fierce confusion; and this frail bridge, how it groans and shakes in the torrent’s sweep! A slip from Mahomet’s sword edge o’er the awful Hades, would not consign us to more inevitable destruction, than would a treacherous plank or rotten beam from this shaking platform. We tread the deep green woods of Goat Island, their mossy trunks covered with love-marks of Orlandos and Rosalinds; and, amid the roar, descend the great Ferry stair-case—stop a moment at this landing—step out. How the solid earth shakes—jars and vibrates! How the wild winds rush by us, as the huge fluid arch stretches over with continuous plunge—and see that group of wild-flowers—scarlet, green, and purple—smiling in beauty beyond the reach of human hand, glistening in moisture midst the very spray in the rock cleft. But—haste—haste! Here is the boatman. Leap in—leap in! Now how, in our little cockle-shell bark, we whirl and sport in the eddies, o’er the fathomless depths below, like wing-borne insects playing over the abyss. We land—ascend the heights—we pass the sentry. At the tiring-house. We robe ourselves for the enterprise—tarpaulin coats—hats bound with old rope—trowsers of tow cloth—shoes of cowhide—ha! ha! But quick, descend the long spiral stair-case. Now, Guide—we follow. Beware you fall not on these sharp, slippery rocks. We approach. The Table Rock hangs over us. In grandeur the solid fluid mass falls precipitate. Prepare. Turn as you enter—hold down your head—repress your breath: are you ready? Rush! We are beneath the yawning chasm—soaked in an instant. Like furious rainstorm, and wind, and tempest all combined, this wild, frightful roar. What? Scream louder, louder. Hold firm by the guide—a slip from this narrow ledge—and—whew—splash—dead in our faces—almost suffocated. Turn to the dripping rock wall, and catch your breath till the wind rush again lifts the watery curtain. Slimy eels glide by—darkness deep above—dim light strives to reach us through the cataract sheets. We are at the extreme verge. Guide—guide—ha?—what indicates that motion of thy lips—closer—close in my ear. “Termination rock.” Turn—turn—splash—swash—drenched—suffocated—return, return. We see again the light. Rush! We stand once more in the clear open sunlight. Whew!—puff—dripping—dripping—a shower-bath worthy of old Neptune. How delightfully our nerves spring under its exhilarating influence. Take care—again these slippery stones. Beware! beware! Here we ascend again the stair-case. In the attiring-room. Towels—brushes—Christians once more.