REMEMBER once riding from Buffalo to the Niagara Falls. I said to a gentleman, "What river is that, sir?" "That," he said, "is Niagara river." "Well, it is a beautiful stream," said I, "bright and fair and glassy; how far off are the rapids?" "Only a mile or two," was the reply. "Is it possible that only a mile from us we shall find the water in the turbulence which it must show near to the Falls?" "You will find it so, sir." And so I found it; and the first sight of Niagara I shall never forget. Now, launch your bark on that Niagara river; it is bright, smooth, beautiful and glassy. There is a ripple at the bow; the silver wake you leave behind adds to the enjoyment. Down the stream you glide, oars, sails and helm in proper trim, and you set out on your pleasure excursion. Suddenly some one cries out from the bank, 'Young men, ahoy!" "What is it?" 66 The rapids are below you." "Ha! ha! we have heard of the rapids, but we are not such fools as to get there. If we go too fast, then we shall up with the helm and steer for the shore; we will set the mast in the socket, hoist the sail and speed to the land. Then on, boys; don't be alarmed-there is no danger." 66 "Young men, ahoy there!" "What is it?" "The rapids are below you!" "Ha ha! we will laugh and quaff; all things delight us. What care we for the future! No man ever saw it. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. We will enjoy life while we may; will catch pleasure as it flies. This is enjoyment; time enough to steer out of danger when we are sailing swiftly with the current.' Young men, ahoy!" "What is it?" "Beware! Beware! The rapids are below you!" Now you see the water foaming all around. See how fast you pass that point! Up with the helm! Now turn! Pull hard! quick! quick! quick! pull for your lives! pull till the blood starts from the nostrils, and the veins stand like whip-cords upon your brows! Set the mast in the socket! hoist the sail!-ah! ah! it is too late! Shrieking, cursing, howling, blaspheming, over they go. Thousands go over the rapids every year through the power of habit, crying all the while, "When I find out that it is injuring me I will give it up! JOHN B. GOUGH. THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. NDER a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, His hair is crisp and black and long; His brow is wet with honest sweat, Week in, week out, from morn till night, And children coming home from school, He goes on Sunday to the church, He hears the parson pray and preach; And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, He needs must think of her once more, Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Something attempted, something done, Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. HE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, fold, And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still! And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen; Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath flown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast. And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, IFE bears us on like the current of a mighty river. Our boat at first glides down the narrow channel, through the playful murmurings of the little brook and the windings of its grassy borders. The trees shed their blossoms over our young heads; the flowers on the brink seem to offer themselves to our young hands; we are happy in hope, and we grasp eagerly at the beauties around us; -but the stream hurries on, and still our hands are empty. Our course |