Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

Several times, in spite of several sudden drenchings with spray, we went as close as we dared to the water.; So charged with wild romance is the day, that even the Maid of the Mist seems like a mythical vessel, - the passengers with their peaked hoods and coats of black rubber like prehistoric adventurers bound on some grim mission.; To Goat Island – lunch in car – then to “Three Sister Islands (sic), the violent wind – the rapids with fleet of big sound – topped clouds just above them. –; At the “Cave of the Winds” pavilion – the snow-storms mingling with the fog from Horse-Shoe Falls.; Flocks of pheasants – tame enough to eat out of hand – [Upstream to my rubbers & a few souvenirs) (sic) –; To Canadian Side – Horse-shoe Falls from above (iron-barricades prevent a closer view) – the soft yet brilliant rainbow – the wet asphalt road in foreground, reflecting sky, flanked by green grass & yellow trees, the great broad river (iron olive-green gray sweeping out to the cloud-studded horizon where various buildings are “shot-lighted” – ; Niagara Glens – the physical joy of clambering down the path, which let around a between huge boulders (mellow water-worn, moss-covered) peering into caves – at the bottom the wild rapids, lit up by the low sun.; On return – the pot-holes – path leads between to boulders, the glade beyond full of yellow maple leaves – the