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when the train reached the suspension bridge which crosses from Canada
into the States, about a mile and a half below the Falls of Niagara.
We were soon upon the bridge,--a light, airy-looking structure, made
principally of strong wire,--and I was out upon the carriage platform,
looking down into the gorge below. It was bright moonlight, so that I
could see well about me. There were the snow-covered cliffs on either
side, and the wide rift between them two hundred and fifty feet deep,
in the bottom of which ran the river at a speed of about thirty miles
an hour. It almost made the head dizzy to look down. But we were soon
across the bridge, and on solid land again. We were already within
hearing of the great roar of the Falls, not unlike the sound of an
express train coming along the track a little distance of. Shortly
after, we reached our terminus and its adjoining hotel, in which for a
time I forgot the Falls and everything else in a sound sleep.

The first thing that struck me on wakening was the loud continuous
roar near at hand. I was soon up and out, and on my way to the Falls,
seated in a grand sleigh drawn by a pair of fine black horses.
Remember it was the dead of winter, the fifteenth of February, not by
any means the time of the year for going about sight-seeing; and yet I
fancy the sight of Niagara in mid-winter must be quite as astonishing,
and perhaps even more picturesque, than at any other season.

Over the crisp snow, and through the clean little town, the sleigh
went flying, the roar of the water growing louder as we neared the
Falls. Soon we are at the gates of a bridge, where a toll is charged
for admission to the island from which the great Falls are best seen.
Crossing the bridge, we reach the small island, on which a large paper
mill has been erected; and I am pointed to a rock to which last winter
a poor fellow--beyond the reach of safety, though in sight--clung for
hours, until, unable to hold on any longer, he was finally swept away
down the torrent.

We cross another small bridge, and are on the celebrated Goat Island,
which divides the great Canadian from the smaller American fall. My
driver first took me to a point on the American side of this island,
from which a fine view is to be obtained. The sight is certainly most
wonderful. I walked down a steep pathway slippery with ice, with steps
cut here and there in the rock, and suddenly found myself on the brink
of the precipice. Close t