legend, connected with these falls, which will become poetical in the
lapse of years, and was already so to me as I pictured the catastrophe
out of dusk and solitude. It was from a platform, raised over the naked
island of the cliff, in the middle of the cataract that Sam Patch took
his last leap, and alighted in the other world. Strange as it may
appear,--that any uncertainty should rest upon his fate which was
consummated in the sight of thousands,--many will tell you that the
illustrious Patch concealed himself in a cave under the falls, and has
continued to enjoy posthumous renown, without foregoing the comforts of
this present life. But the poor fellow prized the shout of the
multitude too much not to have claimed it at the instant, had he
survived. He will not be seen again, unless his ghost, in such a
twilight as when I was there, should emerge from the foam, and vanish
among the shadows that fall from cliff to cliff.

How stern a moral may be drawn from the story of poor Sam Patch! Why do
we call him a madman or a fool, when he has left his memory around the
falls of the Genesee, more permanently than if the letters of his name
had been hewn into the forehead of the precipice?

Was the leaper of cataracts more mad or foolish than other men who throw
away life, or misspend it in pursuit of empty fame, and seldom so
triumphantly as he? That which he won is as invaluable as any except
the unsought glory, spreading like the rich perfume of richer fruit from
various and useful deeds.

Thus musing, wise in theory, but practically as great a fool as Sam, I
lifted my eyes and beheld the spires, warehouses, and dwellings of
Rochester, half a mile distant on both sides of the river, indistinctly
cheerful, with the twinkling of many lights amid the fall of the evening.