pomp of your dress, and here you are, in the broad light of the nineteenth century, gotten up like the rag-tag and bobtail of the purlieus of New York! For shame! Remember your ancestors! Recall their mighty deeds! Remember Uncas!—and Red Jacket!—and Hole-in-the-day!—and Horace Greeley! Emulate their achievements! Unfurl yourselves under my banner, noble savages, illustrious guttersnipes-" It was the quickest operation that ever was. I simply saw a sudden flash in the air of clubs, brickbats, fists, bead-baskets and moccasins-a single flash, and they all appeared to hit me at once, and no two of them in the same place. In the next instant the entire tribe was upon me. They tore all the clothes off me, they broke my arms and legs, they gave me a thump that dented the top of my head till it would hold coffee like a saucer; and to crown their disgraceful proceedings and add insult to injury they threw me over the Horse-shoe Fall, and I got wet. About ninety-nine or a hundred feet from the top, the remains of my vest caught on a projecting rock, and I was almost drowned before. I could get loose. I finally fell, and brought up in a world of white foam at the foot of the Fall, whose celled and bubbly masses towered up several inches above my head. Of course I got into the eddy. I sailed round and round in it forty-four times--chasing a chip, and gaining on it--each round trip a half a mile-reaching for the same bush on the bank forty-four times, and just exactly missing it by a hair's breadth every time. At last a man walked down and sat down close to that bush, and put a pipe in his mouth and lit a match, and followed me with one eye and kept the other on the match while he sheltered it in his hands from the wind. Presently a puff of wind blew it out. The next time I swept round him he said: "Got a match ?" "Yes-in my other vest. Help me out, please!" "Not for Joe." When I came round again, I said: 66 "Excuse the seemingly impertinent curiosity of a drowning man, but will you explain this singular conduct of yours?" With pleasure. I am the coroner. Don't hurry on my account. I can wait for you. But I wish I had a match." I said, "Take my place, and I'll go and get you one." He declined. This lack of confidence on his part created a coolness between us, and from that time forward I avoided him. It was my idea, in case anything happened to me, to so time the occurrence as to throw my custom into the hands of the opposition coroner over on the American side. At last a policeman came along and arrested me for disturbing the peace by yelling at people on shore for help. The judge fined me, but I had the advantage of him. My money was with my pantaloons, and my pantaloons were with the Indians. Thus I escaped. I am now lying in a very critical condition. At least I am lying, any way-critical or not critical. I am hurt all over, but I cannot tell the full extent yet, because the doctor is not done taking the inventory. He will make out my manifest this evening. However, thus far, he thinks only six of my wounds are fatal. I don't mind the others. I shall not be able to finish my remarks about Niagara Falls until I get better. THE TOAST.-MARY KYLE DALLAS. Pop! went the gay cork flying, Sparkled the gay champagne; When you drink to your sex with me." But she caught his strong brown fingers, And through the gathering twilight "Nay, ere you drink, I implore you, Rather by far than in wine! "By the woes of the drunkard's mother, By the kisses changed to curses, By the tears more bitter than brine, "What has wine brought to woman? It has torn from her heart her love, Oh! I prithee, pledge no woman In the curse of so many-wine!" THE DUKITE SNAKE.-J. BOYLE O'REILLY. AN AUSTRALIAN BUSHMAN'S STORY. Well, mate, you've asked me about a fellow Or with some such burden, strapped to his back. That man who goes Through the bush with the pack and the convict's clothes Has been mad for years; but he does no harm, And our lonely settlers feel no alarm When they see or meet him. Poor Dave Sloane Some eight years back, in the spring of the year, That I ever met: he was kind as a woman And peered in your hut, with the cunning fright Were welcome, for talk's sake, while they could stay. Dave lived with me here for a while, and learned And showed him how sandal-wood logs were cut. I had only one fault to find: at first Dave worked too hard; for a lad who was nursed, How he cleared that sandal-wood off his range. In a year he wrote, and his news was good: And he knew she'd come. Then he turned his hand Friend, there isn't much more of the tale to tell: Ever came to this world its hate to slake Was fire that gleamed through his glistening skin. Well, poor Dave Sloane had his young wife here Of the dukite's ways,-he jumped to the road, |