And now I tarried at Niagara, wonderful, sublime Niagara—­

——­“Speaking in voice of thunder Eternally of God—­bidding the lips of man Keep silence, and upon the rocky altar, pour Incense of sweet praise.”

Rambling along the shore of Iris Island, every step presenting a new scene, impressing the mind with the greatness of God and the insignificance of man, while “the voice of many waters” proclaimed to erring reason “there is a God:”  also, here, under the shade of a noble oak, in full view of the great Cataract, sat a small group of ladies; in their midst, a gentle girl reading aloud from one of the many works that “charm the greedy reader on, till done, he tries to recollect his thoughts and nothing finds—­but dreamy emptiness.”  I lingered, and learned this was the tale of a young authoress, whose writings are now winning golden opinions from a portion of our religious press.  Yet how unsuitable the place for delighting in the extravagant and improbable blending of truth and fiction, though it may have a moral and religious under-current.  At the side of that young reader sat her mother.  The favorable moments for impressing that immortal mind committed to her guardianship, with right views of the Infinite Supreme, were swiftly passing away, the opportunity of awakening in her young heart while beholding His wonderful work emotions of humility and reverence was alike forgotten; with the daughter just entering upon womanhood she gave all thought and feeling, alone to the ideal.  Could I have aroused that parent to a sense of her obligations, of her neglected opportunities, of the priceless value of her child’s soul, stranger though I was, I would have earnestly besought her, to take away that romance, to step with her to the point but just before them—­open the “Book of books,” and let her read of Him “who hath measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, and meted out heaven with a span; who hath compassed the waters with bounds until the day and night come to an end; whose way is in the sea, and his path in the great waters.  The Lord, whose name alone is excellent, his glory above the earth and heaven.”

THETA.

* * * * *

Original.

TO MY FATHER,

AFTER A WRECK OF FORTUNE, AND IN A FOREIGN LAND.

  All gone—­yet ’mid this heavy loss
    A ray of light behold;
  If thou art parted with the dross,
    There’s left for thee the gold.

  A name unsullied—­conscience clear,
    From aught that man can prove;
  And, what must be to thee most dear,
    Thy children’s changeless love.

  The visions of the world so fair
    Are fading from our sight;
  Yet hope sinks not in vain despair,
    But points to one more bright.

  Oh, may misfortune’s chilling blight,
    But bind us closer here,
  Till we behold the dawning light
    Of yonder blessed sphere.