The larger falls are seen to best advantage from a rocky ledge, where you can watch the waters calmly bending over the precipice. You at once notice that the stream is lined with glacier polished rocks, and that somber evergreens cling tenaciously to the bank or ledges above the river, wherever they can gain a foothold. "How hardy they are, like the virile tribes of the North, healthy and flourishing in an environment where less vigorous species would perish." At the opposite side from us there had been a landslide and many evergreens had met their death, yet a few now clung to the small portion of rocky earth they still had, like determined Belgians to hold fast their rightful heritage. Out among this scene of partial desolation a great hawk circled and added his eerie cry to the lonely place, announcing that we were not the only watchers in this wild domain. A great blue heron rose slowly into the air and flew across the stream, breaking the silence with his harsh squawk. "Here," we said, "is a quiet nook away from the rest of the world. No need of a monastery here where reigns such perfect seclusion and the charm of its natural scenery makes it a place in which to dream." Slowly you walk along the embankment opposite the falls, now gazing at the amber sheet of water nearest you, now listening for the voices of the other falls, again stooping to note the beauty of the delicate harebells along the rocky ledge or pausing reverently to listen to the songs of the birds coming to you pure, sweet and peaceful above the song of the falls, speaking the soul of the delightful place. A thin, silvery mist from the spray of the falls floats here and there, spreading out in broad sheets over the damp earth, and gathering into filmy ropes and patches as the breeze catches it among the spruce, pine and maple trees above the edge of the falls. A short distance ahead the water glitters again where the river makes a slight turn and plunges over another precipice. It is like the flashing of distant shields. Overhead drift massed white clouds that enfold the valley as far as the eye can see, causing shadows to chase each other swiftly across the vast expanse of green uplands. The alternate gleams of sunshine and shadow seem like the various moods chasing across your memory. But the amber colored etching of Trenton remains visible through it all. Reluctantly you turn away to view the monstrous flume along your path. Then you wander out in the forest of beech and maple, whose solitude heightens your impressions of this wild place. You return again for another view, for the song of water is the same the world over, and you seem drawn irresistibly toward the sound as though sirens were singing. Now you try to gain a lasting impression of the first falls.