30 
THE GOLDEN RIVER. 
a fairy tracery on either side of the track. A 
tiny scarlet flycatcher flew across the shadowy 
background, like a blown poppy-petal, and we 
sped silently through an enchanted forest, 
while the wheels of the car fell softly on the 
rose-red earth. 
The sky was blue, with sailing silvery clouds. 
It had been new washed with a shower of rain, 
and the air was crystal clear. The forest was 
not so dense as those we had seen before, and 
we could catch glimpses now and again of a 
vista roofed with the green spray of tree-ferns. 
These were easy to cut through, and we cut 
down one and tried to carry it on the car, with 
its stem along the body of the motor and its 
nodding green head beyond. But the hot air 
quickly faded it. Butterflies were everywhere, 
but few birds. The forest thinned, and we saw 
open space beyond, and running down a narrow 
track we came right on the Falls. 
From where we stood we saw a curved stretch 
of waterfalls, all leaping from the same height, 
and so accurately placed that their loveliness 
was almost artificial. Wooded slopes came 
down to the edge of the water, and through the 
silver-dusted spray we saw the soft outlines of 
forests stretching away into the distance. It 
was a sight to catch the breath. The highest of 
the Falls, I believe, out-tops Niagara, and the 
chain of them we saw from this little bluff was 
only part of the whole. A wooden hotel, half 
