As I found that the rocks at the foot of the falls were covered with a slimy mud, and as I was suffering slightly from a damaged foot, I presently returned to the shed, while my companion proceeded to explore the bed of the gorge further down the river. The floor of the shed had been strewed with straw, and I lay down at full length, partly to rest and partly to examine the situation more minutely, for the height is so great that it is impossible adequately to survey the scene in any other position. And then, when you have stillness and solitude, and when the body is in complete repose, there pour in on eye and ear floods of impressions so quickly varying that the mind feels quite unable to record them, and there is finally nothing left behind but a vague and indescribable sensation of all that is grand and beautiful and melodious in nature. For there are vast heights and gloomy depths and recesses, and varied forms of falling waters, and in the general surroundings everything to convey exalted ideas of grandeur to the mind, but grandeur accompanied by exquisite beauty, in colour, in the graceful movement of animal life, and in the varying sounds of falling waters--the charm of the iris hues which ever beautify the falling waters--beauty in the varied colours of the rocks, and in the plants and ferns growing in the fissures of the cliff--beauty in exquisite forms of motion--of water varied in countless ways as it descends from the four separate falls--beauty in the unceasing movements of countless swallows, mingled here and there with specimens of the Alpine swift and the pretty blue-hued rock pigeons, which build their nests on the ledges of the cliffs, and are constantly to be seen flying across the falls. Then there are the unceasing and ever varying sounds of falling waters, grand in their totality, grand and melodious in their separate cadences--the deep bass of the Rajah, sometimes like cannon thundering in the distance, and sometimes like the regular tolling of some vast Titanic bell; sounds of most varied and brilliant music from the Rocket; the jagged note of the Roarer, as its waters rush down their steep, stony trough; the eerie and mysterious sounds which, sometimes like a mingling of startling shrieks and clangs, and sometimes, to the active imagination, like the far-off lamentations of imprisoned spirits,[9] occasionally rise from the semi-cavernous chasm which has been hollowed out behind the great pool beneath the cliff; the gentle murmuring note of the White Lady Fall, tangled threads of sound from which fall in fitful cadences on the ear as the wind rises and falls athwart the falls; and lastly, but by no means leastly, the undulating and endless varieties of sounds which, having broken away from their original source, are ever wandering and echoing around the rock-bound gorge. Beautiful indeed and altogether indescribable are the elements of melody which are created by the falling waters of the Arrowborn river!