ed, exposed to the weather, his venerable silver locks flowing round his shoulders.
He was so struck with wonder and admiration, that he had no power to cry out; and, as he lay, the weeds and wild shrubs almost hid him from being seen. The old man was passing on slowly, and seemingly deeply meditating, when the other exerted himself to say, "Stop! Oh! stop!"
The man started.—"From whence comes that voice?" said he, advancing, and presently discovered Ferdinand.
"Gracious Father!" exclaimed he, "who are you, and how came you here, my son?"
"I fell from the brow of the hill into the river."
"Wonderful Providence! What, unhurt?"
"I cannot say that," replied he; "I am very much bruised, I believe, besides being wounded by a pistol in my arm and side, which occasioned my falling."
"Alas! my son, how shall I help you;—you cannot rise."
