the feeling of an intruder, I walked towards Goat Island. At the
tollhouse, there were further excuses for delaying the inevitable
moment. My signature was required in a huge ledger, containing similar
records innumerable, many of which I read. The skin of a great
sturgeon, and other fishes, beasts, and reptiles; a collection of
minerals, such as lie in heaps near the falls; some Indian moccasons,
and other trifles, made of deer-skin and embroidered with beads; several
newspapers from Montreal, New York, and Boston;--all attracted me in
turn. Out of a number of twisted sticks, the manufacture of a Tuscarora
Indian, I selected one of curled maple, curiously convoluted, and
adorned with the carved images of a snake and a fish. Using this as my
pilgrim's staff, I crossed the bridge. Above and below me were the
rapids, a river of impetuous snow, with here and there a dark rock amid
its whiteness, resisting all the physical fury, as any cold spirit did
the moral influences of the scene. On reaching Goat Island, which
separates the two great segments of the falls, I chose the right-hand
path, and followed it to the edge of the American cascade. There, while
the falling sheet was yet invisible, I saw the vapor that never
vanishes, and the Eternal Rainbow of Niagara.

It was an afternoon of glorious sunshine, without a cloud, save those of
the cataracts. I gained an insulated rock, and beheld a broad sheet of
brilliant and unbroken foam, not shooting in a curved line from the top
of the precipice, but falling headlong down from height to depth. A
narrow stream diverged from the main branch, and hurried over the crag
by a channel of its own, leaving a little pine-clad island and a streak
of precipice, between itself and the larger sheet. Below arose the
mist, on which was painted a dazzling sun-bow with two concentric
shadows,--one, almost as perfect as the original brightness; and the
other, drawn faintly round the broken edge of the cloud.