At night the distant moan of the Niagara falls was audible, and this, together with what I had heard and read, made me very anxious to visit the spot.  Accordingly, one splendid morning I started by train for the purpose.  For some miles before we reached Niagara, we constantly heard the roar of the rushing waters, and were thus prepared for the stupendous scene that burst upon the view, as we alighted at the doors of that ne plus ultra of modern hostelries, the Pavilion Hotel.

My powers of description will fall short of conveying to the mind of the reader the awful grandeur of this cataract, so often commented upon by travellers.  The first impression felt by me was, that the whole substratum on which I stood, which seemed to tremble, was about to be swept away by the vast inundation.  It was not the height of the falls, but the immense body of water, which comprehends, with constant accumulations from the tributaries on the way, the overflowings of Lakes Erie, Superior, Michigan, and Huron.  The astonishing effect of such a body of water, dashed abruptly over a precipice of 150 perpendicular feet, may be conceived; such is the momentum of this immense volume of fluid, that, when it strikes the rocky bed at the base of the cataract, it rebounds in a thick cloud of vapour—­and when the sun’s rays intercept it, as was the case when I arrived there, a beautiful rainbow of vivid colours encircles the area of the chasm, and, together with the natural curiosities and situation of the entire scene, presents to the amazed beholder, the effect of a highly-executed picture in a frame of sun-light, although far surpassing the productions of human skill, which may well be said, in comparison, to sink into utter insignificance.

A large company of visitors were assembled at the time of my arrival, probably from all parts of the world—­so that I found it impossible to get a bed, unless I penetrated into the interior with a view to obtain accommodation at some farm-house, or crossed to the Canada side; but, feeling too tired, after the day’s excitement, to pursue either such course, I took an evening train and returned to Buffalo the same day, where I arrived at 9 P.M.

About three miles from Buffalo is an Indian village, called Tonawanda.  I frequently saw parties of the inhabitants, who resort to the city to dispose of their wares and produce.  Some of the warriors were fine athletic fellows, of great stature, the lowest I saw being over six feet in height.  They were clothed in tanned buck-skin, curiously fringed and ornamented with porcupine-quills richly dyed; their squaws (wives) being enveloped in fine Canadian blue broad cloth, their favourite costume; the crimson or other gaudy-coloured selvedge forming a conspicuous ornament.

Like all the aborigines of America, they cling with tenacity to primeval habits and customs, resisting every attempt made by the white population, to make or persuade them to conform to civilized life.  The ill-usage they have been subjected to by the Americans, may, however, account for this in a great measure.  They were described to me by one of the residents as a dissipated set of fellows, who squandered all they got in “fire-water,” as they term ardent spirits, and when inebriated are so quarrelsome that it is dangerous in the highest degree to irritate them.