watched the motions of this boat with the liveliest interest. They saw it tugging up till it was hid from them by the wood. Again it was seen beyond, and soon it dashed into the main stream and disappeared again behind the wood, with a velocity so fearful that they concluded it was lost. But in a moment it again showed itself, and the brave fellows were seen plying their oars across the submerged island of Earnhill, making for John Smith’s cottage; the thatch and a small part of the side walls of which were visible above the water. The poor inmates were dragged out of the windows from under the water, having been obliged to duck within ere they could effect their escape. The boat then swept down the stream towards a place called ‘The Lakes,’ where John Smith, his wife, and her mother were safely landed. The boat was next conveyed by the horses to a point from which it was launched for the rescue of the Kerrs. Having pulled up as far as they could in the still water, they approached the desperate current, and fearlessly dashed into its tumultuous waves. For a moment the spectators were in the most anxious doubt as to the result; for, though none could pull a stronger oar, yet the boat in crossing a distance equal to its own length was swept down 200 yards. Ten yards more would have dashed them to atoms on the lower stone wall. But they were now in comparatively quiet water; and availing themselves of this, they pulled up again to the park, in the space between two currents, and passed, with a little less difficulty, though in the same manner, the second and third streams, and at length reached the houses. The spectators gave them three hearty cheers. By this time the Kerrs had been left scarcely three feet of ground to stand on, under the back wall of the houses. A pleasing sight it was to see the boat touch that tiny strand, and the despairing family taken on board. How anxiously did the spectators watch every motion of the little boat, that was now so crowded as very much to impede the rowers. They crossed the first two streams, and finally drew up for the last and dreadful trial. There the frail bark was again whirled down; and notwithstanding all their exertions, the stern just touched the wall. The prow however was in stiller water; one desperate pull,—she sprang forward in safety, and a few more strokes of the oar landed the poor people amongst fifty or sixty of their assembled friends. After mutual greetings and embraces, and many tears of gratitude, old Kerr related his simple story. “Seeing their retreat cut off by the flood, they attempted to wade ashore. But the nearer the shore, the deeper and more powerful was the current. The moment was awful. The torrent increased on all sides, and night, dark night, was spread over them. The stream began to be too deep for the niece, a girl of twelve years of age,—she lost heart and began to sink. At this alarming crisis Kerr seized the trembling