“Niagara! O Niagara! long thy memory will remain A source of mingled wonder, of happiness and pain. When burst thine awful grandeur on my raptured, ravished sight, My senses broke from Reason’s chain, in frenzied, wild delight; But as the God-like attribute resumed its sovereign sway, A calmer feeling soothed my breast—its tumult passed away, The spirit bowed, and then a tear—my Nature was subdued, A thrill of awe swept through my frame, I worshiped as I viewed; A moment more I silent gazed, then humbly bent the knee, As, in Niagara’s mightiness, I felt God’s majesty! I saw His glory shining round where tremblingly I stood, I cast a glance to His bright realm then on the foaming flood: And is there strength, I humbly asked, in the Almighty will To calm this boisterous element, and bid its rage be still?— To sweep it e’en from Nature’s face, with but a single breath, Resistlessly as human life is swept away by death? And can Niagara not rebel, with all its force and power, When crumbling Nature shall give way at the appointed hour? Must its fierce torrent tamely hush—its giant rocks then fall? The still voice of my soul replied, ‘Yes, yes, frail mortal, all!’ Then let me meekly bow the head before such Power Divine— The only Power that never ends—NIAGARA’S GOD AND MINE!” I am sure you will not quarrel with me, reader, for introducing these graphic and eloquent lines, and for growing sentimental over my remembrance of Niagara Falls. They are too grand to be passed over lightly. Thus far, since my arrival at Niagara, you have not found much of the John Smithian tone in my narrative. I had heard a good deal about the “Cave of the Winds,” and thought I would like to visit it. So, after standing for a full hour, wrapped up in the glories of the thundering cataract, I inquired of a respectable-looking gentleman where the “Cave of the Winds” was? “You must go over on Goat Island to see that,” he said; “but I hope you don’t think of going down?” “O, yes,” I replied. “What——on one leg?” “Yes, I shall certainly take it with me.” “But it is dangerous. You will have to go down a steep flight of wooden steps, and pass behind the sheet of water where you cannot stand up. The spray will blind you, and the wind will take your breath and lift you off your feet——” “_Foot_,” I interrupted. “Yes, will lift you off your _foot_; and one mis-step is certain death. Many strong men with two legs are afraid to try it.” “They have two feet, and are therefore just twice as apt to slip or make a mis-step.” “Well,” said he, “go and see it, and I don’t believe you will venture down. A look down into it will satisfy you. It will remind you of all the accounts you have heard of Hades——” “Where I thought _water_ was not so plenty,” I interrupted. “You are ahead of me again,” said he, laughing. “Well, follow the bank of the river till you reach a bridge: that will take you over to Goat Island.”