only in those portions of the towns in which shops are to be found that the houses are built close together, and rather with an eye to the advantage of business than for beauty. Still a handsome appearance and good proportion are never lost sight of, and everywhere prevail order and neatness.
“Do you live happily and contentedly here in this city?” inquired I from a young shopman, who looked particularly agreeable.
“Oh, yes, indeed!” replied he, frankly and cordially, “we have good friends, good neighbours, and everything good! We could not wish it better!”
An unusual state of happiness and contentment!
The next day we went with a carriage and horses—a mode of travelling which is beginning to be uncommon here—to Trenton, in order to see the waterfall, which is cousin to Niagara in reputation. It is a wild and violent fall, hurling itself through an immense chasm of rock, directly down a height of certainly a quarter of an English mile. The water, which has the colour of clear sherry, leaps from between the lofty dark walls of rock, like a Berserk, from ledge to ledge in the wildest tumult, gleaming in the sun, tumbling into abysses, leaping up over masses of rock and trunks of trees, rending down and overwhelming everything in its career, flinging forth cascades of spray right and left into the wood, which stands as if dumb and trembling while the mighty giant-hero passes by. It is magnificent; but too violent, too headlong. One is deafened by the thundering roar, and almost blinded by the impetuosity with which the masses of water are hurled forward. One becomes wearied by it, as one does by anything extravagant, let it be as grand as it may; one cannot hear one's own thoughts, much less those of others, even if they are shouted into one's ear. One is out-talked, out-done, out-maddened by the giant's Berserker-madness. Alone in its clear and glowing
