The path from the staircase in an opposite direction from that we took leads to a deep recess in the rocks called the Cave of the Winds; they were breaking away a projection of the rock to effect a passage underneath the American fall, not subterraneous, but sub-aquatic (if there be such a word), quite through to the other side. After ascending we came to the west side of the island, next the Horse-shoe; they have here built a bridge about thirty rods in length, and jutting directly ten feet over the dreadful chasm below; a tower thirty-five feet high is erected near the end of the bridge upon a rock which supports the timbers of the bridge. It is called "Sam Patch's Tower," and with a feeling of dread at our own temerity we went to the top of it. It is a fearful place, too high, too daring for impotent man to have built. It is thought by many that the top is the best place for feeling the full grandeur of Niagara; but I found none so much so as the end of the bridge, where, wrapped in clouds of spray, and the water thundering under your feet, you feel embodied with the cataract. Here we first saw a rainbow (or rather a number of rainbows), for the sun, which had been obscured all the morning, now burst forth in all its splendor and completed the glory of the scene, and my highest anticipations were more than gratified: Niagara far exceeded my expectations. After remaining here about an hour, we took the path leading quite round the island. There are several interesting places to be found here, a number of small islands and beautiful cascades; the view of the rapids from the extremity of the island is very grand--it is almost impossible to give a proper idea of them. They commence about three miles above, and from that to the cataract the river makes a descent of about fifty feet, and, instead of running smoothly and swiftly down, the water is hurried over an uneven surface of immense rocks, till foaming and boiling it is tossed over the immense precipice. We passed on our return the place supposed to have been an Indian burying-ground, a most sublime spot for that purpose, and one of a thousand proofs of the inherent poetry of nature. We returned to the toll-house to rest, and were quite interested in looking over a large collection of Indian workmanship here exposed for sale-belts, bags, pouches, etc., etc. Miss Watson and myself each bought a pair of moccasins, and had our names written in the list-book of travelers.

There is a very large paper-mill here, which we also visited, and bought (as a rarity) some of the paper made at Niagara, and then left that lovely spot to return to dinner; dined, and then away to the Canada shore. Father invited a Mr. Ansley, a young gentleman from New Brunswick, to join our party, as we had been fellow-travelers from New York. We made all haste down the ferry-steps, but the boat left just as we were

down, and we had to wait its return, which gave us time to look at the falls from this place: they are very, very fine; you have a side view of the American fall and a front view of the Horse-shoe. We saw some young ladies seated on the steps who were afraid to cross the river, although their father was urging them and reasoning with them on their foolish timidity. But as we had no fears we embarked in our frail vessel, and in spite of the impetuous current were quickly rowed over to the Canada side. The ascent to the top of the bank is by a tolerably good road, though rather steep, which is far preferable to those long, enclosed steps, which are very fatiguing and seem insecure. We had to walk about a quarter of a mile to reach Table Rock, so famous as being the great point of view to which all desire to go; and, indeed, it fully repays one for the exertion required. It is not that the Crescent fall appears more magnifi cent from this place, but you here have a view of the whole-the immense fall on the American side, seen nowhere else to so great advantage; the beautiful and luxuriant island, looking like an emerald set among diamonds, is directly before you, and the vast bend of the Crescent fall which seems retiring within its glory; all in connection are spread before you there. Let no one say she has fully seen Niagara till she has stood on Table Rock and felt the flood of admiration too strong for utterance. Miss Watson and myself had promised each other that we would certainly descend and pass under the sheet of water; but as father did not feel able to go with us he rather discouraged our going, and we delayed sometime making inquiries of the guide about it. Mr. Ansley promised to be our escort so, getting father's consent, we retired to make our toilet for the dripping naiad to whom we were to be presented; and surely two more grotesque looking figures were never seen before. We disrobed ourselves. of every article of our own apparel, and having a long, loose dress given us, over which we put an oil-skin frock-coat, girt with a stout girdle, a tarpaulin hat on our heads, with woolen stockings and thick boots, we were ready for starting. Our appearance was so ridiculous that we could scarcely get ready to go, for laughing at one another. Just as we were leaving our dressing-room a young lady from New York, who arrived when we did, came to get ready. She started back on perceiving us, not recognizing us at all, but, hearing our laugh, she came forward and enjoyed it as much as ourselves. We waited for her and her father, who was also going, when we descended the long, interminable staircase, on our novel and perilous adventure. After proceeding a short distance by ourselves, the guide took Miss Watson by the hand, gave me in charge to Mr. Ansley, and the young lady to her father, and we passed on, one behind the

