eggs and
sulphur; and there you find a little trickling spring oozing out of the
precipice tasting of those delectable compounds.

A Yankee, with the soaring imagination of that imaginative race,
proposes to set fire to the Horseshoe Fall, and thus get up a grand
nocturnal exhibition, to which the Surrey Zoological pyrotechny would
bear the same ratio as a sky-rocket to Vesuvius.

There is no great impossibility in this fact, if it was "not a fact"
that the rush of the Fall disturbs the superincumbent gases too much to
permit it; for there can be but little doubt that there is plenty of
_materiel_ at hand, and, some day or other, a lighthouse will be lit
with it to guide sleepy loons and other negligent water-fowl over the
Falls. I wonder they do not get up a Carburetted Hydrogen Gas Company
there, with a suitable engineer and railway, so that visitors might
cross over to Goat Island on an atmospheric line. There are plenty of
railway stags on both shores, if you will only buy their stock to
establish it; and, at all events, it would improve the City of the
Falls, which now exhibits the deplorable aspect of three stuccoed
cottages turned seedy, and a bare common, in place of a magnificent
grove of chestnut trees, which formerly almost rivalled Greenwich Park.

But the crowning glory of "the City" is the Reflecting Pagoda, a thing
perched over Table Rock bank; very like a huge pile engine, with a
ten-shilling mirror, where the monkey should be. Blessings on Time!
though he is a very thoughtless rogue, he has touched this grand effort
of human genius in the wooden line slightly, and it will soon follow the
horrid water-mill which stood on that most singular and indescribable
freak of Nature, the Table Rock. I would have forgiven Lett, the
sympathizer, if, instead of assassination and the blowing-up of Brock's
Monument, he had confined his attentions to a little serious Guy Fauxing
at the Mill and the Reflecting Pagoda.

Niagara--Ne-aw-gaw-rah, thou thundering water! thy glories are
departing; the abominable Railway Times has driven along thy borders;
and, if I should live to see thee again ten years hence, verily I should
not be astounded to find thee locked-up, and a station-house staring me
in the visage, from that emerald bower, in thy most mysterious recess,
where the vapour is rose-coloured, and the bright rainbow alone now
forms the bridge from the Iris Rock!

I was so disgusted to see the spirit of pelf, that