the blue canopy of pure ether, and count the stars, or
gaze, with a yearning look, at the melancholy moon. When not employed as
a spy or guide, he subsisted by hunting, being often absent on solitary
excursions for weeks and even months together, in the wilderness. He was
a genuine son of nature, a grown up child of the woods and prairie,
which he worshiped with a sort of Pagan adoration. Excluded by his
infirmities from cordial fellowship with his kind, he made the inanimate
things of the earth his friends, and entered, by the heart's own
adoption, into brotherhood with the luminaries of heaven! Wherever there
was land or water, barren rocks or tangled brakes of wild, waving cane,
there was Deaf Smith's home, and there he was happy; but in the streets
of great cities, in all the great thoroughfares of men, wherever there
was flattery or fawning, base cunning or craven fear, there was Deaf
Smith an alien and an exile.

Strange soul! he hath departed on the long journey, away among those
high, bright stars, which were his night-lamps; and he hath either
solved or ceased to ponder the deep mystery of the magic word, "life."
He is dead; therefore let his errors rest in oblivion, and his virtues
be remembered with hope.

ESCAPE FROM A SHARK.

While she was lying in the harbor at Havana, it was very hot on board
the Royal Consort, about four o'clock in the afternoon of the 14th of
July. There was not the slightest movement in the air; the rays of the
sun seemed to burn down into the water. Silence took hold of the
animated creation. It was too hot to talk, whistle, or sing; to bark, to
crow, or to bray. Every thing crept under cover, but Sambo and Cuffee,
two fine-looking blacks, who sat sunning themselves on the quay, and
thought "him berry pleasant weather," and glistened like a new
Bristol bottle.

Sambo and Cuffee, as we have said, were sitting on the quay, enjoying
the pleasant sunshine, and making their evening repast of banana, when
they heard the plunge into the water by the side of the Royal Consort,
and presently saw Brook Watson emerging from the deep, his hands to his
eyes to free them from the brine, balancing up and down, spattering the
water from his mouth, and then throwing himself forward, hand over hand,
as if at length he really felt himself in his element.

"Oh, Massa Bacra!" roared out Sambo, as soon as he could recover from
his astonishment enough to speak, "Oh, Senor! he white man neber go to