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Ontario. It is the outlet through which all the four great northern hikes flow towards the gulf of St. Lawrence. The total descent in these 33 miles is 334 feet. About 16 miles from lake Erie the river begins to narrow, and the velocity of the current increases. There the " rapids" begin. Between this and the Fall?, a distance of a mile, the descent is 52 feet. For some distance below the stream flows in whirlpools and eddies. Two miles down the river, at "Whirlpool Rapids," it becomes more tumultuous than above the Falls. By means of an elevator you here descend to the river bank, from where you witness a scene of terrific grandeur.

After the swift R. R. train has whirled you for hours along its winding track, through wild mountain regions, the noted Valley of Wyoming all of a sudden opens to your view. It has an average breadth of 3 mile.", and a length of 21 miles, and is bordered by rugged mountains 1000 feet high. Should you have the good fortune to visit this historic vale, be sure to approach it by way of the Lehigh Valley Railroad, and from the south. On the top of the mountain an exclamation of joyful surprise called the attention of the other passengers to the sudden unfolding of the charming scene Far below us it spread out before the view; fields of ripe harvests, of young corn and grass, and numerous trees dotted the landscape, and blended their soft colors as seen in the distance with singular effect. Wilkesbarre, its largest town, lies in full view, and a busy thriving place it must be, as its numerous stacks sending out black olumns of smoke indicate. The reflected sunlight in the north branch of the Susquehanna makes the river, in its stately course, look like a gleaming stream of molten silver. The far off busy reapers gathering their golden harvests, seem like Dean Swift's puny Lilliputians. The roads are mostly straight, many of which are lined with rows of shade trees. The little clusters of farm buildings look prettier from afar than near at hand. At this distance all the inequalities of surface, and all disfiguring objects are hidden from sight, and you behold only the enchantment which distance lends to the view. How very different is the effect of this view

from that of Niagara Falls. This becalms the mind, and gives you a sense of great peace. That fills you with awe and shuddering dread. And standing on the brink of it, a horrid feeling that you are irresistibly drawn towards the great vortex grows upon you.

On the mountain, just at the point from which you get your first view of Wyoming Valley, the engineer runs the train at its greatest speed. For more than 15 miles down the mountain side, you are swept around the curves and over the uneven road-bed with shocking velocity; and the cars swing from side to side like the rapid ambling of one of the giant monsters of pre-historic ages. Unfortunately it happens that this kind of motion, whether on waves or railways, has always had the strange effect of unfitting me to appreciate either scenery or the most savory dishes.

Whew! How cruel not to put down brakes at this place so as to put one in the proper frame of mind to fully enjoy such a view.

This charming valley- has repeatedly been the theatre of massacre and war. More than a hundred years ago the first settlers were massacred by the savages. The Pennsylvania proprietaries bought it from the Indians. Then a Connecticut colony tried to take possession of it. Both claimed to own it. For many years the two claimant* shed each other's best blood in deadly feuds. At length the two parties united to meet the fierce assaults of a common foe. The British, allied with the savages, perpetrated the great "Massacre of Wyoming." It was on the last day of June, 1778. Col. John Butler with 400 British provincials and 700 Indians entered the head of the valley. The sturdy settlers with their wives and children, were put to death wiih all the ferocious cruelty of which the Indians were capable. Queen Esther, a halfbreed Indian woman, tomahawked fourteen with her own bands, to avenge the death of her son. It happened near a rock which still bears her name. When the fort in which the people had sought refuge surrendered, the surviving inhabitants, mostly women and children, fled through the wilderness to seek safety in some of the other settlements. Less than 30 years later a countryman of these British instruments of the "Wyoming Massacre," wrote a poem entitled "Gertrude of Wyoming," founded on this bloody tragedy. Thomas Campbell had never seen Wyoming Valley, in fact had never visited America. He relied for his material on a few books of travel, and on certain historical works. This accounts, in part for the inaccuracies of his otherwise meritorious work. Out of a moiety of trnth his fancy wove a story, in which the sufferings of his heroine are pleasingly depicted. Its local descriptions are weak. The reading of Scott's "Lady of the Lake" around Loch Katrine will help you greatly to enjoy and understand the scenery of this romantic region, but the reading of " Gertrude of Wyoming" in this valley would shed very little light on its history, geography, or the customs of its early inhabitants. The work has its merits, and helped to place its author among the poets of his country. Some things which he ascribes to its early settlers are true now, but were not then.

