Chapter XIV: Part 14

“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.

“A few paces—past groups of blithe tourists, past companies of somber Indian girls in blue blankets and high-crowned hats, with their gay wares spread out at their feet—brings you to the Biddle staircase, down which you wind to the foot of the precipice. The path to the left leads along the foot of the overhanging cliff, up to the verge of the Horseshoe fall, only a portion of whose circumference is visible from any point on the American shore. You are here close upon the fragments of rock that fell from just in front of the tower, in February, 1852, the latest of those changes which are slowly and almost imperceptibly altering the form and position of the falls. This fall of rock was seen by an artist who has given us a faithful picture of its effects. He was just recovering from an illness, and while sitting in his room at the Clifton House, on the opposite Canadian shore, he was startled by a crash, almost like that of an earthquake. Tottering to the window, he beheld the immense curtain of rock in front of the tower precipitated from its ancient hold, and lying in huge masses upon the ice below; while a few streams of water trickled down the brown cliff, where but a moment before nothing had been seen but a surface of dazzling ice. The water at this extremity of the fall descends in light feathery forms, contrasting finely with the solid masses in which it seems to plunge down the center of the sweeping curve. The tower is perched upon the very brink of the precipice, so close that the next fall of rock must carry it along with it. The path to the right from the foot of the staircase, leads to the entrance to the Cave of the Winds, which lies behind the central fall. It is hard to imagine how this cavern missed being called the ‘Cave of Æolus,’ by those classicists who have exhausted ancient mythology for appellations for our American scenery. But it has escaped this infliction; and the ‘Cave of the Winds,’ it is, and will be. From the little house close by the entrance, where the requisite changes of dress are made, you look down into an abyss of cold gray mist, driven ever and anon like showers of hail into your face, as you grope your way down the rocky slope. Haste not, pause not. Here is the platform, half-seen, half-felt amid the blinding spray. Shade of Father Hennepin, this is truly a ‘dismal roaring’ of wind and water. We are across, and stand secure on the smooth, shaly bottom of the cave. Look up: what a magnificent arch is formed by the solid rock on the one side, and the descending mass of water on the other. Which is the solider and firmer you hardly know. Yet look again—for it is sunset—and see what we shall see nowhere else on earth, three rainbows one within another; not half-formed and incomplete, as is the scheme of our daily life, but filling up the complete circle, perfect and absolute.

“Upon an isolated rock at the very brink of the cataract stands a round tower. It is approached by a long, narrow bridge, resting now upon ledges of solid rock, and now upon loose bowlders. From the balcony upon its summit, you can lean far over the edge of the precipice, and there catch the freshness of the cloud of spray that rises evermore from the unseen foot of the great fall. Or you can climb down the low rock upon which the tower stands, and gather shells and pebbles from within arm’s length of the verge of the descent, so gentle, to all appearance, is the current. But be not over-bold. These waters, apparently so gentle, sweep down with a force beyond your power to stem. Not many months ago, a man fell from the bridge into their smooth flow, and was in the twinkling of an eye swept to the brink of the descent. Here he lodged against one of those rocks that lie apparently tottering upon the brow, looking over the fearful descent, with as little power to retrace his course, as he would have had to reascend the perpendicular fall. A rope was floated down to him, which he had just strength to fasten around his body, and he was drawn up from his perilous position.

“It is usual to speak of the Horseshoe fall as Canadian; and our rather slow neighbors across the river have been wont to plume themselves upon the possession of the more magnificent part of Niagara; while Young America has been heard to mutter between his teeth something about ‘annexation,’ on the ground that the lesser nation has no fair claim to the possession of the major part of the crowning wonder of the continent. But the portion of Niagara belonging to Canada is hardly worth contending for. The boundary line between the two countries is the deepest water, which runs far over toward the Canadian shore. The line passes through the lonely little isle in the center of the river, which has never been trodden by human foot. Right through the very center of the Horseshoe fall, where the water is greenest, cutting the thickest pillar of spray, through the inmost convolution of the whirlpool, through the calmest part of the quiet reach of water above the suspension bridge, through the maddest work of the rapids below, goes the boundary line, leaving to Canada nothing of Niagara except Table Rock, which yearly threatens to fall, and the half of the great fall: while to America it gives, together with full one-half of the Horseshoe fall, the varying beauties of the lesser cataracts, and the whole wealth of the lovely islands which gem the rapids.

