with Mr. Chapman, he set out on his pedestrian course towards the Moors, intending to sleep at the village of Sleights. Urged, however, by his feelings, and tempted by the fineness of the evening, and the brilliant sunset, by which the distant hills (then covered with snow) were illumined and gilded, he resolved on proceeding to Salter Gate, a position, in the midst of the Moors, eight miles further in advance, and attainable only by a not very well-defined line of road across a heath-clad and totally uninhabited country. It was a region, therefore, of complete desolateness, through which he prepared to pass, and, on occasions of snow-storms, one of great danger to any travellers who might be unfortunately overtaken by them whilst in the midst of the Moors;—for, at the period of which we now write, there were neither fences to confine, nor poles (as in subsequent years were erected) to mark, the line of road, so that an hour’s continuance of thick drifting snow might totally obliterate, in many places, the distinctions betwixt the highway and the general trackless heath. Hence it happened, that scarcely a winter passed over without yielding the records of perilous or fatal adventures; and, whenever snow-storms abounded, of travellers, more or less in number, perishing by being overwhelmed in the snow-drifts.

It was not long before our traveller, advancing rapidly with vigorous and elastic step within the region of lonesome moorland, became aware that he had entered upon a critical adventure; for having arrived near the sixth milestone on the high-moors over Whitby, he became unexpectedly encircled by a dense and gloomy cloud, attended with a sudden and furious storm of wind and fleecy snow, the snow descending so thick as to envelope him in such dark obscurity, that, for some little time, he could neither see his way to advance nor to return.

Recovering somewhat from his first embarrassment, and considering what might be well to be done, he determined, adventurous as the attempt might be, to go forward toward Salter Gate, yet six miles distant, and not a house on the road. He had made but little progress, however, in advance, before he found he had gone off the turnpike-road; nor did his first attempt, as by a nautical traverse, seem to improve his situation. When brought to a stand in this perplexing condition, it was, that his naturally reflective mind suggested an use of his humble geometrical acquirements, which afforded him essential service. He had observed how the wind first assailed him, with reference to the direction of the line of road, which, fortunately for him, like the roads of ancient construction, generally, followed a steeple-chase directness, regardless of hill or dale, for the point aimed at; and by adjusting his progress on the same angle, in respect to the course of the wind, he hoped to be guided in his now perilous undertaking. “Taking his departure” from this incidental starting-point, he set forward with as much speed as the nature of the ground and the resistance of the storm could well admit, and, proceeding in a straight direction, over hill and dale, through moor and bog, he accomplished another mile, and that so successfully as to reach its termination, to his great satisfaction, scarcely twenty yards from the seventh milestone. Encouraged by this success, he now advanced, in spite of storm and blinding snow-drift, and under painfully reduced strength, approaching at the last very near to exhaustion, until his enterprise and tact were happily rewarded by arriving at Salter Gate, where, in the house for which he originally aimed, he was enabled to obtain both shelter and refreshment. The rest of the enterprise, after encountering various difficulties, from the continuance of the snow on the ground, was in like manner accomplished, so that with no great loss of time he was welcomed in safety at his father’s house.

During this arduous and hazardous journey, as his biographer remarks, “he proved the value and accuracy of his geometry whilst traversing the high-moors, the importance of perseverance, and the gracious care of Divine Providence.”

Section II.—His first year’s Apprenticeship.

In the quiet of a country home, my Father now resumed those studies which bore more immediately upon the profession he had chosen, and perseveringly continued them till the time appointed, the middle of March, for his joining his ship. His preparations towards the supplying of his maritime costume and equipment being already made, he repaired to Whitby, and was duly set to work, with others of the destined crew, to rig and fit out the ship. Towards the end of the month the arrangements were so far advanced, that she was hauled down the harbour into a berth convenient for putting to sea. But whilst here a hard gale set in from the north, which brought so heavy a sea into the harbour that the Jane was in danger of breaking adrift. This circumstance called for the prompt and active exertions of the crew to get out cables and hawsers for additional security, an occasion on which my Father received his first lesson on mooring a ship,—a lesson which could not be lost upon one who associated with great physical strength and energy so observant and reflective a mind.

Early in the month of April, the weather proving favourable whilst the spring-tides prevailed, the Jane put to sea, and for a time made pleasant progress. Nearing the Naze of Norway, however, they were overtaken at night, and that suddenly, by a heavy gale of wind, which in its effect was in no small degree alarming, and from the quality of the crew, indeed, twelve out of about twenty hands being apprentices, some mere lads, and several quite inexperienced, eminently perilous,—for the ship being lightly ballasted, was quickly thrown upon her “beam-ends,” the water rising over the lee gunwale till it reached the “combings of the hatches,” whilst the requisite measures, demanding instantaneous promptness, were seriously delayed by the general inaptitude of the crew. They were enabled, however, in time to save them from the threatened foundering, to get the sails clewed up, whereon the ship righted, though the sails were left fluttering, the sport and prey of the storm, until the morning. The gale then happily abating, and veering to a favourable quarter, the canvas, as far as preserved to them, which so recently had threatened their destruction, became available for the furtherance of their voyage, and enabled them without further adventure to reach Memel, the port of their destination.

But when outward danger had been safely passed, and nothing but a feeling of perfect security could naturally be realized, the object of this memorial became sensibly alive to the impressiveness of the solemn sentiment of our Church’s funeral service—“In the midst of life we are in death!” The ballast had been taken out, and the hold and ’tween-decks cleared to make way for the cargo, when my Father, being below, near a “raft-port,”—an opening at the bow or stern by which a timber cargo is received into the hold,—heard the voice of the Captain calling for a boat’s crew to put him on shore. There being no deck now laid upon the hold-beams, but only a series of “carlings” from beam to beam, the summons was attempted to be answered by running along these very narrow supports. Ill directed, however, by the very deceptive light admitted by the raft-port, my Father’s head came in contact with an unobserved break in the upper deck, by which he was precipitated into the hold, a depth of about twelve feet, and was taken up by his comrades in a state of insensibility. In this alarming condition he remained for several hours,