Your companions who have contracted that strange disease, not "Hookworm," but "Americanitis," tell you it is exceedingly beautiful here, but you must hurry on as your time is limited. One wonders if a certain time was set for the sculpturing of Niagara. Slowly you move on, turning away reluctantly from a scene so fair; pausing again to look at the beautiful elms and willows that grow so near the edge of the stream, their drooping branches almost touching the wild swirling waters, as if trying to get a fleeting glimpse of their own beauty. On one of the small islands you catch a glint of metallic blue and you see a kingfisher alight on the limb of a dead pine tree that hangs over the water. He is gazing so intently at the swift rushing waters below him that you almost fancy he is attracted by the view. Suddenly he darts from his perch and, holds himself poised in mid-air until he sights a fish. He drops like a plummet and disappears. He quickly reappears and flies to a near- by rock with a fish, where he beats it to pieces and devours it. You forget about going so slowly until some one admonishes you that the rest of your party are treading the various paths of Goat Island. You hurry now and are soon among your friends. What a beauty spot is this group of islands and islets! It is only half a mile long and contains but seventy acres. But where in all this universe does one's fancy take such long aerial flights or the mind become conscious of such grandeur and power? You seem to wander in fairyland where the wild throng of many voiced waters are telling aloud, "Nature's industry to create beauty and usefulness." Lower and sweeter the voices, too, are rising like musical incense to the Creator, pouring out their passionate songs which tell of joy and enthusiasm in silvery cataracts of melody, pitched in a higher key, yet not unlike Niagara. You hear the cardinal's rich flute-like song of "What, what cheer!" ringing from a wild grapevine. Again he seems to say "Come, come here!" Whether it be an invitation to all mankind or just a message to his coy mate you know he learned it from the same teacher as Niagara, and their voices are alike full of rarest melody. The leisurely golden chant of the wood thrush, where the misty spray and cool shadows enfold you, seems like a spirit voice speaking audibly to you, and the song- sparrow sends his sweet wavering tribute to tell you he, too, enjoys the shady nooks of Niagara. Here if we could only interpret aright are still small voices speaking of divine love and infinite beauty, just as audibly as the more powerful voice of Niagara. At the edge of Goat Island are numerous rocks where you may get a remarkable view of the rapids; "and the forest invites the lover of trees to linger long amid its dim-lighted aisles, where he will find for his vivid imagination an ideal place for reverie."