ed the rigidity of iron; whilst his body, environed for so long a time by a coffin of stone, had borrowed from it a firm and compact habit. The narrow door of his tomb, turning upon its grating hinges, opened not as usual by halves, and an unknown voice announced his liberty, and bade him depart. 6. Believing this to be a dream, he hesitated; but at length rose up and walked forth with trembling steps, amazed at the space he traversed. The stairs of the prison, the halls, the court seemed to him vast, immense, and almost without bounds.

7. He stopped from time to time, and gazed around like a bewildered traveller. His vision was with difficulty reconciled to the clear light of day. He contemplated the heavens as a new object. His eyes remained fixed, and he could not even weep.

8. Stupified with the newly acquired power of changing his position, his limbs, like his tongue, refused in spite of his efforts, to perform their office. At length he got through the formidable gates.

9. When he felt the motion of the carriage which was prepared to transport him to his former habitation, he screamed out and uttered some inarticulate sounds; and as he could not bear this new movement, he was obliged to descend. Supported by a benevolent arm, he sought out the street where he had formerly resided; he found it, but no trace of his house remained; one of the public edifices occupied the spot where it had stood.

10. He now saw nothing which brought to his recollection either that particular quarter, the city itself, or the objects with which he was formerly acquainted. The houses of his nearest neighbours, which were fresh in his memory, had assumed a new appearance.

11. In vain were his looks directed to all the objects around him; he could discover nothing of which he had the smallest remembrance. Terrified, he stopped and fetched a deep sigh. To him what did it import, that the city was peopled with living creatures? None of them were alive to him; he was unknown to all the world, and he knew nobody; and whilst he wept he regretted his dungeon.

12. At the name of the Bastil, which he often pronounced and even claimed as an asylum, and the sight of his clothes which marked his former age, the crowd gathered around G

him; curiosity, blended with pity, excited their attention. The most aged asked him many questions, but had no remembrance of the circumstances which he recapitulated.

13. At length accident brought to his way an ancient domestic, now a superannuated porter, who, confined to his lodge for fifteen years, had barely sufficient strength to open the gate. Even he did not know the master he had served; but informed him that grief and misfortune had brought his wife to the grave thirty years before; that his children were gone abroad to distant climes, and that of all his relations and friends, none now remained.

14. This recital was made with the indifference which people discover for events long passed and almost forgotten. The miserable man groaned, and groaned alone. The crowd around offering only unknown features to his view, made him feel the excesses of his calamities, even more than he would have done in the dreadful solitude which he had left.

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15. Overcome with sorrow, he presented himself before the minister to whose humanity he owed that liberty which was now a burden to him. Bowing down, he said, “Restore me again to that prison from which you have taken me. cannot survive the loss of my nearest relations; of my friends; and in a word, of one whole generation. Is it possible in the same moment to be informed of this universal destruction, and not to wish for death?

16. "This general mortality, which to others come slowly and by degrees, has to me been instantaneous, the operation of a moment. Whilst secluded from society, I lived with myself only; but here I can neither live with myself, nor with this new race, to whom my anguish and despair appear only as a dream."

17. The minister was melted; he caused the old domestic to attend this unfortunate person, as only he could talk to him of his family.

18. This discourse was the single consolation which he received; for he shunned intercourse with the new race, born since he had been exiled from the world; and he passed his time in the midst of Paris in the same solitude as he had done whilst confined in a dungeon for almost half a century.

19. But the chagrin and mortification of meeting no person who could say to him, "We were formerly known to each other," soon put an end to his life.

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XX. A Description of the FALLS OF NIAGARA.

A MONG the many natural curiosities which this country affords, the cataract of Niagara is infinitely the greatest. In order to have a tolerable idea of this stupendous fall of water, it will be necessary to conceive that part of the country in which Lake Erie is situated, to be elevated above that which contains Lake Ontario, about 300 feet.

2. The slope which separates the upper and lower country is generally very steep, and in many places almost perpendicular. It is formed by horizontal strata of stone, great part of which is what we commonly call lime stone. The slope may be traced from the north side of Lake Ontario, near the bay of Teronto. round the west end of the lake; thence its direction is generally east, between Lake Ontario, and Lake Erie; it crosses the strait of Niagara, and the Cheneseco river; after which it becomes lost in the country towards the Seneka Lake.

3. It is to this slope that our country is indebted, both for the cataract of Niagara and the great falls of the Cheneseco. The cataract of Niagara, was formerly down at the northern side of the slope, near to that place which is now known by the name of the Landing; but from the great length of time, added to the great quantity of water, and distance which it falls, the solid stone is worn away, for about seven miles, up towards Lake Erie, and a chasm is formed which no person can approach without horror.

