waters"-the one thought ever present to, ever forced upon my mind, at every turn, at every point of view, was-GOD! Never did I feel so strikingly the littleness of man-never so thrillingly the presence of the Supreme! Nor was it always in one attribute, or one class of attributes, and that of the more awful kind. For never was there a place where the beautiful and the sublime, the soothing and the terrible, were so blended. You cross upon a frail and trembling bridge an arm of the rapids, till you completely overlook from the projecting termination of that daring structure the raging and foaming cauldron beneath-and you turn to the island which you have just left, and see all the witching romance of most sequestered streets, and the most perfect rural beauty. You prostrate yourself upon the brink of Table Rock, that you may send your gaze far under that beetling canopy of stone into the dim caverns behind and below-and the rainbow, spanning the abyss in remarkable entireness and beauty meets your delighted eye, and tells of hope and peace amid that wild tumult and You descend to the edge of the gulf below -you creep along the slippery and insecure footpath which leads far above it—you look upward, and the overhanging rock which shoots its tablet of

terror.

stone far outward beyond you, seems just ready to fall-you press on, till amid a blinding whirlwind and torrents of spray you pass "within the veil,” behind the Great Sheet of water where a single mis-step, or a moment's loss of self-command would. hurl you into that roaring abyss,-but soon you emerge in safety, and discover skirting this very scene of terror the most striking displays of natural beauty-the sparkling of transparent waters in the sun-their pure and brilliant emerald as it passes the brink of the crescent glittering like an ever-forming and majestic gem, in beautiful contrast with the snowy whiteness of the foam around it-while in all directions the prismatic tints are shining clearly Thus GoD in His Power-and GoD in His Benignity and Love, meet you at every turn!

out.

Nor is it by sight alone, that Niagara speaks to the soul of its all-present God. I have been at midnight, with no other light but that of the pale stars, and stood on the very verge of that mighty cataract.All was indistinct to the eye,-save as its spectral foam was reflected in the dim starlight ;-but to the ear, and through that to the soul, how thrilling, how solemn and grand were its voices !

Miss Sedgwick, in one of her beautiful tales makes one of its youthful characters-as he stands upon

Table Rock, where all had been hushed into silence by the magnificent vision before them-exclaim"What is it, Mother, that makes us all so silent?" The reply is in part in the sublime words of the sacred historian-"It is in the spirit of God moving upon the face of the waters!" It is in this new revelation to our senses of his power and majesty which ushers us, as it were, into His visible presence, and exalts our affections above language." Well, indeed, might man be hushed before that glorious manifestation of the presence of his maker,-and when he has mused in silence, until he has caught the full import of the wondrous scene, he will prostrate his spirit in adoration and worship.

Stupendous, however, as is Niagara-ever-flowing, unwearied, unexhausted in its career, as seems that wondrous cataract-symbol, as I have called it, of the Eternal-how clear is it, that there is another thought upon the subject quite as striking and true. Stupendous as it is, it will have an end. Ever-flowing as is that rushing torrent, it will yet be hushed and gone. Symbol of eternity as it now appears, the symbol will fade before the reality. Nay, while I write, I feel that to us it may be a symbol of something of the deepest, personal interest;-of Time, ever-flowing ;—and we, we, are upon its current !

To some of us, it may be, so calmly and gently are we gliding on, that its soft and mirror-like surface scarce seems to be floating us away; but the rapids are before us, and each one in turn must pass, as do the successive drops which compose that mighty volume of waters, into the dark, deep gulf! How delighting, how cheering to the soul, that over that dark, deep gulf, has the Sun of Righteousness lighted up the rainbow of Hope!

FROM THE MARTYRDOM OF ST. PETER AND ST PAUL.

BEHOLD the forum's throng, the murm'ring street,

The bath, the bridge, the scenes where millions meet.
Each land has exiles there, for none is free;

All loathe the lords, as all have bowed the knee.
Numidia's swarthy son, subdued at length;
The blue-eyed German with his giant strength;
The graceful chiefs of some devoted host
That bled to guard their Britain's lovely coast;
The crouching form where lurks a bitter heart
That yet may teach how true the Parthian dart;
The Hebrew doomed a tenfold scorn to brook,

A tenfold anguish writhing in his look ;

All, all are here: nor theirs the pride to share,

Waked by this pomp of famed, and grand, and fair:
Their's but to plod the way of wily gain,

Or curse the arts that forged and decked the chain.

And wish one equal day one equal field,

Where nought should win, but lance, and sword and shield.

In joy returned from wars of distant lands,

Marked by his scars, the legion's veteran stands ;
The tall pretorian nods his helm of pride,
The massy pavement ringing to his stride;
Solemn and slow, the stately priests ascend,
In worship not their own to strike or bend ;
The patient sculptor wakes to gradual view
Ideal forms and dreams not all untrue;

The expecting crowd surround the patron's gate;
The morning chariot rolls in gilded state ;
The light buffoon with idle jibe and jest,

Scans the nerved athlet's mighty arm and chest ;
Morn warms with life the city's utmost vein,

And every passion holds its wonted reign.

O'er the vast throng a brief, deep silence sank;

From the fallen prey astonished vengeance shrank;

Then, hoarse and faint, arose the heartless call,

"So let the foes of Rome and Cæsar fall!"

Alone stood Simon :

*

*

Round his torn limbs the sevenfold bands they wound,