which have come and gone, on which the eye of man has never rested, each was as fair and complete as if made to live forever for our instruction and delight.

Freedom, and order, and beauty, and grandeur, are in accordance with his mind, and give largeness and height to his thoughts, he moves amongst the bright clouds, he wanders away into the measureless depth of the stars, and is touched by the fire with which God has lighted them-all that is made partakes of the eternal, and religion becomes a perpetual pleasure.

Scene at Niagara.-Miss SEDGWICK.

THE vehement dashing of the rapids; the sublime falls the various hues of the mass of waters; the snowy whiteness and the deep bright green; the billowy spray that veils in deep obscurity the depths below; the verdant island that interposes between the two falls half veiled in a misty mantle, and placed there, it would seem, that the eye and the spirit may repose on it; the little island on the brink of the American fall, that looks, amidst the commotion of the waters, like the sylvan vessel of a woodland nymph gayly sailing onward, or as if the wish of the Persian girl were realized, and the "little isle had wings," a thing of life and motion that the spirit of the waters had inspired.

The profound caverns, with their overarching rocks; the quiet habitations along the margin of the river,-peaceful amid all the uproar, as if the voice of the Creator had been heard, saying, “It is I; be not afraid;" the green hill, with its graceful projections, that skirts and overlooks Table Rock; the deep and bright verdure of the foliage-every spear of grass that penetrates the crevices of the rocks, gemmed by the humid atmosphere, and sparkling in the sunbeams; the rainbow that rests on the mighty torrent-a symbol of the smile of God upon his wondrous work.

"What is it, mother?" asked Edward, as he stood with his friends on Table Rock, where they had remained gazing on the magnificent scene for fifteen minutes

without uttering a syllable, "what is it, mother, that makes us all so silent?"

"It is the spirit of God moving on the face of the waters; it is this new revelation to our senses of his power and majesty, which ushers us, as it were, into his visible presence, and exalts our affections above language. What, my dear children, should we be, without the religious sentiment that is to us as a second sight, by which we see, in all this beauty, the hand of the Creator; by which we are permitted to join in the hymn of nature; by which, I may say, we are permitted to enter into the joy of our Lord? Without it, we should be like those sheep, who are at this moment grazing on the verge of this sublime precipice, alike unconscious of all these wonders, and of their Divine Original. This religious sentiment is, in truth, Edward, that Promethean fire, that kindles nature with a living spirit, infuses life and expression into inert matter, and invests the mortal with immortality." Mrs. Sackville's eye was upraised, and her countenance illumined with a glow of devotion that harmonized with the scene. "It is, my dear children," she continued, "this religious sentiment, enlightened and directed by reason, that allies you to external nature, that should govern your affections, direct you pursuits, exalt and purify your pleasures, and make you feel, by its celestial influence, that the kingdom is within you: but," she added, smiling, after a momentary pause, "this temple does not need a preacher."

Procession of Nuns in a Catholic Hospital.—
MISS FRANCIS.

Ir was autumn,—and the earth, as if weary of the vanities of her children, was rapidly changing her varied and gorgeous drapery for robes as sad and unadorned as those of the cloister The tall and almost leafless trees stood amid black and mouldering stumps, like giants among the tombstones: the faint murmuring voice of the St. Lawrence was heard in the distance, and the winds rustled among the leaves, as if imitating the sound of its waters.

The melancholy that we feel when gazing on natural scenes in the vigour of young existence, is but pleasure in a softened form. It has none of the bitterness, none of that soul-sickening sense of desolation, which visits us in our riper years, when we have had sad experience of the jarring interests, the selfish coldness, and the heartless caprice of the world. A rich imagination, like the transparent mantle of light, which the Flemish artists delight to throw around their pictures, gives its own glowing hues to the dreariness of winter and the sobriety of autumn, as well as to the freshness of spring and the verdure of summer; and, if the affections are calm and pure, forests and streams, sky and ocean, sunrise and twilight, will always bring deep, serene, and holy associations. Under the influence of such feelings, our young traveller entered Quebee, just as the rays of the declining sun tinged the windows and spires with a fiery beam, and fell obliquely on the distant hills in tranquil radiance. At the sign of St. George and the Dragon, the horse made a motion to pause; and, thus reminded of the faithful creature's extreme fatigue, he threw the bridle over his neck, and gave him into the care of a ragged hostler, who in bad French demanded his pleasure. In the same language his hostess gave her brief salutation, “A clever night to ride, please your honour."

