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under the smaller American Fall, and the very finest view, I will venture to say, of the great.crescent, or Horseshoe Fall.

Turn to the left, as you enter this Eden, and you come out into a cleared and open spot, on which you discern a loghut, with vines round its door and windows, and a little garden in front of it, running down to the water's edge; a flock of sheep feeding quietly, or reposing pleasantly, under scattered clumps of graceful trees; while, beyond this scene of rural repose, you see the whole field of the rapids, bearing down in full force upon this point of their division, as if determined to sweep


away. Or turn to the right, and, threading the shady forest, step aside to the margin of the smaller American Fall,* and bathe your hands, if you please, in its just leaping waters. Then, pursuing the circuit of the island, descend a spiral flight of stairs, and, treading cautiously along a narrow foot-path, cut horizontally in the side of the cliff, enter the magnificent hall formed by the falling flood, and command your nerves for a few moments, that, standing as you do about midway in the descent of the fall, you may look up, eighty feet, to its arched and crystal roof, and down, eighty feet, on its terrible, and misty, and resounding floor. You will never forget that sight and sound.

Retrace your steps to the upper bank, and then, if your strength holds out, proceed a short way farther, to the enjoyment of a view, already referred to, which excels


other in this place of wonders. It is obtained from a bridge or platform, which has recently been thrown out over the Terrapin Rocks, and is carried to the very brink of the Horseshoe Fall, and even projects beyond it; so that the spectator at the end of the platform is actually suspended over the fall.

If he is alone, and gives way to his feelings, he must drop

* This is separated from the greater fall by a diminutive island, covered with trees, which tenaciously maintains its terrible position, in emulation, as it were, of Goat Island. This lesser fall, small as it is compared with the others, would of itself be worth a journey.


his knees, for the grandeur of the scene is overpowering. The soul is elevated, and at the same time subdued, as in an awful and heavenly presence. Deity is there. The brooding and commanding Spirit is there. “ The Lord is upon many waters."

The heights and the depths, the shadows and the sunlight, the foam, the mist, the rainbows, the gushing showers of diamonds, the beanty, and the power, and the majesty, all around and beneath, environ the spirit with holiest influences, and without violence compel it to adore.

Deep calleth unto deep ! The cataract, from its mysterious depths, calleth with its thunder back to the deep lake, and up to the deep sky, and forward to the deep ocean, and far inward to the deep of man's soul. And the answer of the lake, and the answer of the sky, and the answer of the ocean, are praise to the Maker, praise to Him who sitteth above the water-flood, praise to Almighty God! And where is the soul which will not also hear that call, and answer it even with a clearer and louder answer, and cry, “ Praise to the Creator, praise to the infinite, and holy, and blessed God!

88. The Same, continued.

THESE falls are not without their history; but, like their depths, it is enveloped with clouds. Geologists suppose - and with good apparent reason – that time was when Niagara fell over the abrupt bank at Queenstown, between six and seven miles below the place of the present falls, and that it has, in the lapse of unknown and incalculable years, been wearing away the gulf in the intermediate distance, and toiling and travelling through the rock, back to its parent lake.

The abrupt termination of the high bank and table land at Queenstown; the correspondence of the opposite cliffs to each other all the way up to the falls; the masses of perincumbent limestone, which both the American and Cana dian cataracts hurl, from time to time, into the boiling abyss

-all seem to favor this supposition. But when did the grand journey begin? When will it end? How vain to ask! How momentary human life appears, when we give our minds to such contemplations !.

Where was the cataract toiling in its way when none but the awe-struck Indian came to bow before its sublimity ? Where was it when the moss-buried trunk, which now lies decaying by its borders, was a new-sprung sapling, glittering with the spray-drops which fed - its infant leaves? Where was it, before the form of a single red man glided through the forest? Where was it, when, in the intimate sympathy of centuries, lofty trees stood by it, which long since have been resolved into earth?

Where was it when winds and clouds were its only visitors, and when the sun and blue heaven by day, and the moon and stars by night, alone looked down and beheld it, the same as they behold it now? And is not Science blind and foolish, when she does not learn to be humble? Is she not miserably blind and foolish, when, being in her elements and leadingstrings, she lisps impiety, instead of prayer?

Four days flew by, like the waters of the rapids, while we remained at the falls; and then came our time for departure. As we rode down to Lake Ontario, on the bank of the river, and turned every moment to catch glimpses of the falls, we were favored, when between two and three miles on our way, with a full view of the whole cataract, through an opening in the woods. We stopped and alighted, in order to enjoy the melancholy pleasure of contemplating it for the last time. It looked softer and gentler in the distance, and its sound came to the ear like a murmur. I had learned to regard it as a friend; and as I stood, I bade it, in my heart, farewell.

Farewell, beautiful, holy creation of God! in the garment of glory which he has given thee, and fill

Flow on,

other souls, as thou hast filled mine, with wonder and praise. Often will my spirit be with thee, waking and in dreams. But soon I shall pass away, and thou wilt remain. Flow on, then, for others' eyes when mine are closed, and for others' hearts when mine is cold. Still call to the deeps of many generations. Still utter the instructions of the Creator to wayfaring spirits, till thou hast fulfilled thy work, and they have all returned, like wearied travellers, to their home.



The Present Condition of Man vindicated.

HEAVEN from all creatures hides the book of Fate,
All but the page prescribed — their present state;
From brutes what men, from men what spirits know;
Or who could suffer being here below?
The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day,
Had he thy reason, would he skip and play?
Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food,
And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
O blindness to the future! kindly given
That each may fill the circle marked by Heaven,
Who sees with equal eye, as God of all,
A hero perish, or a sparrow fall,
Atorns and systems into ruin hurled,
And now a bubble burst, and now a world.

Hope humbly then ; with trembling pinions soar,
Wait the great teacher Death; and God adore.
What future bliss he gives not thee to know,
But gives that hope to be thy blessing now.
Hope springs eternal in the human breast ;
Man never is, but always to be, blest;

The soul, uneasy and confined from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

Lo, the


Indian! whose untutored mind
Sees (od in clouds, or hears him in the wind;
Ilis soul proud science never taught to stray
Far as the solar walk or milky way;
Yet simple nature to his hope has given,
Behind the cloud-topped hill, an humbler heaven;
Some safer world in depth of woods embraced,
Some happier island in the watery waste,
Where slaves once more their native land behold,
No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold.
To be, contents his natural desire;
He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire;
But thinks, admitted to that equal sky,
His faithful dog shall bear him company.

Go, wiser thou, and, in thy scale of sense,
Weigh thy opinion against Providence;
Call imperfection what thou fanciest such;
Say, here he gives too little, there too much;
Destroy all creatures for thy sport or gust;
Yet cry, if Man 's unhappy, God 's unjust;
If man alone engross not Heaven's high 'care,
Alone made perfect here, immortal there;
Snatch from his hand the balance and the rod,
Rejudge his justice, be the God of God.

In pride, in reasoning pride, our error lies;
All quit their sphere, and rush into the skies.
Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes;
Men would be angels, angels would be Gods.
Aspiring to be Gods, if angels fell,
Aspiring to be angels, men rebel;
And who but wishes to invert the laws
Of order, sins against the Eternal Cause.


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