of one of the world's greatest literary journals. It is published in New
York and is called the _New York Mirror_.... It is all so strange. Is it
true that in this country, so far from England, there are men who are
the equals of Shelley and Byron, or of Tennyson, whose first book has
given me such delight recently?...

We near the journey's end. At Lockport we are lifted up the precipice
over which the Falls of Niagara pour some miles distant. We are now on a
level with Lake Erie, to which we have climbed by many locks and lifts
over the hills since we left Albany. Soon we travel along the side of
the Niagara River; quickly we drift into Buffalo.




CHAPTER V


Buffalo, they told me, had about 15,000 people. I wished to see
something of it before departing for the farther west. For should I ever
come this way again? I started from the dock, but immediately found
myself surrounded by runners and touters lauding the excellences of the
boats to which they were attached. The harbor was full of steamboats
competing for trade.... They rang bells, let off steam, whistled. Bands
played. Negroes ran here and there, carrying freight and baggage. The
air was vibrating with yells and profanity.... But I made my escape and
walked through the town. It had broad streets, lovely squares,
substantial and attractive buildings and residences. And there was Lake
Erie, blue and fresh, rippling under the brilliant May sun. I had never
seen anything remotely approximating Lake Erie.... "How large is it?" I