The Broken Spray That Rises From The
Depths Below, Rises So Strongly, So Palpably, So Rapidly That The
Motion In Every Direction Will Seem Equal.
And, as he looks on,
strange colors will show themselves through the mist; the shades of
gray will become
Green or blue, with ever and anon a flash of
white; and then, when some gust of wind blows in with greater
violence, the sea-girt cavern will become all dark and black. Oh,
my friend, let there be no one there to speak to thee then; no, not
even a brother. As you stand there speak only to the waters.
Two miles below the falls the river is crossed by a suspension
bridge of marvelous construction. It affords two thoroughfares,
one above the other. The lower road is for carriages and horses,
and the upper one bears a railway belonging to the Great Western
Canada Line. The view from hence, both up and down the river, is
very beautiful, for the bridge is built immediately over the first
of a series of rapids. One mile below the bridge these rapids end
in a broad basin called the whirlpool, and, issuing out of this,
the current turns to the right through a narrow channel overhung by
cliffs and trees, and then makes its way down to Lake Ontario with
comparative tranquillity.
But I will beg you to take notice of those rapids from the bridge,
and to ask yourself what chance of life would remain to any ship,
craft, or boat required by destiny to undergo navigation beneath
the bridge and down into that whirlpool.
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