The wood thrush's song
today is divine, yet, the simpler ditty of the wren has a
sweetness not found in the larger minstrel's song. Here one is
not bored with the "ohs" and "ahs" of gasping tourists, who
scream their delights in tones that drown the voice of the
falls. You can at least grow intimate with them, and their
beauty although not awesome, grows upon you like a river into
the life of childhood. It is a very graceful stream with wilder
surroundings than Niagara.
One fears his visit to Niagara will spoil his journey to
Trenton, and finds himself repeating these significant lines of
Shakespeare:
"When the moon shone, we did not see the candle;
So doth the greater glory dim the less."
But, Shakespeare never saw Trenton falls, or he never would have
written those lines. What could be more beautiful than its
lovely cascades flashing in the sun or hidden away among the
shadows among the pine and maple?
A little red squirrel barked and chattered among the pine boughs
as if reprimanding us for eating so many of the luscious
blackberries that grew near the falls. Seeing that his attempts
to make us move were of no avail, he scampered down the tree,
coming quite near us and giving vent to his outraged feelings,
punctuating each remark with a sudden jerk of his bushy red
tail, scolding and gesticulating like an Irish cop.