“The general form of the falls is slowly changing from age to age. When Father Hennepin saw them, a century and three-quarters ago, they presented little of that curved and indented outline which now forms their most striking peculiarity. The fall on the western side extended in nearly a straight line from the head of Goat island to Table Rock, which terminated in a bluff that turned a portion of the water from its direct course, forming another cataract which fell to the east. A century later, this projecting rock had disappeared, but the spot which it had occupied was distinctly traceable. From the character of the strata through which the water has slowly worn its way back from the shores of Lake Ontario, we learn what must have been the appearances of the fall at any period of its history. Thus it can never have overcome the descent of three hundred and fifty feet at Lewiston at a single leap, but must have formed at least three cataracts separated by intervening rapids. When the falls occupied the position of the whirlpool, three miles below their present site, the descent was evidently greater than at any period before or since. But there never can have been a period when their beauty equaled that which they present at the present age. The immense breadth of the sheet of falling water, its graceful sweep of curves, and the picturesque islands that stud the brink, belong solely to our present Niagara. The falls recede at present, we are told, at the rate of something less than a foot in a year. Geology is able to predict that when a recession of a mile has taken place, some five or six thousand years hence, the hight of the fall will be reduced by a score of feet. Another five thousand years will subtract two score more of feet. Ten thousand years more, when the fall shall have worn its way four miles further back, all that constitutes Niagara will have disappeared, and the whole descent will be accomplished by a series of rapids like those near the whirlpool.

“It is strange how little of direct human interest is connected with Niagara. One would have supposed that it would have been a sacred spot with the Indians; but, with the exception of a few graves on the upper extremity of Goat island, no special memorial of the aborigines exists here. The falls have been known to the white race for too short a time to gather around them legendary associations. One or two points are associated with the memory of a young Englishman who, something like a score of years ago, set up as the ‘Hermit of the Falls.’ A picturesque little break in the rapids between Goat island and one of the rocky islets known as the Three Sisters, has been named from him the ‘Hermit’s cascade.’ It is a lovely spot, by the side of which one may lie under the overarching trees, and while away the noontide hour, lulled into dreamy slumber by the deep voice of the cataract. This hermit seems hardly worthy of being made the hero of the falls. Little is told of him except that he was fond of music and of pacing by night along the margin of the river; that he was alike indisposed for human society and for clean linen. It is said, indeed, that he was accustomed to record his musings in Latin, but as no fragments of these were discovered after his death, we may set the story down as apocryphal. A deeper tragic interest is attached to a tale, now some three years old, which will be told you as you stand by the margin of the lesser fall. A party of visitors stood here, in gay discourse. Among them were a young man and his affianced bride, and with them a laughing child. The young man, catching up the child, said sportively to her, ‘Now I shall throw you over;’ when she, gliding from his hold in affright, half real and half feigned, slipped, and falling, plunged headlong into the stream; he sprang after, but the current was stronger than his strength, and swept them both down the smooth slope, and over the fall. Their bodies, mangled and bruised, were recovered from the rocks below.

“The pedestrian can hardly find a pleasanter summer day’s ramble, than that along the river to Lewiston, descending on the American side, and returning by the opposite bank. For a mile below the falls, where the channel is narrowest, the current is so smooth, that one might fancy he was gazing down into some quiet tarn embosomed in the mountains, were it not that you catch the white margin of the lower rapids just where the suspension bridge stretches its slender line from the summits of the opposing cliffs.”

This bridge, a view of which is given in the cut below, is about two and a half miles below the falls, and spans the river near the head of the rapids, above the whirlpool. From pier to pier it is eight hundred feet long, and in breadth eight feet. It is suspended on eight wire cables, four on each side, which pass over towers fifty-four feet high, built of heavy timber. The present structure is only the scaffolding for constructing a larger bridge, intended for the passage of railroad cars. The towers for the large bridge will be of solid masonry, each eighty feet high. Each of the cables is eleven hundred feet long, and composed of seventy-two strong, No. 10 iron wires, closely wrapped round with small wire three times boiled in linseed oil, which anneals it, and prevents injury from rust or exposure to the weather. The cables, after passing over the piers on the banks, are fast anchored in solid masonry fifty feet back of them. The _suspenders_, which form the sides, are composed of eight wires each, and are four and a half feet apart. The bridge itself is two hundred feet above the water, and is a wonder alike of enterprise and art.

Our tourist proceeds as follows. “In the quiet reach of the water below this bridge, plies the little steamer, the Maid of the Mist. After passing the ugly, bustling little village growing up around the American extremity of the bridge, a path leads through quiet fields and woods along the very verge of the precipice. Here and there some tree growing upon the brink forms a safe balustrade over which you lean, and look down upon the green water dashing furiously through its confined channel far below.

“The whirlpool, three miles below the falls, is an adjunct worthy of Niagara. The stream makes a sharp bend just where the channel is narrowest and the descent of the rapids the steepest. At the angle the current has scooped out an immense basin, around whose whole circumference the water circles before it can find an outlet. All floating bodies that pass down the river are drawn into the whirlpool, where they are borne round and round for days, and weeks sometimes, it is said, before they make their escape. A practicable path winds down the bank to the water’s edge. The character of the banks gradually changes as we descend toward the outlet of the river. The hard limestone overlying the softer rock, and forming the perpendicular portion of the cliff, becomes thinner; the sloping talus at the foot grows higher, and the rocks are clothed with a luxurious forest growth. A half mile below the whirlpool is a deep cleft in the precipitous bank, which is connected with a wild Indian legend ascribing terrible convulsions of nature, and even the approach of the fatal white men, to an unauthorized violation of the privacy of a great demon who once abode here. This was the scene of a terrible tragedy in the old French wars. A convoy of British soldiers fell into an ambush of Indians at this point, and were all, with the exception of two, slain outright or driven over the edge of the chasm. The little rivulet which flows over the brink, ran red with the blood of the slaughtered, and thus gained the name, which it still bears, of the Bloody Run.

