Niagara Falls 



1834 there were further excuses for delaying the inevitable moment. 

 Hawt ome jyj^ s jg na t ure was required in a huge ledger, containing similar 

 records innumerable, many of which I read. The skin of a 

 great sturgeon, and other fishes, beasts, and reptiles; a collection 

 of minerals, such as lie in heaps near the falls; some Indian 

 moccasins, and other trifles, made of deer-skin and embroid- 

 ered with beads ; several newspapers from Montreal, New York, 

 and Boston, — all attracted me in turn. Out of a number of 

 twisted sticks, the manufacture of a Tuscarora Indian, I selected 

 one of curled maple, curiously convoluted, and adorned with 

 the carved images of a snake and a fish. Using this as my pil- 

 grim's staff, I crossed the bridge. Above and below me were 

 the rapids, a river of impetuous snow, with here and there a 

 dark rock amid its whiteness, resisting all the physical fury, as any 

 cold spirit did the moral influences of the scene. On reaching 

 Goat Island, which separates the two great segments of the 

 falls, I chose the right-hand path, and followed it to the edge 

 of the American cascade. There, while the falling sheet was 

 yet invisible, I saw the vapor that never vanishes, and the 

 Eternal Rainbow of Niagara. 



It was an afternoon of glorious sunshine, without a cloud, 

 save tiaose of the cataracts. I gained an insulated rock, and 

 beheld a broad sheet of brilliant and unbroken foam, not shooting 

 in a curved line from the top of the precipice, but falling head- 

 long down from height to depth. A narrow stream diverged 

 from the main branch, and hurried over the crag by a channel 

 of its own, leaving a little pine-clad island and a streak of 

 precipice between itself and the larger sheet. Below arose the 

 mist, on which was painted a dazzling sunbow with two con- 

 centric shadows, — one, almost as perfect as the original bright- 

 ness; and the other, drawn faintly round the broken edge of the 

 cloud. 



Still I had not half seen Niagara. Following the verge of the 

 island, the path lead me to the Horseshoe, where the real, broad 

 St. Lawrence, rushing along on a level with its banks, pours its 



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