“From the bridge leading to Goat island, the rapids present that same appearance of plunging from the sky which renders their view from the Canadian shore so impressive. Goat island—so let it still be called, in spite of the foppery which has lately attempted to change its name to Iris island—presents an aspect almost as wild as it did before it had been rendered accessible to human foot. Were it not for the path which girdles its entire circumference, and the rustic seats disposed here and there, one might fancy that he was the first who had ever sauntered through its grand and stately woods. The beauty and variety of the trees on this island are wonderful. There is the maple, greeting the early spring sunshine with its fire-tipped buds; spreading out in summer its broad dome of dark green leaves in masses so thick, that beneath them you have no fear of the passing shower; and in autumn wearing its gorgeous crimson robe like an oriental monarch. The beech shows its dappled trunk and bright green foliage at every point, giving perpetual life and vivacity to the scene. The silvery trunks of the white birch gleam among the underwood. An occasional aspen, with its ever-quivering leaves, which almost shed a sense of breezy coolness in the stillest, sultriest day, contrasts finely with the dark evergreens by which it is relieved. Almost all of our northern fauna have their representatives here. Even upon the little Ship island, which can be crossed in any direction in a dozen strides, and which appears to a hasty view but a mass of twisted and gnarled cedars, there are at least seven distinct species of trees. Those trees, however, which immediately overhang the falls, have an aspect peculiar to themselves. They are bent, broken, twisted and contorted, in every direction. They seem to be starting back in horror from the abyss before them, and to wind their long finger-like roots around the rocks, in order to maintain their hold. “One of these, an aged birch, growing upon the ridge known as the ‘Hog’s Back,’ affords a resting-place from which to gain one of the finest views of the American falls. Right in front is the small central fall, and the footbridge which leads to Luna island, with its trees dwarfed and stunted by the weight of frozen spray which loads them in the winter. Beyond is the serrated line of the American fall; while the distance is filled up with the receding lines of the banks of the river below.