plunge." If the Detroit drew eighteen feet in ordinary water, no doubt she dipped at least two feet extra in her frantie pitches when going

over.

We will now, if you please, descend still lower, and go behind that nearest sheet of water. Take me as your guide, fear nothing, and pay nothing; take a professional guide, and you will, at the risk of your life, pay a dollar and see nothing.

Now we are completely shut in from the outer world: the black rock is behind us, the deep tawny water before us. Like a thick heavy curtain it encloses us-not a glimpse of sky can we see; a lurid light tinges but cannot penetrate the dense mass of water in front of us. Look up! A hundred feet above your head an avalanche of water is thundering into the unfathomable gulf sixty feet beneath you, where volumes of dark vapour wreathe and toss like vexed spirits.

It is an awful and a terrible sight behind that sheet of water; one never to be forgotten, never to be described. How little you appear in your own eyes as you gaze on that grand and terrible scene! what an atom you are in creation! What is the wrath, the power, the might of man to that on which you are now looking? Were Ab Lincoln and Jeff Davis to stand side by side behind that sheet of water, surely they would shake hands and be friends, or would they strive to push each other in? It is hard to say, for man has little method in his madness. Well, at all events here is a grave big enough for both their armies, at your feet-ay, a grave for the whole human race. And that falling and flowing tide will still flow on, ever and always on and on, till the earth is again "void and without form," and the waters shall no longer "be divided from the waters," but with earth and sky be once again mingled into one mass of chaotic confusion. Ay, and standing within that watery shroud, the raging vortex beneath and the raging torrent above, shut in, surrounded, overwhelmed by water, water, water-not a glimpse of sky, scarcely a trace of earth, stunned by the uproar, blinded by the mist-one well might fancy that the world was indeed breaking up, and returning to the chaos of creation. I have said that a guide behind the Falls is useless, inasmuch as you see nothing when you get them. No one, however, told me this, but the contrary, namely, "that the grandest sight at Niagara is behind the Falls." And so it is, as I have shown, but not where the guide takes you. In happy ignorance of what was to happen, I donned a suit of oilskin, and followed a black boy similarly attired. After passing the platform of rocks on which you have been standing for some time, kind sir, and beyond which, if you are wise, you will not venture, we proceeded along a wet, slippery ledge about fourteen inches in width. Suddenly the boy halted and turned his back to the perpendicular rock which rose up behind us. I did the same: my feet nearly spanned the ledge upon which I was standing; without leaning forward in the least, I could, had it been clear, have looked over the fearful precipice, for I was literally on its brink, down into the awful abyss at my feet. But I could see nothing, literally nothing-not even the water which roared above and wreathed below; a thick, impenetrable mist covered, obscured, darkened everything; fitful gusts of wind, caused by the tumult of falling water, ever and anon dashed the mist into my face, half blinding me, and, in spite of oilskins, quite wetting me. The

black boy placed his lips to my ear, and screamed into it, "Turn your face to the rock." I obeyed, and remained in that picturesque and profitable position for several minutes. At length, having had enough of the rock, against which I was apparently flattening my nose to small purpose, I, in my turn, placed my mouth to the black boy's ear, and bawled shrilly forth, "What is the use of staying here?" "Sometime mist clear off," shrieked the boy; but my credulity was exhausted, and I thought that the sooner I "cleared off" the better. Accordingly, I faced to the right, and shuffled along the ledge with my feet close together, slowly and cautiously, until I gained the platform you wot of, and I am free to confess that I breathed more freely when I reached the said platform.

The guide-book says: "We do not run much danger in going under the Falls if we are moderately careful; hundreds of ladies do so every year." It adds, however: "But accidents have happened more than once to reckless travellers." If by "going under the Falls" the guide-book means on to that platform behind the first sheet of water, it might have substituted "any" for "much," for there is not the slightest danger whatever, except from the falling of more Table Rock as you pass underneath it; but to say that there is not much danger in walking along a wet, slippery ledge of rock fourteen inches wide, with a perpendicular wall on your right hand and an unfathomable abyss on your left, is absurd. A false step, a slip, nay, one feeling of giddiness, one spasm of fear, would hurl you into eternity, from which you are separated by three or four inches of rock.

It is a question whether any sight, however wonderful, would authorise the fearful risk I have described; certainly no sight does not.

However, I have but stated facts and features as they appeared to me; the future visitor at Niagara can decide for himself which course to pursue.

