sisters Blanche and Rose; and a telegraphic message regarding her health which was expected yesterday, but which did not arrive, has added to the uneasiness of the affectionate parents on account of their only child, and drawn away their regards from the great Niagara.
September.—My friends are in better heart. Yesterday came the telegraphic intelligence, “Mabel is well.” And after that a long letter from the amiable old father, Dr. Lowell, full of anecdotes of home, and the warm affectionate home-life. Yes, that is more than Niagara. But Niagara is now my best beloved.
Last evening, James and I—Maria had a cold, and could not venture out in the night air—went across to the Canadian side, and walked backwards and forwards as the sun descended. At every new bend or movement of that misty water-spirit it presented new forms of light. Still were the rainbows arched, like the airy bridge of Bifrost in the old Scandinavian mythology, the one over the other; still glowed the light like kisses of fire, brilliant with prismatic colours, upon the green waters in the abyss; it was an unceasing festival of light, perpetually changing and astonishingly beautiful. What life, what variations between earth and heaven! And as the sun sank, those splendid bridges arched themselves higher and higher aloft in the ascending mist. The pyramidal light red cloud floated in the pale blue heaven above the green Niagara, and around it; on the lofty shores stood the forest in its brilliant autumnal pomp, such as is only seen in the forests of America, and all was silent and still excepting the thunder of the waterfall, to the voice of which all things seemed to be listening.
September 9th.—In the morning of time, before man was yet created, Nature was alone with her Creator. The warmth of His love, the light of His eye awoke her to the consciousness of life; her heart throbbed with