"Thou wert once the loveliest land of all That see the Atlantic wave their morn restore.

Sweet land! May I thy lost delights recall And paint thy Gertrude in her bowers of yore,

Whose beauty was the love of Pennsylvania's shore.'1

What a grand theme this story of Wyoming would furnish for the genius of our own Whitiier!

In returning from Niagara Falls a very pleasant route is theoneby way of Seneca Lake and Watkins Glen, in western New York. For beauty and picture?quenes< of scenery, this is one of cur loveliest American lakes. It is 37 miles in length, and from two to four miles in breadth. It lies 441 feet above the Atlantic, and 210 above lake Ontario, into which its waters flow. Its greatest depth is 630 feet. Until March 22,1856, it was never known to be frozen over. Steamboats furnish the tourist with charming voyages between the extreme ends. Geneva, at the north end, although not to be compared with its great namesake in Switzerland, is quite a thriving town, surrounded by a fertile country. Our steamer touches at the

different wharves along the coast, and makes the voyage in four hours. Both banks recede and rise in gentle slopes from the water's edge, and are covered with thriving farms. As you approach the southern end and around the town of Watkins, the banks and hills become more rugged and steep. Hundreds of acres of flourishing vineyards cover them, reminding one of the vine-clad hills of the Rhine. Indeed the scenery as seen from the deck of the steamer is not unlike that of the western bank of lake Leman, or of some parts of that of lake Zurich.

Watkins Glen, at the southern end of the lake, has only of late years been brought to the view of the sight-seeing and sight-seeking public. It is a sort of Niagara on a small scale. You enter the mouth of a gorge scarcely 100 feet wide, bounded by perpendicular rocks hundreds of feet in height. As at Niagara Falls, the lower formation of rocks is softer than that towards the surface, where by disintegration the gorge widens, so that the base of the Glen is wider than the top. Artificial footbridges and stairways, steep and lofty, assist the tourist in his adventurous climbing. Along narrow footpaths cut out of the rock, right on the edge of precipices, you creep along with cautious step, under the little falls of water percolating through the overhauging rock. Here and there a sudden turn surprises you with a charming cascade. Indeed these abrupt, startling surprises meet you on every hand. In picking your path through this wild, rugged split in the mountain, along the brink of water-falls and precipices, you wonder whether anybody had ever been killed here, and whether such a fate might not be in store for you. Only let your foot slip a few inches, or your head reel at certain unprotected points of your path, and—well, you might be hurt. How ever Nature managed to split this narrow opening in the mountain here, I can not divine. All through the rocks on both sides are divided into masses of from 20 to 30 feet wide, both ends of which are as even as if they had been sawed off from top to bottom. Whilst the shapes of these rock-sections are different, the regularity of their size and surface reminds one of the closely fitting columns of the Giant's Causeway, in the north of Ireland. How this little mountain stream struggles and toils to get out of this Glen, now

Elaying about peacefully in a little pool, ack of a high rook, then rushing aside round rock curves and over the waterfalls, until it emerges into the beautiful lake where it ends amid scenes of beauty and peace. Thus after life's battles comes the Christian's world of peace and glory.

In sooth this two miles walk of two hours through the Glen was a novel experience. The sun shut out, the weird, wild scenery, with no sound around us but that of our own steps and our suppressed voices, without escort or guide, two weary climbers with trembling delight, toiled their way over the difficult path. We reached the end at the top, at early twilight, although in some parts of the Glen it is twilight all day long. A carriage in waiting took us down the steep road to the village, affording us an evening view of Seneca lake and its surroundings.

At the Glen Park Hotel we found good quarters and kind treatment, and a fine view, not excelled, if equalled by any other hotel there. I assured the obliging proprietor that I was pleased with his house, but that the truth would compel me to warn my friends against his lying agent, who met us and buttonholed me on the steamer; which claim of veracity I hereby honestly meet. Whether the proprietor is responsible for the conduct of his agent, it is not for me to say. I have, however, been reliably informed that the proprietors of the principal hotels at Niagara Falls are pecuniarily in league with the swindling practices of the cabmen of that place.

