ledged to be a natural endowment and blessing of God-a thing desirable, which all men take complacency in, which renders persons gracious and acceptable in the eyes of others, of which yet we do not observe that brute beasts take any notice at all of this I shall observe: that outward beauty is a sign of inward, and that handsome persons are naturally well inclined till they do either debauch themselves or are corrupted by others, and then with their manners they mar their beauty

too.

No better cosmetics than a serene temperance and purity, a real and unaffected modesty and humility, a gracious temper and calmness of spirit, a sincere and universal charity; no true beauty without the signatures of these graces in the very countenance. They, therefore, who through the contrary vices do deface and blot out this natural character and impress and do violence to their own inclinations, that sacrifice this jewel to their lusts, that reject this gift of God and undervalue the favor of man, aggravate their sin and misery.

So use the body as to preserve the health and vigor, and consequently produce the life of it. These are things that all men covet. No more effectual means for the maintenance and preservation of them than a regular and virtuous life. That health is impaired by vice daily experience sufficiently evinceth; I need not spend time to prove what no man doth or can deny. And, as for length of days, we find by the same experience that intemperate and disorderly persons are, for the most part, short-lived. Moreover, immoderate cares and anxiety are observed suddenly to bring gray hairs upon men,

which are usually the signs and forerunners of death. And, therefore, the way to live long must needs be in all points to use our bodies so as is most agreeable to the rules of temperance and purity and right reason. reason. Every violence offered to it weakens and impairs it and renders it less durable and lasting. One means there is which physicians take notice of as very effectual for the preservation of health which I cannot here omit—that is, a quiet and cheerful mind not afflicted with violent passions or distracted with immoderate cares; for these have a great and ill influence upon the body. Now, how a man can have a quiet and cheerful mind under a great burthen and load of guilt I know not, unless he be very ignorant or have a seared conscience. It concerns us, therefore, even upon this account, to be careful of our conversation, and to keep our consciences void of offence both toward God and toward men.

JOHN RAY.

THE CATARACT OF NIAGARA. FROM THE FRENCH OF FRANCOIS AUGUSTE CHATEAUBRIAND.

WE

E arrived at the brink of the cataract, which had before announced itself by a terrible roar. It is formed by the river Niagara, which unites Lake Erie and Lake Ontario. The height of the fall is one hundred and forty-four feet; from Lake Erie to the precipice the descent is quite rapid, and at the moment of the fall it is less a river than a sea whose whelming torrents press together as if into the hungry mouth of a great gulf. The cataract is divided into two branches, and is bent like a horseshoe. Between the two falls is a small island, which

hangs with all its trees over the chaos of waters. The volume of the river which is precipitated at the south is rounded into a vast cylinder, and then unrolls itself into a sheet of snow shining in the sunlight with every variety of color. That which falls at the east descends in a frightful shadow; one might fancy a column of water from the ancient deluge. A thousand rainbows curve and mingle in the abyss. The wave, as it strikes the quivering rock, is thrown back in whirlwinds of foam, which rise higher than the forest, like the smoke of a vast furnace. Pines, chestnuts, rocks cut into fantastic forms, are the decorations of the scene. Eagles borne along by the current of air descend whirling into the bottom of the gulf, where also are often found the broken carcases of elks and bears.

Translated from "LE GENIE DU CHRISTIANISME."

the bite of an adder, within its walls; the poets love to sing the adventures of the Persian prince who delivered the imprisoned beauty on a night of storm when there was no telltale moon to reveal the enterprise to jealous guards and watchful eunuchs, and when the wild waves of the Propontis were lashing themselves to foam against the rocky shores of Asia, while the hoarse gusts which swept down from the Black Sea, driving the current of the Bosphorus madly before them, swelled the midnight diapason and were sweeter than the voice of the bûlbûl of Nishapor in the ears of the lovers.

But neither has the sober historian passed it by, and, pretty and fanciful as may be the fables which we have quoted, we are bound in our turn to treat the subject more gravely, and to admit that the island-fortress owed its erection to a more rational impulse than obedience to a wild dream or the desire to counteract a still wilder prophecy.

The square tower now known as the Guz Couli was, it is stated, originally built by the emperor Manuel for the purpose of communicating with the point of coast occupied by the Serai Bournou by means of an iron chain, which on the approach of a hostile fleet was drawn across the whole mouth of the strait, protecting both the harbor and the channel from the occupancy of the intruders. No other trace of this ingenious expedient now remains, however, and the historian is consequently as traditional as the poet; nor do the Turks appear to be at all aware that the Guz Couli was ever appropriated to such a use

to them it is now a plague-hospital, and nothing more-while many European travellers, full of old associations, combine the pe