_Thursday, June 29th._ When I awoke this morning, I found the boat was taking in wood at Paducah, just at the mouth of the Tennessee, having passed the Cumberland river in the night. We were now approaching a scene of interest that we had been long anticipating--the meeting of the waters of the Ohio and "the father of rivers." The morning was rainy and unpleasant, still we were constantly on the alert, eagerly intent upon seeing every object of interest around us. While thus looking abroad, an affecting scene presented itself to us. The Ohio here, having received its last large tributaries, had become very deep and broad. Its banks were covered with tangled underwood, and dense forest-trees--presenting a scene of unbroken wildness. Now and then a woodman's hut was visible on the shore, and a little boat fastened to the bank. A deer, bounding with the fleetness of the wind to escape his destroyers, had reached the river's edge. What could be more natural than that, as his pursuers pressed on, he should plunge into the midst of the flowing stream! How cool and grateful must have been its waters to him thus panting and faint! But will he find safety here! No. His pursuers are again upon him. Having seized two little skiffs they eagerly press on to reach him. We saw them gliding through the waters towards him. Again he puts forth all his energies, and dashes through the waves like an arrow through the air. The effort he is making is for his life. But the strong arms that ply the oars, send forward the little barques which contain his pursuers with a velocity that seems to cut off the hope of escape. Now they are upon him! one boat is in advance of him, and the other rushing towards him. His destiny seemed sealed! But no--he is gone! He has darted to the depths beneath, and risen far beyond the furthermost boat! He is exerting every nerve to reach the shore! A few moments more, and his point will be gained--he will be bounding through the Kentucky woods! No. Hope again dies! His pursuers are again upon him--the boat is again between him and the shore. His strength is exhausted. The uplifted oar with dreadful stroke has fallen upon his head. The hands of his fell pursuers have grasped his horns, he is dragged up into the boat and the huntsman's knife has made a deep incision in his throat. He pants, and struggles, and expires! I said to myself--the sinner is pursued by sin, and satan, and passion, like that chased deer. There is no escape for him but in Christ. Oh what a happy, blessed hour of deliverance is that when the arm of mercy is reached forth to pluck him from the hands of his destroyers!