“Close by the Devil’s Hole, the railroad now in course of construction from Lewiston to the falls, gains the level of the top of the bank. From this point downward, it is excavated in the face of the cliff, forming a steep grade to its bottom. An almost continuous line of shanties, occupied by the laborers engaged in the excavation, extends along the very verge of the precipice. It was curious, as I passed along in the early April days, to see children whom we should scarcely trust out of the nurse’s arms, sprawling upon the very verge of the cliff. The laborers are apparently all Irish, and it is noteworthy to see how much more intelligent is the aspect of the younger than of the older children. I thought I could distinguish by their mere physical appearance, those who were born under the freer and happier auspices which surround them here. At the foot of the cliff the suspension bridge stretches like a slender thread across the stream, its supporting towers resting on a ledge above the level of the roadway. No line of guards watches the quiet frontiers of two great nations. The sole police is a small boy at the gate, and the only passport demanded is a shilling for toll. You climb the smooth slope to the summit, where the shattered monument to the noble Brock is the only memorial of the day when the thrice-won victory was at last wrenched from the hands of the Americans. A flock of sheep are cropping the tender herbage; a couple of lambs have found a shady resting-place in the crumbling archway of the monument. To the right the white village of Lewiston presents an aspect of bustling activity; while to the left, on the opposite Canadian shore, Queenstown rests gray and somber. At your feet, just below the dilapidated memorial of war, the bridge, symbol of union, binds the two shores: may it never be a pathway for the march of hostile armies!

“There are two or three things in the way of excursion which must sooner or later be performed. Some bright afternoon, when the west is all aglow, as you sit upon Table Rock, watching the clouds of spray momently torn from the face of the descending column, the guide with the hollow voice, whose mission is to conduct visitors behind the great sheet, presents himself. You commit yourself to his guidance, and donning the suit of yellow oil-skin, follow him down the spiral staircase, along the base of the precipice up to the verge of the cataract. You shudder, and hesitate to enter the blinding spray along that winding path, which seems in the dimness like a slender line drawn upon the face of the rock. The guide whispers a word of encouragement, deftly insinuating how boldly ‘the lady’ trod its slippery length. You take courage and advance. You can scarcely breathe, much less see; but you feel that the torrent is plunging from the immeasurable hight above into the unfathomable depth below. Somehow, how you hardly know, you have passed through the thick curtain of blinding spray, and are peering eagerly into the gray depth beyond. You are on Termination rock, and further than this mortal foot may never penetrate within the vail. Whichever way you turn, it is all cold gray mist, shrouding the overhanging rock and the overarching water above, and the profound depths below; all mist, cold gray mist above, below, around, except when you turn your eyes back along the path by which you entered, where you behold a strip of golden sky between the grim rock and the edge of the descending flood. Drenched and dripping, spent and exhausted, as a shipwrecked sailor flung by the surf upon some inhospitable shore, you follow your guide back along the misty path, and emerge gladly enough into the clear outer air, into the free sunshine, and beneath the bright sky. As you doff the heavy oil-skin integuments, a printed paper is put into your hand, certifying that you ‘have been under the great sheet of water, the distance of two hundred and forty feet from the commencement of the falls to the termination of Table Rock,’ verified by the signature of the proprietor of ‘Table Rock House.’ Your guide looks on you complacently, as though he would assure you that the great end of life was now attained, and you might take up your ‘=Nunc dimittis=.’

“Or you take your place upon the deck of the Maid of the Mist, hard by the suspension bridge, and are steamed up to the foot of the cataract. The little steamer answers but poorly to her romantic name. She swings wearily from her moorings, and goes panting and tugging up the current. Yet she manages to hold her course, unless the wind blows too strong down-stream, and slowly wins her way close up to the huge rocks on which the waters of the American fall are broken and shattered into the thickest of spray. In that spray a sharp and angry gust of wind tears a sudden rent, and through it you catch a glimpse of the green crest of the Horseshoe fall, sinking grandly into the ocean of vapor below. Or better still, if in some calm moonlight night, you glide, with the boatman, along the foot of the American fall, keeping just outside of the dark line of shadow, you will find there is nothing on earth so weird and ghost-like as the spectacle before you. The column of spray rises from the blackness below, like the specter of some gigantic tree, and spreads solemnly up into the clear air above.

