The Falls of Niagara impress travellers very differently. Most persons, having heard of this wonder of the world from their childhood, have aggrandized their imagination of its appearance in proportion with the growth of their minds, and visit Niagara, at last, with the expectation of seeing an ocean poured from the height of the clouds. A very graphic and sketchy account of past impressions at the Falls is given by a traveller, whose book is less known than it deserves; and we quote from him, quite sure that his description will be new to the reader. “I first visited these celebrated Falls,” he says, “in the month of September—a season of the year which, in America, is peculiarly pleasant. The violent heats have then considerably abated; the musquito, satiated with human blood, has given rest to his proboscis; and man, free from the irritating bite of innumerable tormenting insects, and from the scorching heat of an almost insupportable sun, enjoys an agreeable respite, and ranges through the country in quiet and comfort. Until I arrived within a mile of the Falls, the sky was perfectly clear, the sun shone with his wonted splendour, and the atmosphere was remarkably dry and uncommonly lucid. But no sooner had I approached their immediate vicinity, than a sudden and singular change took place in the whole aspect of nature. The earth, before parched and immovable, became damp and tremulous; and the sky, till then unsullied by a single cloud, assumed a frowning, dark, and portentous appearance. The atmosphere, previously dry and rarefied, now presented a dense and humid visage; and my fancy, unreined by my reason transported me into a world essentially different from that in which, a few minutes before, I ‘lived, and moved, and had my being.’ “Still, however, I pursued my course, and at length gained the summit of the craggy hills which flank this noble river. My increased elevation did not contribute to dissipate the preconceived delusion, and I still felt inclined to doubt of my own or the world’s identity. Mountains of water, belching forth the most appalling sounds—globes of foam, boiling with rage—rainbows, embracing within their numerous and splendid arches a surprising variety of newly-formed impending clouds—rocks, boldly projecting over the tumultuous abyss—and spray-covered forests, decorated with pearly drops, now rendered more brilliant than crystal by the reflected rays of the setting sun, and now blown into feathery streams by sudden gusts of the impetuous wind;—these were some of the most striking features of the gorgeous scenery by which I was surrounded. Long did I luxuriate in pleasing contemplation, admiring its peculiar grandeur; and still did I find myself lingering amidst these stupendous and matchless displays of creative excellence, until the sun, wearied with shedding his beams on the transatlantic wilds, had retired, in all his glory, ‘to rove o’r other lands, and give to other men the kindest boon of heaven.’