other, till we reached the entrance to the passage. Here the water and spray dashed over us with so much violence as almost to stifle us, but by keeping the head inclined downwards we soon passed through, and found ourselves in comparatively a dry place. But the young lady was so much frightened that she returned and did not enter. I turned round to look for her, and in so doing the wind took off my hat and carried it some distance behind. It was such a serious evil to part with it, that I let go my companion's hand and turned back to pick it up, which I did in triumph at my self-possession. After walking about a hundred and fifty feet the guide stopped, and, seating us on a small projection of the rock to take breath, he bade us remark the great rush of wind from the chasm below. It was perfectly astonishing. The blast was irregular, but so violent that it would force a heavy body upwards; indeed, it is in this the guide places his best security. There was a yellowish green light which enabled us to see very well, and the noise, though thundering, and jarring every sense, did not prevent our voices from being heard by each other. After two or three minutes the guide took us separately to the farthest pos sible step on the rock, where he cautioned us not to look up; but my desire to do so was so strong that I said: "Oh, I must, I must look up! and surely such a sight I shall never be permitted to see again. It is impossible to describe it: the variety of color that the water exhibited; the snow-white mountains of foam which passed through it, pouring as if it were from the heavens; the awful, awful rock which projected far above over our heads, looking like the blackness of despair-all presented such a spectacle as only the most vivid imagination, picturing the horrors of the last day, can equal. I was aroused from such thoughts by the guide, who reminded me that it was imprudent to stay too long in so dense an atmosphere. So joining Miss Watson and Mr. Ansley, who were a few paces off, we made our way out, taking another shower bath as we made our exit. The air underneath the water is very oppressive and slightly impregnated with sulphur, so that it was quite a relief to get out in a fresh, pure atmosphere. The path on which you walk is shelving and jagged and broken, not slippery as I feared, but free from any danger of slipping or losing your footing. On coming out I looked up and saw father on Table Rock looking over in some anxiety at our long stay. We hastened up to our dressing-room, feeling really refreshed from our bath, where we found some ladies animated by our example prepared to descend. We hastened out to the rock to look at their progress. We soon saw them below, looking like so many pigmies-five or six gentlemen accompanying them-though it was impossible at the distance to distin

guish them apart; but, like the other young lady, they had scarcely got wetted, before they drew back in fear, and the gentlemen entered by themselves. Indeed, the guide said (which I suppose we consider flattering) that there had not been a lady there since Mrs. Butler [Mrs. Kemble] who had exhibited the fortitude and courage that we had. It was now getting late, and as we were very much fatigued we declined going to the museum and collection of natural curiosities found at Niagara, which I believe are well worth seeing, and we started on our return. But seeing the boat had just put off with a party we sat down on the bank to take a last look at the falls. Miss Watson commenced sketching the Crescent fall and Goat Island. The sun was quite low, and the bow reflected on the spray was in consequence much higher than at midday; and as I looked I no longer wondered at the former, or indeed the proper, name for the island-Iris Island-for the two rainbows, one from the American and the other from the Horse-shoe, completely encircled it and at that hour gave it the appearance of a fairy palace built in the clouds. It was perfectly enchanting! The lovely scene, the noise of the waters, the gentle breeze, the hum of happy voices-all lulled the mind to such a sweet dream of happiness that it was with sighs of regret that we were forced to leave it. The view from the middle of the river is very fine, and would perhaps be the best place for an artist to choose for making a sketch of the whole cataract. After tea we went to the music-room, and finding it unoccupied, Miss Watson gave, or would have given, me some delightful music, but the piano was cracked and most wretchedly out of tune, so we soon gave it up and went to our room. Miss Watson retired early, but I, though quite as much inclined to sleep, was obliged, according to promise, to write to some of my friends in New York; after finishing my letters I leaned from the window and listened to the roar of waters.

July 22, Wednesday. Rose early and sealed my letters, which father put in the mail-bag. After breakfast he told us that we were to start at twelve, as he had engaged seats in the stage for Buffalo; so with feelings quite sad that we were to go so soon, we hastened to Goat Island that we might once more ramble over its lovely walks. We visited the tower, bridge, and every other scene that we found interesting, and I returned to the toll-house completely laden with spoils which I was taking as relics— stones, branches, roots, flowers-but I was forced to throw half of them away in the stream as we crossed, for it would have been impossible to carry them in the stage. And thus adieu to Niagara.

(Contributed by)

Robert A. Benton

MINOR TOPICS

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

HIS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY

On the 29th of August, just passed, the versatile writer who for upward of half a century has delighted his contemporaries with polished verse and satiric humor, and whose cheerful spirit has been a perpetual benefit to the human race, reached his eightieth birthday. It was as long ago as 1836 that he published his first volume of poems, which contained, among other sparkling gems which established his reputation, The Last Leaf, the closing lines of which are :

But Dr. Holmes has to this day kept all his faculties in such constant exercise, cultivating meanwhile that bright, healthy current of common-sense which shakes the cobwebs out of the system, that there is no probability of his ever "tottering" like the man in the poem, and causing a smile thereby. But who of us will ever cease to laugh with him while life remains? Mr. Lowell wrote truly of him, more than forty years ago, when he said in A Fable for Critics:

"You went crazy last year over Bulwer's New Timon;'

Why, if B., to the day of his dying, should rhyme on,
Heaping verses on verses, and tomes upon tomes,

He could ne er reach the best point and vigor of Holmes.
His are just the fine hands, too, to weave you a lyric
Full of fancy, fun, feeling, or spiced with satiric

In so kindly a measure, that nobody knows

What to do but e'en join in the laugh, friends or foes."

A writer in the Boston Transcript of August 28 says: "Judging from what a man accomplishes in life, it surprises no one to be told that Dr. Holmes is eighty