Percival civilly replied to her courtesy, and gave orders for supper. The inn was unusually crowded and noisy; and, willing to escape awhile from the bustling scene, he walked out into the city. The loud ringing of the cathedral bells, summoning the inhabitants to evening prayer, and the rolling of drums from the neighbouring garrison, were at variance with the quietude of his spirit. He turned from the main street, and rambled along until he reached the banks of the little river St. Charles, about a mile westward from the town. He paused before the extensive and venerablelooking hospital, founded by M. de St. Valliere, the second bishop of Quebec. The high, steep roof, and the wide portals, beneath which various images of the saints were safely ensconced in their respective niches, were indistinctly seen in the dimness of twilight; but a rich gush of sound

from the interior of the building poured on the ear, mingling the deep tones of the organ with woman's sweetest melody.

All that painting and music, pomp and pageantry, can do to dazzle the imagination and captivate the heart, has ever been employed by that tremendous hierarchy, "whose roots were in another world, and whose far-stretching shadow awed our own." At this time, the effect was increased by that sense of mystery so delightful to the human soul. "Ora, ora pro nobis," was uttered by beings seclueed from the world, taking no part in the busy game of life, and separated from all that awakens the tumult of passion and the eagerness of pursuit. How, then, could fancy paint them otherwise than lovely, placid and spotless? Had Percival been behind the curtain during these sanctified dramas, had he ever searched out the indolence, the filth and the profligacy, secreted in such retreats, the spell that bound him would have been broken; but it had been riveted by early association, and now rendered peculiarly delightful by the excited state of his feelings. Resigning himself entirely to its dominion, he inquired of one who stood within the door, whether it was possible for him to gain admittance.

The man held out his hand for money, and, having received a livre, answered, "Certainly, sir. You must be a stranger in Quebec, or you would know that there is to be a procession of white nuns to-night, in honour of M. de St. Valliere." So saying, he led the way into the building.

An old priest, exceedingly lazy in his manner, and monotonous in his tone, was reading mass, to which most of the audience zealously vociferated a response.

An arch, ornamented with basso relievo figures of the saints on one side of the chancel, surmounted a door which apparently led to an interior chapel; and beneath a similar one, on the opposite side, was a grated window shaded by a large, flowing curtain of black silk.

Behind this provoking screen were the daughters of earth, whom our traveller supposed to be as beautiful as angels, and as pure.

For some time a faint response, a slight cough, or a deepdrawn sigh, alone indicated the vicinity of the seraphic beings.

At length, however, the mass, with all its thousand ceremonies, was concluded. There was silence for a moment, and then there was heard one of the low, thrilling chants of the church of Rome.

There was the noise of light, sandalled feet. The music died away to a delicious warbling, faint, yet earnest; then gradually rising to a bold, majestic burst of sound, the door on the opposite side opened, and the sisterhood entered amid a glare of light.

That most of them were old and ugly passed unnoticed; for whatever visions an enthusiastical imagination might have conjured up, were certainly realized by the figure that preceded the procession.

Her forehead was pale and lofty,-her expression proud, but highly intellectual. A white veil, carelessly pinned about her brow, fell over her shoulders in graceful drapery; and, as she glided along, the loose, white robe, that constituted the uniform of her order, displayed to the utmost advantage that undulating outline of beauty, for which the statues of Psyche are so remarkable.

A silver crucifix was clasped in her hands, and her eyes were steadily raised towards heaven; yet there was something in her general aspect, from which one would have concluded that the fair devotee had never known the world, rather than that she had left it in weariness or disgust. Her eye happened to glance on our young friend as she passed near him; and he fancied it rested a moment with delighted attention.

The procession moved slowly on in pairs, the apostles bearing waxen lights on either side, until the last white robe was concealed behind an arch at the other end of the extensive apartment.

The receding sounds of "O sanctissima, O purissima," floated on the air mingled with clouds of frankincense; and the young man pressed his hand to his forehead with a bewildered sensation, as if the airy phantoms of the magic lantern had just been flitting before him. A notice from