Approaching the falls from Buffalo on the Canadian shore, the first indication of our proximity to them was a hoarse rumbling, which was scarcely audible at the distance of four or five miles, but which opened upon the ear as we advanced, with increasing roar, until at the distance of three miles, it became loud as the voice of many waters, a column of mist in the mean time descending as smoke from a pit marked more definitely than sound could do, the exact position of this scene of wonders, the sublime arising from obscurity was now experienced in all its power, it did not appear what we should see, but imagination seized the moment to elevate and fill the mind with expectation and majestic dread. Within a mile of the falls the river rolls smoothly along in rapid silence, as if unconscious of its approaching destiny, till at once across its entire channel it falls the apparent distance of 10 or 12 feet, when instantly its waters are thrown into consternation and foam & boil & whirl & run in every direction, as if filled with instinctive dread, at this place the shore recedes, and allows the terrific waters to spread out in shallows over an extent twice as broad as the natural channel of the river—A portion of the waters as if hoping to escape, rushes between the American shore and the island, (whose brow forms a part of the continued cliff which on either side constitutes the fall), and too late to retreat discovering the mistake hurries down the precipice and is dashed on the rocks below. This is the highest part of the fall, and broadest, nearly approaching to the beautiful; the waters being shallow and the sheet entirely white below. Another large sheet of contiguous water on the other side of the island undecoyed by appearances and apparently desperate by an infallible premonition, attempts no evasion, but with tumult & roar, rushes on and thunders down the precipice which stretches about half across to the Canadian shore. The rest and the largest portion of the river, as if terrified by the fate of its kindred waters, retires a little but scarcely is the movement made before the deep declivities of the river’s bed summons the dispersion of waters into one deep dark flood which rolls its majestic tide upon the destruction below. The shallow waters, which as yet have escaped, cling terrified to the Canadian shore, reconnoitering every nook and corner in quest of some way to escape, but their search is fruitless, and they come round at length reluctantly, and are dashed upon the death they had so long struggled to escape.