432 TENTING ON THE NIAGARA, 



along the river. The waters of this river being the outlet 

 of one great lake into another, and therefore wholly unlike 

 those rivers which drain alluvial soils, are remarkably pure. 

 Hence, the sheet of water east of Buckhorn, about a mile 

 in width, and breaking into the rapids to the south and 

 west, is an ever changing scene of great beauty. In certain 

 hours of the day, when the sky is bright, the color is a deli- 

 cate green, compared with which the clearest sky looks 

 dark and inky. In no other waters, of river, lake or ocean, 

 have I ever seen so bright and beautiful a tint of green. 

 When tossed by the wind this sheet of green is ornamented 

 with large snow-white crests of foam. Again it assumes a 

 deep purple or a cold gray, or almost a deep black, when 

 frowned upon by a darkly clouded sky. The roar of the 

 falls is nearly as distinct as it is in the immediate vicinity, 

 and the mist, which rises constantly, is ever changing, both 

 in quantity and appearance. Sometimes it is barely per- 

 ceptible, or even disappears entirely; again it is a thick 

 column, and forms a dense cloud. Generally it is about the 

 color of steam; sometimes it is like a column of black 

 smoke against the gaudy tints of sunset. I occasionally 

 see it, toward the close of day, of a delicate rose-tint and 

 once after a heavy storm, as the sun, nearing the horizon, 

 threw a flood of light from behind the black cloud formed 

 above the cataract, the mist, as it rose, was a bright flame- 

 color; and, rolling among the trees on the Canadian side, 

 seemed like a raging fire. The city was wrapped in a 

 golden cloud, and the whole landscape to the. east was 

 bathed in a rosy mist. 



Next to the sweet and simple pleasures of childhood are 

 those of tenting out. O, the delicious quiet and freedom, 

 as I recline on the grass with my good and companionable 

 friend, to partake of the simple but palatable meal which 



