AND DUDGEON SMILED 169 



5ome optical illusion. However, there it is, a 

 perfect lace work, changing, of course, but always 

 there. As they fall they unite, the whole tint 

 deepens, and then, from the boiling caldron below, 

 rises a rose-colored mist. And all these color 

 effects are independent of light conditions. It 

 matters not, at sunrise or sunset, at high noon, or 

 even by the light of a full moon, the effect is the 

 same. I know not what incarnadines that 

 ceaseless changing flood, nor what exhales that 

 rose-colored mist from the profound; but I have a 

 theory that it is the aeration of the water by its 

 clean descent and tremendous fall. It is water 

 that falls in that green cascade from the lip, and 

 water that escapes below, but that which falls, in 

 falling, is not water; neither is it mist or spray or 

 foam. It is more tenuous than water, and too 

 palpable for. mist or spray. It is, in fact, sepa- 

 rate drops forced apart by pressure, each a tiny 

 prism refracting and blending the light rays. 

 And to this, these falls owe their peculiar charm 

 and distinction, different from all others. 



