honour any christian city even at this period of infidelity, wealth, luxury and vice. The admirer of ancient glory, who tells us with enthusiasm of the virtues of Rome, is deceived by an empty name; falsely supposing that martial excellence is moral virtue; and that, as was thought at Rome, he is a man of preeminent merit who resists the allurement of a bribe.

Whenever the people become corrupt, they are more easily infected by the arts of demagogues, and more prone to revolutions. Rome was seldom entirely free. At one time a dictator, at another some powerful and profligate patrician swayed the rod of empire. The people were prodigal of their power, and obedient to the impulse of largesses and popular eloquence; how unlike the freemen of America, who know their rights and will long maintain them-whose morality rests on the firm basis of the christian faith, which allow to no man the commission of a favourite sin, but teaches him to reverence his God and be just, merciful, and benevolent to his neighbour.

R. S.

of murder by poison! The rape of the Sabine women, and the predatory valour of expatriated banditti were the foundation of the glory of Rome. No one thought of imputing any moral turpitude to rapine, robbery, and murder. "Hitherto (says Florus) the Romans were excellent, pious, holy and magnificent." Lib. 11. cap. xix.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO-ORIGINAL POETRY.

When Mr. Cooke was on the eve of finishing his late engagement on the Philadelphia stage, some of his friends were desirous that he should, on the last night, take leave of the audience in an appropriate address, in order that he might receive, in the form of a testimentary epitome, those valedictory marks of applause, to which he was so amply entitled, and which they were so universally anxious to bestow. The following lines were prepared for the occasion. And though we understand that Mr. Cooke highly approved of them, yet, for reasons quite satisfactory, he declined delivering them. They are now published with a view to make known, and perpetuate the sentiments entertained by that great actor-that modern Roscius, with respect to the people of the United States, particularly in relation to the citizens of Philadelphia.

WHILE from Erin remote, where an infant I've play'd,
And remote from the white-clifft Britannia, I roam,
IN THIS FREEDOM-BLEST CLIME, where a stranger I've stray'd
I have found all the sweets and endearments of home.

I have found Truth and Friendship ennobling the mind,
In the soul I have found hospitality's glow,
Wit, Learning, and Taste, brilliant, deep, and refin'd,
With all that from Science and Virtue can flow.

Nor unjust let me be to the fame of the Fair,

To that beauty so radiant that breaks on my sight, Which might light up a smile on the brow of Despair, As it sparkles around like the gems of the night

Such charms have I found in sweet unison join'd,
Through the land where my wandering footsteps have led,
From the lofty, whose brows are with honours entwin'd,
To the lowly, who tenant the cottage or shed.

But to me here* the choicest of treasures I've found,
That treasure my soul never ceases to prize-
'Tis the plaudits commingling, that generously sound,
From the boxes, the pit, and yon gods in the skies!†

* On the Philadelphia stage.

† The gallery

Those plaudits hath Gratitude register'd here,
Over which oft shall Memory breathe a fond sigh,
And soft Sensibility gem with a tear,

As pure as the dew-drop from Beauty's moist eye.
Even when towards bright Albion I glide on the gale,
Though Terror should rise in his ghastliest form;
Though tempests pursue me and thunders assail,

The remembrance will sooth 'mid the roar of the storm.

But will you?-say?-will you, when far over sea,
The friends of my youth to revisit I fly,
Will you still in your breasts cherish kindness for me?
And sometimes remember my name with a sigh?

Farewell! generous patrons! I'm no actor here,§
Reality swells while I bid you adieu!
Long may Hamlets, Othellos, and Richards appear,
Of Shakspeare still worthy, and worthy of you.

