“Thank you.” I walked up the shore of the river a little way and came to the bridge—a suspension bridge of four or five spans—and went over to Goat Island. This island divides the turbulent river, just before it takes its fearful plunge, into two cataracts. That on this side is termed the “American Fall;” that between Goat Island and Canada being termed the “Horse-shoe Fall,” because of its shape. The American Fall is nine hundred feet wide and one hundred and sixty-four feet high; while the Horse-shoe Fall is two thousand feet wide and one hundred and fifty-eight feet high. By far the larger portion of the water tumbles over on the Canada side of the island, no doubt because the rocky bed of the river is six feet lower on that side; the cataract on either side, however, is stupendous enough for all practical purposes. In this connection I am reminded of an anecdote, with which I will conclude this chapter. Two Yankees, one of a sentimental and the other of a practical turn of mind, were standing side by side, gazing on this prodigy of Nature. “How sublime!” exclaimed the former. “To think that it falls one hundred and sixty-four feet at a single leap!” “What’s to hinder it?” responded the other. CHAPTER XVIII. CAVE OF THE WINDS. IN order to reach the “Cave of the Winds”—I don’t see why it should be so styled, for the winds never _caved_ there yet—I had to descend a winding stairway within a wooden tower at the north western margin of the island. On arriving at the base of the tower, I found myself on a shelf about forty feet above the water-line below the Falls, with the American Fall on my right hand and the Horse-shoe Fall on my left. The “Cave of the Winds” is simply a vacant space between the great perpendicular wall of rock over which the torrent leaps, on the American side, and the broad sheet of descending water itself. A flight of wooden steps takes the visitor down nearly to the water level, behind the foaming, dashing folds of this fearful curtain; and from the foot of the stairs a narrow plank walk extends some distance, to a point where the sheet of water is again parted by a projecting rock at the brink far above. The visitor, after reaching this welcome recess in the furious torrent, can pass out and take a seat on a great heap of rocks at the foot of the mighty cataract, where he hears nothing but the eternal thunder of waters and a cloud of mist hides the whole world from his view! Pardon me for coming down from the sublime to the common-place, and for stating that a suit of water-proof clothes is provided for the visitor. At a little house near the entrance to the “Cave of the Winds” I met a man whom I asked where the guide was. “I am one of the guides,” said he: “but _you_ don’t want to go down into the Cave of the Winds?” “Yes, I had rather thought of going down,” I replied. “O, dear me!” he said, decidedly. “You can’t go down!” “Why?” I asked.