sand. The entrance between the bars bore west-southwest, distant ten miles; the north side of the river, distant a half mile from the. ship; the south side of the same, two and a half miles distant; a village on the north side of the river, west by north, distant three-quarters of a mile. Vast numbers of the natives came alongside: people employed pumping the salt water out of our water casks, in order to fill with fresh, while the ship floated in. So ends.' No, not so ends, modest Captain Gray, of the ship Columbia! The end is not jyt, nor will be, until all the vast territory, rich with every production of the earth, which is drained by the waters of the new-found river, shall have yielded up its illimitable wealth to distant generations.
The Columbia's log-book certainly does not betray any great elation of mind in her officers on reaching the "desired port." Everything is recorded calmly and simply—quite in the way of business. Only from chance expressions, and the determination to make the "desired port," does it appear that Gray's heart was set on discovering the San Roque of the Spanish navigators—the "River of the West" of the rest of mankind. No explorer he, talking grandly of "minute inspections" and of "unalterable opinions! "Only an adventurous, and, withal, a prudent trader, looking out for the main chance, and, perhaps, emulous of a little glory.
No doubt his stout heart quaked a little with excitement, as he ran in for the "opening." We could pardon him if it shrank somewhat at sight of the hungry breakers; but it must have been a poor and pulseless affair of a heart that did not give a throb of exultation, as his good ship, dashing the foam from
