FIRST AND LAST HOURS.

Lov'st thou the hour, the first of day,
When the dewy hours are opening bright,
When through the curtains of morning gray,
Are stealing streaks of crimson light?
Hath it not a power, a spell?

Doth it not to thy warm heart tell
Of life, freak, sparkling, new-born life,
And scenes as yet too young for strife?

Lov'st thou the hour in twilight time,
When every flower is closing round,
'When fainter and fainter the far bell's chime
Comes with a soothing, dying sound?
Hath it not a spell, though it be
Differing from the first for thee?
Doth it not tell of visions deep,

And a gradual dropping down to sleep?

These hours are types and signs of thine:
Thy first hour brought both smiles and tears,
And called forth feelings half divine,

In those who looked to future years,

And watched how grew each feature's mould,
And saw their little buds unfold,

And trusted strife should never come,
To cast on heart and brow a gloom.

And thy last hour-'tis thine to make
It calm as twilight's lovely time,
A blessed sleep, from which to wake,
Will be to the better world to climb;
Remember, 'tis thine, ay thine to choose,
If storms shall take place of stars and dews,
Or if thy spirit shall have a power
To make its parting like day's last hour.

A REFLECTION AT SEA.

BY THOMAS MOORE.

SEE how beneath the moon-beam's smile,
Yon little billow heaves its breast,
And foams and sparkles for awhile,

And murmuring then retires to rest.

Thus man, the sport of bliss and care,
Rises on time's eventful sea,

And having swelled a moment there,
He melts into eternity.

ROCK FORT ON THE ILLINOIS RIVER.

THIS is an elevated cliff on the left bank of the Illinois, consisting of parallel layers of white sandstone. It is not less than two hundred and fifty feet high, perpendicular on three sides, and washed at its base by the river. On the fourth side it is connected with the adjacent range of hills by a narrow peninsular ledge, which can only be ascended by a precipitous, winding path. The summit of this rock is level, and contains about three-fourths of an acre. It is covered with a soil of several feet in depth, bearing a growth of young trees. Strong and almost inaccessible by nature, this natural battlement has been still further fortified by the Indians, and many years ago was the scene of a desperate conflict between the Pottowattomies, and one band of the Illinois Indians. The latter fled to this place for refuge from the fury of their enemies. The post could not be carried by assault, and tradition says that the besiegers finally succeeded, after many repulses, by cutting off the supply of water. To procure this article the besieged let down vessels attached to ropes of bark, from a part of the precipice which overhangs the river, but their enemies succeeded in cutting off these ropes as often as they were let down. The consequence was a surrender, which was followed by a total extirpation of the band.*

On gaining the top of this rock we found says Schoolcraft, a regular entrenchment, corresponding to the edge of the precipice, and within this other excava

* Charlevoix.

tions, which, from the thick growth of brush and trees, could not be satisfactorily examined. The labour of many hands was manifest, and a degree of industry which the Indians have not usually bestowed upon works of defence. We found upon this elevation broken muscle shells, fragments of antique pottery, and stones which had been subjected to the action of heat, resembling certain lavas.

From this elevated spot an extensive and diversified view of prairie scenery is presented, and the objects about our encampment appeared reduced to a diminutive size.

"How fearful

And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eye so low!

The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air
Show scarce so gross as beetles."

The soil which results from the gradual disintegration of this rock, is nearly a pure sand. On descending we found the prickly pear (cactus) covering a considerable portion of this soil, where scarcely any other plant is hardy enough to vegetate.

Of the height of this cliff, the estimate which we have given is merely conjectural. The effect upon the observer is striking and imposing. But we are disposed to think the effect of loftiness produced by objects of this nature is not so much the result of the actual, as of the comparative height. We have often felt, as we have on the present occasion, an impression of grandeur produced by a solitary precipice two or three hundred feet high, rising abruptly above a flat alluvial country or lake, more striking and imposing than at other times in traversing a region more elevated, and where "Alps on Alps arise." In the latter case, the eye constantly measures one elevation by another; in the former we have no standard of this kind, and hence undoubtedly overrate. Philosophically considered, the height of prominent points of a country is estimated above the level of the nearest sea. But the effect produced on the eye or the imagination begins to be felt only from that part of a mountain where it first makes a striking angle with the plain. The annexed view of this modern Oxus is taken from a position on the opposite side of the river, directly in front of the most precipitous face of the rock.