Women in Russia in the Seventeenth Century.

The Muscovite idea of women, founded on the teachings and traditions of ByzaDtine theology, was purely a monastic one. The virtues of the cloister, faith, prayer, charity, obedience, and industry, were the highest virtues of a woman. The life of the cloister was best suited to

preserve her purity. Socially, woman was not an independent being. She was an inferior creation, dependent on her husband; for except aa a wife, her existence was scarcely recognized. Of this theoretical position of woman, abundant proof is given in all the early didactic literature of Russia, and especially in the Domostroi, that curious manual of household economy written in the time of Ivan the Terrible. The wife should be blindly obedient in all things, and for her faults should be severely whipped, but not in anger. Her duty is to keep the house, and look after the food and clothing, and to see to the comfort of her husband; to bear children, but not to educate them. Severity was inculcated, and to play with one's children was esteemed a sin,—a snare of the devil. The wife was bound to stay chiefly at home, and to be acquainted with nothing but her household work. To all questions on outside matters she was to answer that she did not know. It was believed that an element of evil lurked in the female sex; and even the most innocent sport between little boys and girls, or social intercourse between young men and women, was severely reprehended. The Domostroi, and even Pososhkof, as late as the eighteenth century, recommended a father to take his cudgel and break the ribs of his son, whom he found jesting with a girl. Traces of this feeling with regard to women are still found in current proverbs. "A woman's hair is long, her understanding is short," runs one proverb; "The wits of women are like the wilderness of beasts," says another; while a third says, " As a horee by the bit, so must a woman be governed by threats." The collections of popular stories and anecdotes are full of instances of the innate wickedness and devilishness of the female sex, with references to all the weak or wicked women of sacred and profane history. In the " Great Mirror," compiled in the seventeenth century, we even find the obstinacy of woman exemplified by the well-known anecdote of the drowning woman, still making with her fingers the sign of "scissors."

Although this was the theoretical position of woman in Russian society, practically in small households, where women were important factors, there were great divergencies from the strict rules of the Dorrwsiroi. In the higher ranks of life the women are more carefully guarded and restrained, and in the family of the czar the seclusion in the Terem, or women's apartment, was almost complete. This was in part due to the superstitious belief in witchcraft, the evil eye, and charms that might affect the life, health, or fertility of the royal race. Neither the czarina nor the princesses ever appeared openly in public. They never went out except in a closed litter or carriage. In church they stood behind a veil,—made, it is true, sometimes of gauze; and they usually timed their visits to the churches and monasteries for the evening or the early morning, and on these occasions no one was admitted except the immediate attendants of the court. Von Meyerberg, Austrian embassador at Moscow in 1663, writes that out of a thousand courtiers, there will hardly be found one who can boast that he has seen the czarina, or any of the sisters or daughters of the czar. Even their physicians are not allowed to see them. When it is necessary to call a doctor for the czirioa, the windows are all darkened, and he is obliged to feel her pulse through a piece of gauze, so as not to touch her bare hand! Even chance encounters were severely punished. In 1674 two chamberlains, Dashkof and Buturlin, on suddenly turning a corner in one of the interior courts of the palace, met the carriage of the Czarina Natalia, who was going to prayers at a convent. Their colleagues succeeded in getting out of the way. Dashkof and Buturlin were arrested, examined, and deprived of their offices, but as the encounter was proved to be purely fortuitous and unavoidable, they were in a lew days restored to their rank. And yet, this was during the reign of Alexis, who was far less strict than his predecessors.—Eugene Schuyler, in Scribner.

riers of Morpheus. A gentle trickle of talk, as the juice of poppies, concludes the course. It was Sydney Smith who suggested that such sermons were framed on the theory that sin could be taken from men, like Eve from Adam, by putting them into a deep sleep.

