ages, without doubt, produced more misery among men than all the desolations of faction, the rapacity of military commanders, and the tyranny of kings combined. We need no American mandarins to wrest by legitimatized oppression that free, unbroken spirit from the great mass of citizens which must constitute the energy of the nation. Our republic, however, does recognize an order of Patricians, though it rises high above the region of factitious distinctions. Taking the monument for its emblem, the corner-stone of the order is virtue. The pedestal, intellect. The shaft, mental progress, and usefulness to man. The summit, grandeur, sublimity of character. It is composed of Franklins, Marshalls, WASHINGTONS, and the ascendancy of such Patricians is founded on the grateful appreciation of the people of eminent usefulness and exalted worth. If the Pisos, Antoniuses, and Scipios of Rome, together, with the swarming host of Europe's privileged characters shall fade even from the page of history, our WASHINGTON and FRANKLIN will live 'through the still lapse of ages,' with perpetual freshness in the minds of men. Such men need no commemorative column, sculptured with their deeds or lineage; and as Napoleon dated his patent of nobility from the battle of Monte Notte, so does theirs bear date with the commencement of their public usefulness. Turning once more to the Falls of Niagara. Our national boundary divides it, assigning a part to the British empire, thus forming a natural but most remarkable division, the centre of a raging river and a mighty fall. We can all cordially approve the poetical exclamation of a distinguished Englishman: 'Oh! may the wars that madden in thy deeps, There spend their rage, nor climb the encircling steeps; And till the conflict of the surges cease, The nations on thy banks repose in peace!' AQUARIUS. STANZAS TO A LADY. BY W. H. HERBERT I. How sweet the time, when morning's prime First brightens into day, And fields of dew from skies of blue Receive the glittering ray! II. More sweet the hour, when Passion's power First sways the yielding frame, And heart and soul, and mind and sense, Dissolve in Love's soft flame. III. Oh! sweet the light, that gilds the night From many a glorious star, And bright the beam, whose golden gleam The sun shoots forth afar! IV. But sweeter far than sun or star, The light of that dark eye, Whose dazzling glance and dreamy trance The shining spheres outvie. MOHAWK. A CLUSTER OF SONNETS TOUCHING THAT VALLEY. BY H. W. ROCKWELL. IV.