, a man employed about the Ferry, saw him go into the water, and a long time after, observed his clothes to be still lying upon the bank.

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Inquiry was made. The anxiety was but too well founded. The poor hermit had indeed taken his last bath. It was supposed that cramp might have been induced by the unwonted chill of the atmosphere or water. Still the body was not found, the depth and force of the current just below being exceedingly great.

"In the course of their search, they passed onward to the Whirlpool. There, amid those boiling eddies, was the pallid corse, making fearful and rapid gyrations upon. the face of the black waters. At some point of suction, it suddenly plunged and disappeared. Again emerging, it was fearful to see it leap half its length above the flood, and with a face so deadly pale, play among the tossing billows, then float motionless, as if exhausted, and anon returning to the encounter, spring, struggle, and contend like a maniac battling with mortal foes.

'It was strangely painful to think that he was not per

mitted to find a grave, even beneath the waters he had loved; that all the gentleness and charity of his nature, should be changed by death to the fury of a madman; and that the king of terrors, who brings repose to the despot, and the man of blood, should teach warfare to him who had ever worn the meekness of the lamb. For days and nights this terrible purgatory was prolonged. It was on the twenty-first of June, that, after many efforts, they were enabled to bear the weary dead back to his desolate cottage.

There they found his faithful dog guarding the door. Heavily the long period had worn away, while he watched for his only friend and wondered why he delayed his coming. He scrutinized the approaching group suspiciously, and would not willingly have given them admittance, save that a low, stifled wail at length announced his intuitive knowledge of the master, whom the work of death had effectually disguised from the eyes of men.

They laid him on his bed, the thick, dripping masses of his beautiful hair clinging to, and veiling, the features so late expressive and comely. On the pillow was his pet kitten; to her, also, the watch for the master had been long and wearisome.

In his chair lay the guitar, whose melody was proba bly the last that his ear had heard on earth. There were also his flute and violin, his portfolio and books, scattered and open, as if recently used. On the spread table was the untasted meal for noon, which he had prepared against his return from that bath which had proved so fatal. It

was a touching sight; the dead hermit mourned by his humble retainers, the poor animals who loved him, and ready to be laid by stranger-hands in a foreign grave.

So fell this singular and accomplished being, at the early age of twenty-eight. Learned in the languages, in the arts and sciences, improved by extensive travel, gifted with personal beauty, and a feeling heart, the motives for this estrangement from his kind are still enveloped in mystery. It was, however, known that he was a native of England, where his father was a clergyman; that he received from thence ample remittances for his comfort; and that his name was Francis Abbot. These facts had been previously ascertained, but no written papers were found in his cell, to throw additional light upon the obscurity in which he had so effectually wrapped the history of his pilgrimage.

That he was neither an ascetic nor a misanthrope, has been sufficiently proved. Why he should choose to withdraw from society, which he was so well fitted to benefit and adorn, must ever remain unexplained. That no crime had driven him thence, his blameless and pious life bore witness to all who knew him.

It might seem that no plan of seclusion had been deliberately formed, until enthusiastic admiration of the unparalleled scenery among which he was cast, induced and for two years had given it permanence. And if any one could be justified for withdrawing from life's active duties, to dwell awhile with solitude and contemplation,

would it not be in a spot like this, where Nature ever speaks audibly of her majestic and glorious Author?

"We visited, in the summer of 1844, the deserted abode of the hermit. It was partially ruinous, but we traced out its different compartments, and the hearth-stone where his winter evenings passed amid books and music, his faithful dog at his feet, and on his knee his playful, happy kitten.

"At our entrance, a pair of nesting birds flew forth affrighted. Methought they were fitting representatives of that gentle spirit, which would not have disturbed their tenantry, or harmed the trusting sparrow. If that spirit had endured aught from man, which it might neither recover nor reveal; if the fine balance of the intellect had borne pressure until it was injured or destroyed; we would not stand upon the sufferer's grave to condemn, but to pity.

"We would think with tenderness of thee, erring and lonely brother. For at the last day, when the secrets of all are unveiled, it will be found that there are sadder mistakes to deplore than thine ;-time wasted idly, but not innocently—and talents perverted, without the palliation of a virtuous life, the love of Nature, or the fear of God."

It is needless to add to this graphic description of the Hermit, given by Mrs. Sigourney in her "Scenes in my Native Land," that the story presented in the Poem is a mere fiction, designed to illustrate certain themes it contains.

NOTE 25.-PAGE 71.

The reader of the Bible will recognize the language of Job, found in chapter second of that book, as here paraphrased to the extent of about thirty lines. The language of Scripture has also been borrowed in many subsequent portions, to much of which special reference need not be made in these Notes.

NOTE 26.-PAGE 91.

"There is one fact connected with dreams which is highly remarkable-time, in fact, seems to be in a great measure annihilated. An extensive period is reduced, as it were, to a single point, or rather a single point is made to embrace an extensive period. In one instant, we pass through many adventures, see many strange sights, and hear many strange sounds. If we are awaked by a loud knock, we have perhaps the idea of a tumult passing before us, and know all the characters engaged in it-their aspects, and even their very names. If the door open violently, the floodgates of a canal may appear to be expanding, and we may see the individuals employed in the process, and hear their conversation, which may seem an hour in length. If a light be brought into the room, the notion of the house being in flames perhaps invades us, and we are witnesses to the whole conflagration, from its commencement till it be finally extinguished. The thoughts which arise in such situations are endless, and assume an