Are there not dull speakers in other vocations? Take the morning paper and read how the floor and galleries were emptied when the Honorable Humdrum arose. The lazy freedman, even, is driven from his snug roost by the tiresome platitudes of the dreary oration. But suppose the senator was explaining and enforcing a law that has been expounded and pressed upon the public for eighteen hundred years in print and by the voice, times without number, we may be assured that the audience would thin down to the officials of the chamber, and they would protect themselves by wool in their ears and the softest lounges withiu reach. And more, suppose he had been speaking on the same subject three times a week for years, would not every servitor however well paid resign with a preference for grubbing sassafras bushes in a lonesome field to the intolerable suffering of listening to that stale rehearsal.

The wonder is not that sermous are dull, but rather at the variety and grasp in such public addresses.—Richmond Christian Advocate.

Modes of Salutation.

About Dull Sermons.

Without controversy or apology, certain sermons are dull. The introduction is a tale that is told, very quieting to the nerves. The divisions are the cou

The German says, "How do you find yourself?" or, " How goes it?" The Frenchman, "How do you carry yourself?" The Turk,'' How is your digestion?" The Englishman, "How are you!" and the impulsive American, "How d'ye?" A bow is a courtly practice; the lifting of the hand to the hat a military salutation; handshaking prevails in the Uuited States and England, and kissing in France. In Africa demonstrations cf delight are made by falling down on the back and kicking up the heels; in America by clapping hands. The Arab, to express his friendship, hugs and kisses his adorer, if permitted, and then asks for backsheesh; in some tribes they rub noses. The Yankee, when he is puzzled, scratches his head, the Chinaman his foot.—Ex.

"The Aunties."

BY SIGMA.

Every one has an influence, either for good or for evil. Without it, personal intercourse would be impossible. If one would work for the good and true, there is nothing which he ought to esteem so highly and guard so carefully and prayerfully as that influence which he conveys to his fellow-men. This "the Aunties" did. I had the privilege to meet and live with them for nearly two years. They are the daughters of a clergyman, who went to his reward many years ago. The one is a widow, and the other a maiden lady. They are still living, and their ages are respectively seventy-five and seventyfour years They live in the village of

C and county of C in this

State. They are known and regarded as "Aunties" far and near. When I first met them, I could not help but ask myself the question, why is it, that every one seems so much attached to them 1 The problem was soon solved in my own mind. They made it the rule of their lives, rather to speak of the good qualities of an individual, than of his defects. What a noble rule, for both young and old; yet how few practice it. The natural tendency in man is to magnify the bad qualities in others. If a man's influence shall be for good, he must not, he cannot foster and satisfy this inclination. He must crucify it—"bring it under" and develop a purer principle; if he cannot speak well of an individual, he can say nothing about him.

Another element in the solution of tbe above problem is their earnest consideration of the poor. To those in destitution and want, they were at all times real " Aunties." I have every reason to believe, that they are as much concerned about the welfare of others, as they are

of their own or of their kindred. Of them we can say, they loved their neighbor as themselves. When they gave to the poor or to some benevolent object, it was not of their abundance but what they earned with their own hands. It is not necessary for them to work, yet if you visit them to-day, you will find them busy quilting for some one. The money thus obtained is given to the poor. In meeting the wants of the destitute, it is always done in an indirect, modest way. Through me, they have ministered, more than once, to the wants of the poor in my charge, though they belong to a different branch of the Christian Church.

Such self-sacrifice must be admired even by the ungodly; it wins the confidence and affections of every one and gains a popularity that is as high above, that won by the influence of wealth or worldly honor, as the infinite is above the finite—a popularity that will stand the test of the day of Judgment. "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren ye have done it unto me."

These "Auntie3" have many other traits, which I might speak of, if time and space allowed. They are great Sunday-school workers; especially the older one. She will go into the streets and lanes, the highways and hedges, and compel them to come in. Having passed five years, beyond the allotted time of man, notbing#could even now, save sickness alone, keep her away from her class. She makes the members of her class feel that she is not only an "Auntie" but a mother as well.

Would that we had more such teachers in our Sunday-schools. Too many will not be Uncles and Aunties to the children of their classes; they will stand aloof from them as though they were too insignificant to awaken their care, sympathy and love.

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