thundered on like a mighty cataract, heaving up a cloud of spray, then
foaming and dashing off to join the mad waters below. O, it was a
fearful sight. On, on went the logs, and on, on went the raft, the
reckless man exerting himself to his utmost to stop their progress by
endeavoring to reach them with a long pole he held in his hand.

Willie Somers raised his pleading eyes to his face (and many long
years after did their expression haunt him), "O Mr. Lambert, please
don't go any farther, we shall be over the falls."

"Pshaw, child," answered Mr. Lambert, rather sternly, "I must save my
logs at any risk."

The frantic father screamed from the shore,--"Mr. Lambert, save
yourselves and let the logs go.

"You are lost, you are lost!" cried many voices, as a log bounded upon
a giant wave, leaping over the cataract hurrying on through the waters
below. The strong man made a desperate effort and reached the land,
but the poor boy upon the raft was precipitated over the falls into
the gulf below. As the agonized father stood gazing with breathless
horror upon the sight, the form of his dear son arose once more,
standing erect upon the bounding billows, with his arms widely
extended, and his eyes glaring from their sockets. But in, a moment he
was hid from view, beneath the heaving mass of waters. All effort to
find him proved unavailing.

The next spring his body was found thirty miles distant down the
river, having laid in the water over three months. He was sent to his
friends. The father was almost beside himself, although a man slow