“The mere summer tourist, however, sees but half the glory of Niagara. In the winter the great rocks at the foot of the fall are piled up with an accumulation of frozen spray to the depth of half a hundred feet. By creeping cautiously up the slippery ascent, you may stand face to face with the cataract, half-way up its giddy hight. Every shrub on its margin is loaded with glittering ice. The thick-branched evergreens are bowed beneath its weight, and bend to the ground like enormous plumes. The face of the cold gray rock is cased in the frozen element, and ribbed with pillars and pilasters which flash back the reflection of all the gems in the rays of the sun; and when in a clear, unclouded day, that sun shines down in its splendor, the scene is one of matchless magnificence and glory.”

Thus we have attempted a full description of Niagara; and yet words seem but feeble to set forth the magnificence and grandeur of the scene as it rises to the view of the actual beholder. There, in its vast volume and resistless power, it ever flows on with ceaseless, patient, unwearied tide. At midnight and noonday, through summer and winter, and seed-time and harvest, it is still the same. The drought of summer does not sensibly diminish, or the freshets of spring augment its mighty current. The scorching sun does not dry it up, and the chains of winter do not bind it. Emblem of God and of eternity, it rolls on, speaking in calm sublimity of Him who made it. Nor is sublimity the only characteristic of this greatest of waterfalls. There are traits of beauty, which seem even to highten the effect of its grandeur. The rainbow, ever playing in sunshine over its awful front, and seeming indifferent to the boiling whirlpool beneath; the tide of many-colored gems, into which the spray often seems converted, as it plunges over the rocks; the heaps of foam, white as wool, dancing on the billows that rush away from the foot of the fall; and more than all, an aspect of tranquillity and of repose, which settles upon the whole scene, when viewed at a little distance, are all incidents which blend in the majestic picture imprinted on the memory by this stupendous yet lovely work of nature’s God.

The falls of Niagara have been the frequent theme of poetry, but the following lines by Brainard are deemed the finest that have been produced upon the subject.

“The thoughts are strange that crowd into my brain,
While I look upward to thee. It would seem
As if God poured thee from his ‘hollow hand,’
And hung his bow upon thine awful front;
And spoke in that loud voice, which seemed to him
Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour’s sake,
‘The sound of many waters;’ and had bade
Thy flood to chronicle the ages back,
And notch His centuries in the eternal rocks!

“Deep calleth unto deep, and what are we,
That hear the question of that voice sublime?
Oh! what are all the notes that ever rung
From war’s vain trumpet, by thy thundering side!
Yea, what is all the riot man can make
In his short life, to thine unceasing roar!
And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to Him,
Who drown’d a world, and heaped the waters far
Above its loftiest mountains?—a light wave,
That breaks and whispers of its Maker’s might!”

FALLS OF THE MONTMORENCI.

The Montmorenci empties itself at the distance of about eight miles northeast of Quebec, into the great river St. Lawrence, to the coast of which it gradually descends from the elevated mountain on which it has its source. At a station called La Motte, situated on the northern extremity of a sloping ground, its waters diffuse themselves into shallow currents, interrupted by rocks which break them into foam, and accompanied by murmuring sounds which enliven the solitude and solemn stillness prevailing throughout the surrounding forests and desolate hills. Further down, its channel is bounded by precipitous rocks, its breadth becoming extremely contracted, and the rapidity of its current proportionably augmented. At a place called “the natural steps,” there are several beautiful cascades of ten or twelve feet. These steps, which are extremely regular, have been gradually formed by the accession of waters the river receives in its progress, at the breaking up of winter, by the melting of the snows. From the middle of April to the end of May, its waters roll with increasing hight and rapidity. Being powerfully impelled in their course, they insinuate themselves between the strata of the horizontal rock, vast fragments of which are detached by the rushing violence of the sweeping torrent.

On the eastern side, the bank, which is almost perpendicular, and fifty feet high, is surmounted by lofty trees. The south-west bank rises beyond the steps, and terminates in a precipice. On the opposite side, the bank is regular, and of a singular shape, resembling the ruin of an elevated wall. The trees by which the banks are inclosed, united with the effect produced by the foaming currents, and the scattered masses of stone, form a scene wild and picturesque. The stream now taking a southern direction, is augmented in its velocity, and forms a grand cascade interrupted by huge rocks. A quarter of a mile further down a similar effect is produced. After exhibiting an agreeable variety through its course, the river is precipitated, in an almost perpendicular direction, over a rock two hundred and fifty feet in hight. A view of this latter cascade is given in the cut. Wherever it touches the rock, it falls in white clouds of rolling foam; and, beneath, where it is propelled with uninterrupted gravitation, it forms numerous flakes, like wool or cotton, which are gradually protracted in the descent, until they are received into the boiling profound abyss beneath.

