A Swedish ship-captain entertained me with stories of his life on this canal, with vessels worked by sails, pulled by man, and sometimes bullock power, creeping cautiously through the lakes, and running in shore whenever the wind was up. He said that he had lived all his days in this way, and was now taking his ease. All day, as we were making our way slowly along, we had been hearing the praises sounded of the Falls of Trollhatten, which we were to reach in the afternoon. The scenery had been improving, rising sometimes into the grand, and always picturesque and pleasing, as we passed well-tilled farms and the abodes of prosperous peasants. A range of locks must be worried through to get by the Falls, and this gives us the time we want, to see and enjoy one of the finest cataracts in Europe! You know they have nothing very great in that line. I have seen them all, and written them up as much as they would bear, but they do not amount to any thing very wonderful, nothing indeed to be compared with ours. We have half a dozen falls that would outleap and outroar all theirs, and we must praise them as an off-set to their palaces and pictures and stone women. They have marvels of art; we, wonders of nature, especially Niagara. Foreigners enjoy a description of Niagara by one who has seen it more than to hear of any thing else in America. But they have often been sullenly incredulous when I have assured them that a mighty river, with the water of half a dozen inland seas, gathers itself within banks a mile asunder, and then makes one prodigious plunge over a precipice 150 feet deep, into an unfathomed gulf! Trollhatten does not attempt such a feat. But the river is caught among a mass of rocks in a narrow gorge, just where the mountains break down to the valley, and the stream comes roaring, tumbling, foaming, rushing headlong with power, fury, madness, indescribable. Water in motion is always beautiful, and when a mighty volume of it is struggling with resisting forces, tearing its way over and down the jagged rocks, and among the green trees of overhanging precipices, what is beautiful becomes sublime and fearful, and admiration rises into awe. In one place the rocks have been actually cut away by art to allow the passage of the water for use, and then the torrent leaps seventy feet at one bound into a frightful abyss. One lofty rock, with a broad, smooth face, like a great tablet, is inscribed with the names of kings, and the dates of their visit to this romantic and interesting spot.