I am, I own, enchanted with Niagara. I could spend weeks, nay months, upon the banks of that wonderful river, where the senses are now soothed and excited by the sylvan and romantic beauty of Goat Island and its attendant rapids—now appalled and subdued by the contemplation of the mighty cataract. It was with difficulty that we tore ourselves away from that lovely spot at the end of a week's sojourn there, and it is with difficulty that I stay my peu as fresh beauties arise before my mind's eye. I might speak of "The Burning Spring," where the water, being charged with sulphuretted hydrogen gas, takes fire when a light is applied to it, and of the beautifully wooded islands near the spring, connected by frail wooden bridges, which trembled as we stood to watch the rapids whirl past. I might tell of "the whirlpool" and the wild scenery around, of "the devil's hole," a gloomy chasm in the bank of the river, nearly two hundred feet deep, and of that small stream with the ill-omened name, which falls over the precipice overhanging the spot dedicated to the father of evil. Ay, and many, many more points of interest, both with and without names, could I touch on, for indeed the whole river teems with the beautiful and the sublime; but I fear I have already, for your patience, lingered too long on the banks of Niagara waters, and yet I must detain you a little while; I must tell you of my moonlight walk through Goat Island.

When the sun shines the solar bow is always to be seen laving its

crescent horns amidst the spray of the Falls, and very beautiful it is. But the lunar bow is only seen once a month, when the moon is full and high in the heavens. It was past ten o'clock when I left the Cataract Hotel (on the American side) to see the lunar bow. The moon had not yet risen sufficiently high to touch the Falls; I therefore strolled leisurely along, halting upon the bridge between Bath and Goat Island to watch the soft silvery light of the moon upon the foaming crests of the rapids. There is something inexpressibly lovely in moonlight, and moonlight on such a scene! The soft pale light, the dark shadows, the absence of colour, almost of form, in all you look on-rocks, trees, and houses massed together in deep gloom-the stillness of the air, and the roar of waters. Can you picture to yourself the effect of this rare and beautiful combination upon the eyes and senses?

At length I left the bridge, and soon found myself in utter darkness amidst the woods of Goat Island. The moon could not penetrate them, and it was literally "pitch dark." I had to grope my way along the path with extended arms to avoid running, or, I should say, walking against a tree, for assuredly I ran not. Presently I emerged into a broader path and a lighter region; here I found divers moon-stricken individuals of both sexes awaiting patiently the rising of the goddess they worshipped-with their eyes, at least as well they might, for she was indeed" a sweet and gentle laydie of a comelie countenance" on that

night.

I got into conversation with one of the party, an American gentleman, and amongst other things we talked of the accidents which had from time to time happened at the Falls, or, at all events, were reported to have happened.

"This place," I observed, "is so redolent of romance, and so suggestive of a catastrophe, that it becomes a great temptation to a bookespecially a guide-book-maker, to transform what may have, into what has happened."

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66

Very possibly," replied my acquaintance; "but, at all events, I can you of one that did happen, for I was here myself, and, what's more, it happened not many yards from where we are now standing."

We were close to the bridge leading to Luna Island, which is, as doubtless you forget, upon the brink of the American Falls, dividing the greater Fall from the lesser.

The American continued:

"The tale is soon told, and there is nothing in it to interest you more than in the accidents you read of, except that you may be certain that it is true, for, as I tell you, I was at the Falls when it happened. A lady and a gentleman were standing not twenty yards from where we now stand; the lady took a fancy to some flower that grew close to the water; the gentleman leaned forward to gather it for her, when his foot slipped and he fell into the stream; in vain he struggled to regain the land; the force of the current swept him rapidly towards the brink of the Falls. The lady, seeing his danger, with a scream of agony flung herself after him; in another instant they were both carried over."

"How dreadful! Were they young?" I asked.

They had not been married a week; they were spending their honeymoon here! But we'd best be moving towards the Horseshoe, for I guess the moon's about high enough now."

These tales, sad though they be, invest Niagara with a fearful interest, but to me fascinating as fearful. That the mighty waters of Niagara do exercise an influence over the minds of men as well as the bodies of trees I am convinced. Why, otherwise, was the desire to get ever nearer and nearer to the brink of the Falls, which always possessed me? To sit on the very edge, to dip my hand in the foaming flood as it poured over the rocks, to watch the smooth green water and the dark mists below, to listen to the never-ceasing thunder, and to feel the spray on my cheek, was this not fascination? When I reached the Horseshoe the moon was high in the heavens, and her bow was on the Falls. I crossed the bridge leading to the Terrapin Tower, and, standing upon the rocks at its base, I had a perfect view of the lunar bow. One extremity rested upon the edge of the Fall, whilst the other touched the river a hundred yards or more below the dark abyss of waters beneath. The lunar bow is nearly colourless, and perfectly transparent-so soft, so tender, so delicately lovely, it seems like an aerial cobweb floating in the mystic light of the moon; and yet, although so delicate, it is perfectly expressed; the form of the bow is complete and without a break. I have described moonlight upon the American Falls; I will not repeat the description, but merely observe that the effect was still grander upon the Horseshoe Falls, as may be imagined from their vast superiority in size.