The effect from the summit of the cliff is awfully grand, and truly sublime. The prodigious depth of the descent of the waters of this surprising fall; the brightness and volubility of their course; the swiftness of their movement through the air; and the loud and hollow noise emitted from the basin, swelling with incessant agitation from the weight of the dashing waters, forcibly combine to attract the attention, and to impress the mind of the spectator with sentiments of grandeur and elevation. The clouds of rising vapor, which assume the prismatic colors, contribute to enliven the scene. They fly off from the fall in the form of a revolving sphere, emitting with velocity pointed flakes of spray, which spread in receding, until they are interrupted by the neighboring banks, or dissolved in the atmosphere.

The breadth of the fall is one hundred feet; and the basin, which is bounded by steep cliffs, forms an angle of forty-five degrees. When viewed from the beach, the cataract is seen, with resplendent beauty, to flow down the gloomy precipice, the summit of which is crowded with woods. The diffusion of the stream, to the breadth of fifteen hundred feet, and the various small cascades produced by the inequalities of its rocky bed, on its way to the river St. Lawrence, display a very singular and pleasing combination.

THE TUCCOA FALL.

This fall, in Franklin county, Georgia, is as yet scarcely known to the best informed of our geographers, and is notwithstanding one of the most beautiful that can be conceived. It is much higher than the great fall of Niagara; and the water is charmingly propelled over a perpendicular rock. When the stream is full, it passes down the steep in one expansive sheet, magnificent to behold.

FALLS OF THE MISSOURI.

The most prominent features of this great river, which is fed by so many streams, having their sources in a great variety of soils and climates, are its wonderful falls, rapids and cascades, the following connected view of which is abstracted from the very accurate draught and survey made by Captain Clarke.

This river is nine hundred feet wide at the point where it receives the waters of Medicine river, which is four hundred and one feet in width. The united current continues five thousand, four hundred and twelve feet, somewhat more than a mile, to a small rapid on the north side, from which it gradually widens to four thousand, two hundred feet, and at the distance of nine thousand and forty-two feet, (nearly a mile and three-fourths,) reaches the head of the rapids, narrowing as it approaches them. Here the hills on the north, which had withdrawn from the bank, closely border the river, which, for the space of a mile, makes its way over the rocks with a descent of thirty feet: in this course the current is contracted to sixteen hundred and forty feet, and, after throwing itself over a small pitch of five feet, forms a beautiful cascade of twenty-six feet, five inches; this does not, however, fall quite perpendicularly, being stopped by a part of the rock, which projects at about one-third of the distance. After descending this fall, and passing the Cotton-wood island, on which the eagle has fixed its nest, the river goes on for eight thousand, seven hundred and seventy-eight feet, (more than a mile and a half,) over rapids and little falls, the estimated descent of which is thirteen feet six inches, till it is joined by a large fountain boiling up underneath the rocks near the edge of the river, and falling into it with a cascade of eight feet. It is of the most perfect clearness, and rather of a bluish cast; and even after falling into the Missouri it preserves its color for half a mile. From this fountain the river descends with increased rapidity for the distance of thirty-five hundred and thirty-one feet, during which the estimated descent is five feet: from this, for a distance of twenty-two hundred and twenty-seven feet, the river descends fourteen feet seven inches, including a perpendicular fall of six feet seven inches. The river has now become pressed into a space of fourteen hundred and nineteen feet, and here forms a grand cataract, by falling over a plain rock, the whole distance across the river, to the depth of forty-seven feet, eight inches: after recovering itself, the Missouri then proceeds with an estimated descent of three feet, till at the distance of sixteen hundred and eighty-three feet it again is precipitated down the crooked falls, nineteen feet perpendicularly; below this at the mouth of a deep ravine, is a fall of five feet, after which, for the distance of sixteen thousand and five feet, (upward of three miles,) the descent is much more gradual, not being more than ten feet, and then succeeds a handsome level plain for the space of twenty-nine hundred and thirty-seven feet, (more than half a mile,) with a computed descent of three feet, making a bend toward the north. Thence it descends, during seventy-nine hundred and twenty feet, about eighteen feet and a half, when it makes a perpendicular fall of two feet, which is fourteen hundred and eighty-five feet beyond the great cataract, in approaching which it descends thirteen feet, within a distance of about six hundred feet, and gathering strength from its confined channel, which is only eight hundred and forty feet wide, rushes over the fall to the depth of eighty-seven feet and three-quarters of an inch. After raging among the rocks, and losing itself in foam, it is compressed immediately into a bed of two hundred and seventy-nine feet in width; it continues for fifty-six hundred and ten feet to the entrance of a run or deep ravine, where there is a fall of three feet, which, joined to the decline of the river during that course, makes the descent six feet. As it goes on, the descent within the next thirty-nine hundred and sixty feet is only four feet; from this, passing a run or deep ravine, the descent for sixteen hundred feet is thirteen feet: within thirty-nine hundred and sixty feet, is a second descent of eighteen feet; thence twenty-six hundred and forty feet further, is a descent of six feet; after which, to the mouth of Portage creek, a distance of forty-six hundred and twenty feet, the descent is ten feet. From this survey and estimate it results that the river experiences a descent of three hundred and fifty-two feet in the course of fifteen or sixteen miles, from the commencement of the rapids, to the mouth of Portage creek, exclusive of almost impassable rapids which extend for a mile below its entrance.

