with as much joy as it ever felt at the sound of our national air, “Hail Columbia!” Our party returned to the hotel at sunset, all uniting in the opinion that it is impossible to anticipate too much of enjoyment at Niagara, so far as it respects the marvellous and beautiful in nature, and only regretting that we could not pass a month, instead of a day, with its scenes around us. A few hours, previous to our departure the following morning, were spent in exploring Goat Island, so far as our limited time would allow. ’Tis in sooth a “fairy isle,” lashed day and night by the untiring rapids, and affording various and beautiful views of the great cataract it divides. The luxuriant foliage of its majestic trees shelters the admirer of the scenes around from the noonday heat, and the odors from its garden of flowers regale his senses the while. We bade a reluctant adieu to Niagara, calling to mind all the imaginations that the heart had devised—all the descriptions we had heard from others’ lips—but with the words of “the Queen of the East” on our own, “_The half was not told me_.” By way of concluding this imperfect sketch, we add some few lines, which were written in despite of a resolution most religiously _made_ against such a presumptive measure; for, somehow or other, the humblest, as well as the loftiest pen, will attempt in numbers to express the _un_numbered thoughts and “strange, which crowd into the brain” at Niagara. And while this prince of cataracts flows on, its terrific beauties will be still the oft-told but unspent theme of the “spirit-stirring muse.” NIAGARA. “How dreadful is this place!” for God is here! His name is graven on th’ eternal rocks, As with an iron pen and diamond’s point: While their unceasing floods his voice proclaim, Oft as their thunder shakes the distant hills. O! if the forest-trees, which have grown old In viewing all the wonders of this scene, Do tremble still, and cast to earth their leaves— Familiar as they are with things sublime— Shall not the timid stranger here unloose His sandals, ere he treads on “holy ground,” And bow in humble worship to his God? For unto such as do approach with awe This bright creation of th’ Immortal Mind, Methinks there comes, amid the deafening roar Of “many waters,” yet “a still, small voice,” Which saith, “Ye children of the dust, fear not— Know that this God, this awful God, is _yours_!” Yes, here have wrath and peace together met— Justice and Mercy sweetly have embraced; For, o’er the terrors of the angry floods, The bow of promise and of beauty hangs: When in the sunbeams, with its matchless hues, Or as a silver arch on evening’s brow, Saying, “God’s works are marvellous and great, But ah! when understood, his name is Love.” Cedar Brook, Plainfield, N. J. * * * * *