Long did I gaze upon that wondrous scene, and unwillingly did I tear myself away. On just such a night as this did the pale moon look down upon "the white canoe" and the sacrifice she bore. This thought struck me as I halted a moment on my homeward path, and turned for one last lingering look at the singular and lovely scene I was quitting for ever. As I glanced my eye over the dark waters above the Falls, I might well fancy that I saw amongst the sparkling moonlit breakers "the white canoe" hurrying swiftly and silently to her doom. It is possible that you may not have heard the tale. I will repeat it: it is called

THE LEGEND OF THE WHITE CANOE.

In days of old, long before the deep solitudes of the West were disturbed by white men, it was the custom of the Indian warriors of the forest to assemble at the great cataract, and offer a human sacrifice to the Spirit of the Falls. The offering consisted of a white canoe full of ripe fruits and beautiful flowers, which was paddled over the terrible Falls by the fairest girl who had just arrived at the age of womanhood. It was counted an honour by the tribe to whose lot it fell to make the fearful sacrifice; and even the doomed maiden deemed it a high compliment to be selected to guide the white canoe on its hideous errand. But even in the stoical heart of the Red man there are feelings which cannot be subdued, and chords which snap if strained too tight.

The only daughter of a chief of the Seneca Indians was chosen as a sacrificial offering to the Spirit of Niagara. Her mother had been slain by a hostile tribe, and her father was the bravest amongst the warriors; his stern brow seldom relaxed save to his blooming child, who was now the only joy to which he clung on earth. When the lot of the doomed one fell on his beloved daughter not a muscle of his rigid countenance moved: in the pride of Indian endurance he crushed down the agony which rent his bosom. At length the fatal day arrives: savage festivi

ties and rejoicings are prolonged until the shades of evening close around, and the darkness of night falls like a pall upon that wild funeral feast.

But the pale beams of the rising moon cast a mystic light upon the dark waters higher and higher she rises in the still heavens, and the foam and the mists from the mighty Falls gleam with a soft and silvery light. Niagara thunders into the dark abyss, but all besides is in a calm repose; the Queen of Night stoops to kiss the laughing waves, and all Nature breathes of love, and peace, and happiness; the wild songs and the wilder whoops of the rejoicing savages suddenly cease; the dread moment has arrived, and a hush-an awful and mysterious hush-is upon the eager, listening crowd.

And now the white canoe glides from the bank, and is instantly swept into the fierce rapids. From this moment escape is hopeless. But the young girl dreams not of escape: calmly she steers her frail bark towards the centre of the stream, whilst frantic yells and deafening shouts of encouragement and approbation burst from the savages who line the banks. Suddenly another white canoe leaves the dark shade of the forest, and shoots forth upon the stream. A few powerful strokes from the paddle of the Seneca chief, and the canoes are side by side; the eyes of father and child meet in one last look of love, as together they plunge over the thundering cataract into Eternity!

Farewell, Niagara! So long as memory lasts, thy grandeur, thy legends, and thy loveliness, will be ever before me.

THE CAREER OF LOUVOIS.*

THE history of the minister Louvois occupies an important place in the political and military history of the first thirty years of Louis XIV.'s reign; his biographer, M. Camille Rousset, asserts, indeed, that it comprises that history itself.

Louvois, while founding the Depôt de la Guerre and the Invalides, was not only bequeathing a title to the gratitude of posterity, he was leaving behind him in the first a record of his official and even private life as it was spent hour by hour and day by day for thirty long years. It can be imagined what a mine of historical wealth the worthy professor of history at the Lycée Bonaparte found in these records! We have now before us the first two volumes of a "Histoire de Louvois," the one of 546, the other of 579 pages, and they only carry us up to the peace Nimeguen. The work is announced to be completed in two more. When we learn that M. de Louvois's correspondence from 1661 to 1691

of

* Histoire de Louvois et de son Administration, Politique et Militaire, jusqu'à la Paix de Nimègue. Par Camille Rousset, Professeur d'Histoire au Lycée Bonaparte. Two vols. Paris: Didier and Co.