CATSKILL FALLS.

The Catskill, or Kauterskill falls, represented in the cut below, are in the south-west part of the town of Catskill, about fourteen miles from the village, and two miles west from Pine Orchard, a celebrated summer resort on the brow of the Catskill mountain. Two ponds, uniting their outlets, pour the stream thus formed, by falls and rapids in a deep ravine, to the plain below. The first fall is a hundred and eighty feet perpendicular; and the second, which is within a short distance, about eighty feet. Behind the first fall is an immense natural amphitheater, into which the visitor can go, and look through the water as it falls from above. The view from the ‘Mountain house,’ near by, is extensive and varied. The landscape, in a clear atmosphere, is visible for sixty miles.

TRENTON FALLS.

Among the most beautiful and romantic cascades of the United States, may justly be reckoned Trenton falls, situated about eighteen miles north-east of Utica, in the state of New York, on West Canada creek. Here, within a course of two miles, there are six falls, with an aggregate descent of three hundred and twelve feet. The scenery is the most wild and picturesque imaginable; the stream flowing through a narrow ravine, between perpendicular walls of limestone, which in some places are one hundred and fifty feet high. The pathway of the spectator is mostly along the very margin of the chasm which forms the channel of the rushing waters, on a ledge, or shelf, so narrow and perilous, that the head often is giddy from the sight; and sometimes it is difficult to sustain one’s self. These cascades are more remarkable for the wildness and variety of scenery, than for the volume of water they present. The hight of the principal fall is estimated at one hundred feet.

WATERFALL OF SOUTH AFRICA.

The great chain of mountains which runs from north to south through the colony of the Cape of Good Hope, divides into two branches, one of which stretches south-east, and the other due south. At the extremity of the latter branch is “the waterfall mountain,” in one of the clefts of which a large stream of water falls from the high rock above, and presents, in the winter season, when swollen by the rains, a glorious spectacle. To view this fall to advantage, the traveler has to climb to a considerable hight over the steep and broken rocks which form one side of the mountain, and, on reaching the top, sees it on the other side. Its hight is estimated at between eighty and ninety feet, and its breadth at between thirty and forty. Adequate terms can not be found to describe the sublimity of this scene, after abundant rains, when it is in its full beauty. In the vale beneath, the water is collected in a vast and deep basin, excavated in the stone; and by the side of the stream is a grotto, which runs within the rock to the depth of between thirty and forty feet. The arched entrance to this grotto is close to the falling water, when the stream is full. The rocks about it are thickly grown over with shrubs, which are then sprinkled by the spray. The European travelers who proceed from Cape Town to the interior of South Africa, seldom fail to make a pilgrimage to this enchanting spot.

CATARACTS OF THE NILE.

This celebrated river, through its long and fertile range of about two thousand British miles, in winding through abrupt and precipitous countries, exhibits very considerable cataracts, ten or twelve of which, having a descent of more than twenty feet, occur, before it reaches the level of Egypt. The one which, by way of eminence, is called the cataract of the Nile, was visited by Mr. Bruce, from whose relation the following particulars are extracted.

At the distance of half a mile beneath the cataract, the river is confined between two rocks, over which a strong bridge of a single arch has been thrown, and runs into a deep trough, with great roaring, and an impetuous velocity. On ascending, the cataract presents itself amid groves of beautiful trees, and exhibits a most magnificent and stupendous sight, such as, Mr. Bruce observes, ages, added to the greatest length of human life, could not efface or eradicate from his memory. It struck him with a kind of stupor, and total oblivion of where he was, as well as of every sublunary concern. At the time of his visit, the river had been considerably increased by rains, and fell in one sheet of water, above half an English mile in breadth, and to the depth of at least forty feet, with a force and noise which were truly terrific, and which, for a time, stunned him, and made him giddy. A thick fume, or haze, covered the fall in every part, and hung over the course of the stream both above and below, marking its track, although the waters were not seen. The river, although much swollen, preserved its natural clearness, and fell, partly into a deep pool, or basin, in the solid rock, and partly in twenty different eddies to the very foot of the precipice. In falling, a portion of the stream appeared to run back with great fury on the rock, as well as forward in the line of its course, raising waves, or violent ebullitions, which chafed against each other.

CATARACT OF THE MENDER.

