An internary for visiting Niagara Falls

On going to Niagara for the first time, one fears that his impression will not be great, for has he not heard from childhood, that name reiterated a thousand times until it has lost much of its glamour? Then, too, has he not seen pictures of Niagara in his geography and heard his older brothers tell about it until its grandeur seems, from what he had at first pictured in fancy, to lose much of its significance? "But like sunsets, mountains, lakes and some people he may know, who are still strikingly beautiful though common, he will find a significance in the real Niagara like these."

You will perhaps be advised not to follow the beaten trail and rush to Prospect Point, but save the best portion of the trip for the last. Through the park to Goat Island bridge you go in eager anticipation to learn whether your fancy had pictured with accurateness the real scene. From this massive stone structure you gaze up the river and behold the so-called American rapids. Here the view awes one into silence. Even the "Isn't it lovely?" and "oh, how wonderful!" types of people can scarcely say more than "Niagara!" Strange, too, it is that one seldom hears the word "scrumptious." Perhaps the people have chosen the adjective we heard a German use, who on being asked how he enjoyed the view from the bridge replied, "Bully."

America should be justly proud that one of her great natural wonders has views like this. You gaze enraptured at the swishing, swirling, lapping mass of water above you, that falls from a series of terrace-like cascades. As it draws nearer, you are impressed by the glorious display of the wild, raging waters around you. How slowly you walk across the bridge, still noting the turbulent mass of water rushing past with amazing velocity and grand display of power.

Directly in front of the bridge you will see a vast flat rock over whose polished surface the water comes tumbling in a great fan-shaped mass, which is as grand as anything at Niagara. The waters loom up at this point like some majestic living creature who is marshaling his forces for the final plunge after they have been scourged and seem impatient and glad to escape. To gaze down at this place, one seems to be near some "vast and awful Presence." The writhing, seething waters seem always advancing, yet never arrive; hurrying to escape but never are gone; halting against stones still ever are moving; seeming changeless across the flood of years.

Your companions who have contracted that strange disease, not "Hookworm," but "Americanitis," tell you it is exceedingly beautiful here, but you must hurry on as your time is limited. One wonders if a certain time was set for the sculpturing of Niagara. Slowly you move on, turning away reluctantly from a scene so fair; pausing again to look at the beautiful elms and willows that grow so near the edge of the stream, their drooping branches almost touching the wild swirling waters, as if trying to get a fleeting glimpse of their own beauty.

On one of the small islands you catch a glint of metallic blue and you see a kingfisher alight on the limb of a dead pine tree that hangs over the water. He is gazing so intently at the swift rushing waters below him that you almost fancy he is attracted by the view. Suddenly he darts from his perch and, holds himself poised in mid-air until he sights a fish. He drops like a plummet and disappears. He quickly reappears and flies to a near- by rock with a fish, where he beats it to pieces and devours it.

You forget about going so slowly until some one admonishes you that the rest of your party are treading the various paths of Goat Island. You hurry now and are soon among your friends.