Above the Falls the scenery was much finer than it was below. The river was narrower, and higher; and the huge frowning precipices on each shore darker and loftier. The company, with their lately exuberant spirits somewhat toned down by the fatigues of the day, no longer sang jubilant Union songs with uproarious choruses; but sat silently enjoying the beauty of the scene, or quietly conversing with each other, or listening to Mr. Billingcoo, who, with his guitar in his hands and his eyes turned up, reclined on the deck and sung lispingly to his own accompaniment one of Thomas Moore’s sentimental songs: “Row gently here, my gondolier, Tho thoftly wake the tide, That not an ear, on earth, thall hear But herth to whom we glide. Ah, did we take for Heaven above But half the painth that we Take day and night for woman’th love,— What angelth we thould be!” So he sang the whole song through, dwelling upon the last word and lingering on the last note with his fingers on the chords of the instrument and his eyes fixed on the clouds in the sky, like one possessed; until Elfie awoke him with this criticism: “It is very fine indeed, Mr. Billingcoo, only it would take a very powerful effort of imagination to transform this matter-of-fact steam-packet to a Venetian gondola. However, I really think we have the advantage of your gondolier. For we are gliding by the most beautiful scenery in the whole world, and he appears to have had nothing better in that way than narrow canals and high stone walls.” “Mith Fielding, have you no thentiment at all?” pathetically inquired the injured minstrel. “None whatever. Nature seems to have been out of the article when she formed me,” answered Elfie. “Oh, do, Mr. Billingcoo, sing another sweet thing like that!” pleaded a poetical young lady. “And do, Mr. Billingcoo!” chimed in a chorus of others. And the troubadour suffered himself to be entreated and sang lispingly several other “sweet things,” to the accompaniment of his guitar—all of which the young ladies warmly applauded. So glided away the glorious Indian Summer afternoon; and as the sun was sinking to his splendid setting, the steamer neared the Point of Rocks. “We had better stop here. This is a more convenient place to land and dine than we could find without going on some distance above the Point. And besides it is really growing late,” said Mr. Allison. The company eagerly assented to the plan, and the boat was stopped where the canal passed under the shadow of a great precipice crowned with pine woods.