4. Down this chasm, the water rushes with a most astonishing velocity, after it makes the great pitch. In going up the road near this chasm, the fancy is constantly engaged in the contemplation of the most romantic and awful prospects imaginable, until, at length, the eye catches the falls; the imagination is instantly arrested, and you admire in silence! The river is about one hundred and thirty-five rods wide at the falls, and the perpendicular pitch one hundred and fifty feet.

5. The fall of this vast body of water produces a sound which is frequently heard at the distance of twenty miles, and a sensible tremulous motion in the earth for some rods round. A heavy fog or cloud is constantly ascending from the falls, in which rainbows may always be seen when the sun shines.

6. This fog, or spray, in the winter season, falls upon the neighbouring trees, where it congeals, and produces a most

beautiful chrystaline appearance. This remark is equally applicable to the falls of the Cheneseco,

7. The difficulty which would attend levelling the rapids in the chasm, prevented my attempting it; but I conjecture the water must descend at least sixty-five feet. The perpendicular pitch at the cataract is at least 150 feet; to these add fifty-eight feet, which the water falls in the last half mile, immediately above the falls, and we have two hundred and seventy-three feet, which the water falls in a distance of about seven miles and a half.

8. If either ducks or geese, inadvertently alight in the rapids, above the great cataract, they are incapable of getting on the wing again, and are instantly hurried on to destruction. There is one appearance at this cataract, worthy of some attention, and which I do not remember to have seen noted by any writer.

9. Just below the great pitch, the water and foam may be seen puffed up in spherical figures, nearly as large as common cocks of hay; they burst at the top, and project a column of spray to a prodigious height; they then subside and are succeeded by others, which burst in like manner. This appearance is most conspicuous about half way between the island that divides the falls, and the west side of the strait, where the largest column of water descends.

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XXI. Narrative of the captivity of Mrs. JEMIMA HOWE,taken by the Indians at Hinsdale, N. Hampshire, July 27, 1755. S Messrs. Caleb Howe, Hilkiah Grout, and Benjamin Gaffield, who had been hoeing corn in the meadow, west of the river, were returning home, a little before sunset, to a place called Bridgeman's Fort, they were fired upon by twelve Indians who had ambushed their path.

2. Howe was on horseback, with two young lads, his children, behind him. A ball, which broke his thigh, brought him to the ground. His horse ran a few rods and fell likewise, and both the lads were taken. The Indians in their savage manner, coming up to Howe, pierced his body with a spear, tore off his scalp, struck a hatchet in his head, and left him in this forlorn condition.

3. He was found alive the morning after, by a party of men from Fort Hinsdale; and being asked by one of the par

ty whether he knew him, he answered, Yes, I know you all. These were his last words, though he did not expire until after his friends had arrived with him at Fort Hinsdale. Grout was so fortunate as to escape unhurt.

4. But Gaffield in attempting to wade through the river, at a certain place, which was indeed fordable at that time, was unfortunately drowned. Flushed with the success they had met with here, the savages went directly to Bridgman's Fort. There was no man in it, and only three women and some children, Mrs. Jemima Howe, Mrs. Submit Grout, and Mrs. Eunice Gaffield.

5. Their husbands I need not mention again, and their feelings at this juncture I will not attempt to describe. They had heard the enemy's guns, but knew not what happened to their friends.

6. Extremely anxious for their safety, they stood longing to embrace them, until at length, concluding from the noise they heard without, that some of them were come, they unbarred the gate in a hurry to receive them; when lo! to their inexpressible disappointment and surprise, instead of their husbands, in rushed a number of hideous Indians, to whom they and their tender offsprings became an easy prey; and from whom they had nothing to expect, but either an im mediate death, or a long and doleful captivity.

7. The latter of these, by the favour of Providence, turned out to be the lot of these unhappy women, and their still more unhappy, because more helpless children. Mrs. Gaffield had but one, Mrs. Grout had three, and Mrs. Howe seven. The eldest of Mrs. Howe's was eleven years old, and the youngest but six months.

8. The two eldest were daughters, which she had by her first husband, Mr. William Phips, who was also slain by the Indians, of which I doubt not you have seen an account in Mr. Doolittle's history. It was from the mouth of this woman that I lately received the foregoing account. She also gave me, I doubt not, a true, though to be sure a very brief and imperfect history of her captivity, which I here insert for your perusal.

9. The Indians (she says) having plundered and put fire to the fort, we marched, as near as I could judge, a mile and a half into the woods, where we encamped that night. 10. When the morning came, and we had advanced as