as the simplest, expression that occurs to the mind.

We have been here eight days, and I am quite willing to go away. So
great a sight soon satisfies, making us content with itself, and with
what is less than itself. Our desires, once realized, haunt us again
less readily. Having "lived one day," we would depart, and become
worthy to live another.

We have not been fortunate in weather, for there cannot be too much,
or too warm sunlight for this scene, and the skies have been lowering,
with cold, unkind winds. My nerves, too much braced up by such an
atmosphere, do not well bear the continual stress of sight and sound.
For here there is no escape from the weight of a perpetual creation;
all other forms and motions come and go, the tide rises and recedes,
the wind, at its mightiest, moves in gales and gusts, but here is
really an incessant, an indefatigable motion. Awake or asleep, there
is no escape, still this rushing round you and through you. It is
in this way I have most felt the grandeur,--somewhat eternal, if not
infinite.

At times a secondary music rises; the cataract seems to seize its own
rhythm and sing it over again, so that the ear and soul are roused by
a double vibration. This is some effect of the wind, causing echoes
to the thundering anthem. It is very sublime, giving the effect of a
spiritual repetition through all the spheres.

When I first came, I felt nothing but a quiet satisfaction. I found
that drawings, the panorama, &c. had given me a clear notion of the
position and proportions of all objects here; I knew where to look for
everything, and everything looked as I thought it would.