On a fine morning in August, soon after sunrise, I set out with a friend and a guide to visit this sublime scene. The first thing to be done, after descending the tower of steps, is to strip ourselves of all clothing, except a single covering of linen, and a silk handkerchief tied tight over the This costume, with the addition of a pair of pumps, is the court dress of the palace of Niagara.
We passed about fifty rods under the Table rock, beneath whose brow and crumbling sides, we could not stop to shudder, our minds were at once so excited and distressed as we approached that eternal gate-way, which nature has built of the motionless rock and the rushing torrent, as a fitting entrance to her most awful magnificence. We passed a jutting corner of the rock, and the chasm yawned upon us. The noise of the cataract was most deafening; its headlong grandeur rolled from the very skies; we were drenched by the overflowings of the stream; our breath was checked by the violence of the wind, which for a moment scattered away the clouds of spray, when a full view of the torrent, raining down its diamonds in infinite profusion, opened upon us. Nothing could equal the flashing brilliancy of the spectacle. The weight of the falling waters made the very rock beneath us tremble, and from the cavern that received them issued a roar, as if the confined spirits of all who had ever been drowned, joined in an united scream for help! Here we stood—in the very jaws of Niagara,—deafened by an uproar, whose tremendous din seemed to fall upon the ear in tangible
