Go Down To The End Of That Wooden Bridge, Seat Yourself On The
Rail, And There Sit Till All The Outer World Is Lost To You.
There
is no grander spot about Niagara than this.
The waters are
absolutely around you. If you have that power of eye-contrio which
is so necessary to the full enjoyment of scenery, you will see
nothing but the water. You will certainly hear nothing else; and
the sound, I beg you to remember, is not an ear-cracking, agonizing
crash and clang of noises, but is melodious and soft withal, though
loud as thunder. It fills your ears, and, as it were, envelops
them, but at the same time you can speak to your neighbor without
an effort. But at this place, and in these moments, the less of
speaking, I should say, the better. There is no grander spot than
this. Here, seated on the rail of the bridge, you will not see the
whole depth of the fall. In looking at the grandest works of
nature, and of art too, I fancy it is never well to see all. There
should be something left to the imagination, and much should be
half concealed in mystery. The greatest charm of a mountain range
is the wild feeling that there must be strange, unknown, desolate
worlds in those far-off valleys beyond. And so here, at Niagara,
that converging rush of waters may fall down, down at once into a
hell of rivers, for what the eye can see.
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