Being expert fishermen, they were able to maintain themselves by the produce of the sea; and caught the falling rain in some vessels that were on board. Kadu—being a diver—frequently went down to the bottom, where it is well known that the water is not so salt, taking a cocoanut shell with only a small opening to receive a supply. When these castaways at last drew near to land, every hope and almost every feeling had died within them; but, by the care of the islanders of Aur, they were soon restored to perfect health. Their distance from home, in a direct line, was one thousand five hundred miles. * * * * * =EXCERPTS= =FROM AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.= =BY ERASTUS W. ELLSWORTH.= Good Friend—dear heart—companion of my youth, Whose soul was honor, and whose words were truth; Methinks I see your smile of quick surprise, As o’er these rhymes you glance your curious eyes. But is it strange, if in an idle hour, I cull these blossoms from the Muses’ bower? Frail though they be, and blown but for a day, The heart’s best language they may best convey; In climes more genial, more adorned than ours, The poet and the lover talk with flowers; Then, though some richer gift were mine, to send, This should be thine, my old familiar friend. If for a while it cheat thee of a care, With fond remembrance of the things that were— Renew a thought, a hope that once was dear, Or hint an adage for a future year, I scarce shall think these lines were vainly writ, Nor quite disown my Muse’s random wit. Time, that has made us boys, and makes as men, Will never, never bring the past again; But wingéd memory half the wish supplies, Which he who bears the scythe and glass denies: He—the grim sexton of our dying years— She—“Old Mortality” of sepulchres— Both lay their fingers where our lives have flown, And touch, in turn, each monumental stone.