It was the brightest day that June
could give; and almost any day would have seemed bright that
brought me to the object, which for years, I had languished to
look upon.
We did not hear the sound of the Falls till very near the hotel,
which overhangs them; as you enter the door you see behind the
hall an open space surrounded by galleries, one above another,
and in an instant you feel that from thence the wonder is
visible.
I trembled like a fool, and my girls clung to me, trembling too,
I believe, but with faces beaming with delight. We encountered a
waiter who had a sympathy of some sort with us, for he would not
let us run through the hall to the first gallery, but ushered us
up stairs, and another instant placed us where, at one glance, I
saw all I had wished for, hoped for, dreamed of.
It is not for me to attempt a description of Niagara; I feel I
have no powers for it.
After one long, stedfast gaze, we quitted the gallery that we
might approach still nearer, and in leaving the house had the
good fortune to meet an English gentleman, (The accomplished
author of "Cyril Thornton.") who had been introduced to us at New
York; he had preceded us by a few days, and knew exactly how and
where to lead us. If any man living can describe the scene we
looked upon it is himself, and I trust he will do it. As for
myself, I can only say, that wonder, terror, and delight
completely overwhelmed me. I wept with a strange mixture of
pleasure and of pain, and certainly was, for some time, too
violently affected in the _physique_ to be capable of much
pleasure; but when this emotion of the senses subsided, and I had
recovered some degree of composure, my enjoyment was very great
indeed.
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