The cataract which constitutes the source of this river, the Scamander of the ancients, is thus beautifully described by Doctor Clarke. “Our ascent, as we drew near to the source of the river, became steep and rocky. Lofty summits towered above us, in the greatest style of alpine grandeur; the torrent, in its rugged bed below, all the while foaming on our left. Presently we entered one of the sublimest natural amphitheaters the eye ever beheld; and here the guides desired us to alight. The noise of waters silenced every other sound. Huge craggy rocks rose perpendicularly, to an immense hight; whose sides and fissures, to the very clouds, concealing their tops, were covered with pines. These grew in every possible direction, among a variety of evergreen shrubs; and enormous plane-trees waved their vast branches above the torrent. As we approached its deep gulf, we beheld several cascades, all of foam, pouring impetuously from chasms in the naked face of a perpendicular rock. It is said the same magnificent cataract continues all seasons of the year, wholly unaffected by the casualties of rain or melting snow. Having reached the chasms whence the torrent issues, we found, in their front, a beautiful natural basin, six or eight feet in depth, serving as a reservoir for the water during the first moments of its emission. It was so clear that the minutest object might be discerned at the bottom. The copious overflowing of this reservoir causes the appearance, to a spectator below, of different cascades, falling to the depth of about forty feet, but there is only one source. Behind are the chasms whence the water issues. We entered one of these, and passed into a cavern. Here the water appeared, rushing with great force, beneath the rock, toward the basin on the outside. The whole of the rock about the source was covered with moss; close to the basin grew hazel and plane trees; above were oaks and pines; and all beyond a naked and fearful precipice.”

The bold and precipitous country of the Alps offers a variety of waterfalls and perpendicular torrents which are well deserving of notice; more particularly those in the vicinity of Mount Rosa, a part of the northern boundary of Piedmont. The river Oreo, fed by numerous streams from Mount St. Gothard, Mount Cenis, and several branches of the Apennines, forms, at Cerosoli, a vertical cascade, estimated at four hundred fathoms, or twenty-four hundred feet; while the torrent Evanson, descending from another part of Mount Rosa, exhibits a fall of more than two hundred fathoms, rolling down pebbles of quartz, veined with the gold which is occasionally traced in the mountains of Challand. The Cascata del Marmore, or Marble Cascade, so denominated from the mountain down which the Velcino falls being almost wholly of marble, lies about three miles from Terni. In proceeding toward it, the traveler is struck with terror on viewing the precipices, which are of a romantic hight; but is sufficiently rewarded, when, on reaching the summit of the mountain, he regards the stupendous cataract, formed by the river as it rushes from the mountain. Having reached the declivity of its channel, the waters descend with a rapid course for a short space, and then fall from a perpendicular hight of three hundred feet, breaking against lateral rocks, which cause vapors to ascend much higher than the summit of the cataract, by which the neighboring valley receives a perpetual fall of rain. After this descent, the waters rush into the cavities of the rocks, and then bursting through several openings, at length reach the bed of the river.

The grand cascade of the Anio, near Tivola, flows down the edge of a steep rock; and at its foot, the water, in a succession of ages, has hollowed grottos of various shapes and sizes, in a manner so beautifully picturesque, as to baffle all description. Of these, the grotto of Neptune is the most celebrated. Near to it are three smaller cascades, which rush murmuring through the ruins of the villa Mecænas, down the woody steep which forms the opposite bank of the river, and present the painter with one of the most picturesque views imaginable, the foreground varying beautifully at every step he takes.

In Savoy, the Arve flows many miles between high, craggy and inaccessible rocks, which appear to have been purposely cleft to give its waters a free passage. The surprising echoes and continual sounds occasioned by its streams, the trampling of the horses and mules, the hallooing of passengers, &c., are, in these places, reverberated three, four, and even in some parts six or seven times, with a noise so deep and wild, as to strike with terror the traveler who is unaccustomed to them; and the firing of a gun or pistol, is there more terrible than the loudest claps of thunder. A steep precipice, with monstrous impending rocks, which seem ready to fall, joined to the roaring of the river, add largely to the general sublimity. The cataracts of this river are more or less loud and terrible, in proportion as the waters are more or less swollen by the melting snows, with which the tops of the mountains are covered. One in particular, called the Nun of Arpena, falls from a prodigiously high rock with great noise and violence: its descent is said to exceed eleven hundred feet.

In Dalmatia, the river Cettina forms a magnificent cascade, called by the inhabitants Velica Gubavisa, to distinguish it from a less fall a little below. The waters precipitate themselves from a hight of above one hundred and fifty feet, forming a deep majestic sound, which is caused by the echo resounding between the steep and naked marble banks. Many broken fragments of rocks, which impede the course of the river after its fall, break the waves, and render them still more lofty and sonorous. By the violence of the repercussion, their froth flies off in small white particles, and is raised in successive clouds, which are scattered, by the agitation of the air, over the valley. When these clouds ascend directly upward, the inhabitants expect the noxious south-east wind called the sirocco.

The fall of the Staub-Bach, in the valley of Lauterbrannen, is estimated at nine hundred feet of perpendicular hight; and about a league from Schaffhausen, at the village of Lauffen, in Switzerland, is a tremendous cataract of the Rhine, where that river precipitates itself from a rock said to be seventy feet in hight, and not less than four hundred and fifty feet broad.