THE Niagara river runs from the south to the north. The village of Chippewa, at which we lodged, in upper Canada, is two miles and a half south of the falls, where the river still continues on a level with its banks, and flows with hardly a perceptible increase of rapidity. Our first object in the morning, was to look out for the dark stationary cloud which towered from the river the evening before, seeming to connect the earth and the heavens: but the scene was entirely changed. A dazzling white vapour rose in rapid volumes, forming bright clouds, which, wafted off by a strong north-west wind, taking the colour of those above, floating away, were soon undistinguished

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from them. The sun had risen, and, until it became quite high when the vapour was raised without taking those compact forms, our eyes were constantly attracted by this brilliant exhibition, but, by eight o'clock, a white spray was all that appeared rising above the falls. Had the fanciful poets of old, who attributed to Etna the production of all the thunder-bolts, been acquainted with our quarter of the world, they would doubtless have allowed Niagara the honour of being the original establishment for the manufacture of all the clouds of Heaven. Leaving our inn, as soon as breakfast was over, still upon the same fine road, in half a mile we perceived the water suddenly change from its placid regular current to extreme tumult, and the bed of the river decline very rapidly. We kept on for two miles, soon finding ourselves sixty or seventy feet above the river, owing to its descent, for the road appears to rise very little, We were now on a line with the great object of our journey, but high above the river and at some distance, though even here the scene was truly magnificent! In the beauty of the falls, and their easiness of access, I was most agreeably disappointed. They are bordered, on the Canada side, by a fine public road, and cultivated country, and are seen to advantage even from your carriage. I expected a vast uniform torrent, whose overwhelming thunder would confuse the senses, and leave no other impressions than those of astonishment and terror. The grandeur of the object is doubtless superior to any thing of the kind in the known world, yet, in my view, its variety and beauty are striking characteristics. After admiring the scene from many points upon the upper bank, we descended to a level with the rapid, through a steep, but not difficult path, and, on the margin of the river, pursued its course to what is called the table rock, a sort of shelf, a few yards in front of the great fall, and directly on a level with the spot from whence the river takes its dreadful leap. From the bank above, the situations which present beautiful, detached, and varied views, are numerous, but, from this place, the whole is comprised at a glance, and can be very geographically and mechanically delineated; but, the effect it has on the beholder is not

The

to be described. Imagine yourself standing on a flat, smooth rock, of ten feet diameter, and two feet thick, projecting from the edge of a precipice which over-hangs its base twenty or thirty feet, and a hundred and fifty-five feet, from the bottom of the chasm into which the river falls. You look from your right hand up the rapids, which from where they begin, two miles off, to the table rock, descend fifty-seven feet, and are considered one of the finest objects of the whole scene. river comes roaring forward with all the agitation of a tempestuous ocean, recoiling in waves and whirlpools, as if determined to resist the impulse which is forcing it down the gulf, when, within a few yards, and apparently at the moment of sweeping you away, it plunges headlong into what appears a bottomless pit; for the vapour is so thick at the foot of the precipice, that the torrent is completely lost to the view. The commencement of the rapids is so distant, and so high above your head, as entirely to exclude all view of the still water or the country beyond. Thus, as you look up the river, which is two miles wide above the falls, you gaze upon a boundless and angry sea, whose troubled surface forms a rough and ever moving outline, upon the distant horizon.

This part of the stream is called the great horse-shoe fall, though, in shape, it bears more resemblance to an Indian bow, the centre curve of which, retreating up the river, is hid by the column of vapour which rises in that spot; except, when a strong gust of wind, occasionally pressing it down, displays, for a moment, the whole immense wall of water. This branch of the river falls much less broken than the eastern one, being, like all the large lakes, exactly of the colour of ocean water, appears in every direction of the most brilliant green or whiter than snow. This fall is one hundred and fifty-one feet high, and from twelve to fifteen hundred feet long, from the table rock to the island, whose perpendicular wall forms the opposite barrier to this division of the river. The face of the island makes an angle with the fall and approaches more nearly to a parallel with the western bank, extending perhaps a thousand feet: when the second division of the river appears bending still more towards you, so as to bring the last range of falls nearly parallel with the course of the river, and almost facing