The Englishwoman In America By Isabella Lucy Bird
























































































































 -  The temple seems a fit and awful shrine for Him
who rides on the wings of mighty winds, and, completely - Page 127
The Englishwoman In America By Isabella Lucy Bird - Page 127 of 249 - First - Home

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The Temple Seems A Fit And Awful Shrine For Him Who "Rides On The Wings Of Mighty Winds," And, Completely

Shut out from man's puny works, the mind rises naturally in adoring contemplation to Him whose voice is heard in

The "thunder of waters." The path was so very narrow that I had to shuffle backwards for a few feet, and then, drenched, shivering, and breathless, my goloshes full of water and slipping off at every step, I fought my way through the blinding clouds of spray, and, climbing up the darkened staircase, again stood on Table Rock, with water dripping from my hair and garments. It is usual for those persons who survive the expedition to take hot brandy and water after changing their dresses; and it was probably from neglecting this precaution that I took such a severe chill as afterwards produced the ague. On the whole, this achievement is pleasanter in the remembrance than in the act. There is nothing whatever to boast of in having accomplished it, and nothing to regret in leaving it undone. I knew the danger and disagreeableness of the exploit before I went, and, had I known that "going behind the sheet" was synonymous with "going to Termination Rock," I should never have gone. No person who has not a very strong head ought to go at all, and it is by every one far better omitted, as the remaining portion of Table Rock may fall at any moment, for which reason some of the most respectable guides decline to take visitors underneath it. I believe that no amateur ever thinks of going a second time. After all, the front view is the only one for Niagara - going behind the sheet is like going behind a picture-frame.

After this we went to the top of a tower, where I had a very good bird's- eye view of the Falls, the Rapids, and the general aspect of the country, and then, refusing to be victimised by burning springs, museums, prisoned eagles, and mangy buffaloes, I left the Walrences, who were tired, to go to the hotel, and walked down to the ferry, and, scrambling out to the rock farthest in the water and nearest to the cataract, I sat down completely undisturbed in view of the mighty fall. I was not distracted by parasitic guides or sandwich-eating visitors; the vile museums, pagodas, and tea-gardens were out of sight: the sublimity of the Falls far exceeded my expectations, and I appreciated them the more perhaps from having been disappointed with the first view. As I sat watching them, a complete oblivion of everything but the falls themselves stole over me. A person may be very learned in statistics - he may tell you that the falls are 160 feet high - that their whole width is nearly four-fifths of a mile - that, according to estimate, ninety million tons of water pass over them every hour - that they are the outlet of several bodies of water covering one hundred and fifty thousand square miles; but unless he has seen Niagara, he cannot form the faintest conception of it.

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