In Sweden, near Gottenburgh, the river Gotha rushes down from a prodigiously high precipice into a deep pit, with a dreadful noise, and with such amazing force, that the trees designed for the masts of ships, which are floated down the river, are usually turned upside down in their fall, and shattered in pieces. They frequently sink so far under water, as to disappear for a quarter of an hour, half an hour, and sometimes for three-quarters of an hour. The pit into which the torrent precipitates them, is of a depth not to be ascertained, having been sounded with a line of several hundred fathoms, without the bottom being found.

In addition to the other North American cataracts already described, may be noticed the Passaic falls, formed by the river Passaic, which discharges itself into the sea at the northern extremity of the state of New Jersey. About twenty miles from the mouth of this river, where it has a breadth of about a hundred and twenty feet, and runs with a very swift current, it reaches a deep chasm, or cleft, which crosses its channel, and falls about seventy feet perpendicularly in an entire sheet. One end of the cleft is closed up, and the water rushes out of the other with incredible rapidity, in an acute angle to its former direction, and is received into a large basin. It thence takes a winding course through the rocks, and spreads again into a very considerable channel. The cleft is from four to twelve feet in breadth, and is supposed to have been produced by an earthquake. The falls of St. Anthony, on the river Mississippi, descend from a perpendicular hight of thirty feet, and are nearly eight hundred feet in width, while the shore on each side is a level flat, without any intervening rock or precipice.

In England, among the cataracts which merit a brief mention, may be cited the one in Devonshire, near the spot where the Tamer receives the small river Lid. The water there falls above a hundred feet: it proceeds from a mill at some distance, and after a course on a descent of nearly one hundred feet from the level of the mill, reaches the brink of the precipice, whence it falls in a most beautiful and picturesque manner, and, striking on a part of the cliff, rushes from it in a wider cataract to the bottom; where falling again with great violence, it makes a deep and foaming basin in the ground. This fine sheet of water causes the surrounding air at the bottom to be so impregnated with aqueous particles, that those who approach it find themselves in a mist. In Cumberland there are several cataracts; but these are exceeded in beauty by a remarkable fall of the Tees, on the western side of the county of Durham, over which is a bridge suspended by chains, seldom passed unless by the adventurous miners. Asgarth force, in Yorkshire, is likewise a very interesting fall.

In Scotland, the fall of Eyers, near Loch Ness, is a vast cataract, in a darksome glen of a stupendous depth. The water rushes beneath, through a narrow gap between two rocks, and thence precipitating itself more than forty feet lower into the bottom of the chasm, the foam, like a great cloud of smoke, rises and fills the air. The sides of this glen are stupendous precipices, blended with trees overhanging the water, through which, after a short space, the waters discharge themselves into the lake. About half a mile to the south of this fall, is another which passes through a narrow chasm, whose sides it has undermined for a considerable distance. Over the gap is a true alpine bridge, formed of the trunks of trees covered with sods, from the middle of which is an awful view of the water roaring beneath. In Perthshire, the river Keith presents a very considerable cataract, the noise produced by which is so violent as to stun those who approach it. The western coast of Ross-shire is, however, peculiarly distinguished by these natural wonders, among which may be cited the grand cataract of the river Kirkag, and the cascade of Glamma, which latter being situated amid the constant obscurity of woody hills, is truly sublime.

In Ireland, the noble river Shannon has a prodigious cataract, which, at about fifty miles from its mouth, prevents it from being longer navigable for vessels of a large burden.

SPRINGS AND WELLS.

ST. WINIFRED’S WELL.

Holywell, in Flintshire, is famous for St. Winifred’s well, one of the finest springs in the world. On account of the sanctity in which it was holden, it gave name to the town. This well pours out, each minute, _twenty-one tuns of water_, which, running to the middle of the town, down the side of a hill, is made use of by every house as it passes, after which it turns several mills, and is employed in various manufactures, which greatly increase the population of the place and its neighborhood. Over the spring, where a handsome bath has been erected, is a neat chapel, supported by pillars, and on the windows are painted the chief events of St. Winifred’s (or, as it was anciently written, Wenefrede’s) life. About the well grows moss, which the ignorant and superstitious devotees most stupidly imagine to be St. Winifred’s hair. This saint is reported to have been a virgin martyr, who lived in the seventh century, and, as the legend says, was ravished and beheaded in this place by a pagan tyrant; the spring having miraculously risen from her blood. Hence this bath was much frequented by popish pilgrims, out of devotion, as well as by those who came to bathe in it for medicinal purposes. Mr. Pennant says, “The custom of visiting this well in pilgrimage, and offering up devotions there, is not yet entirely laid aside: in the summer a few are to be seen in the water, in deep devotion, up to their chins for hours, sending up their prayers, or performing a number of evolutions round the polygonal well.”