Mr. Fergusson in his notes made during a Visit to the United States and Canada in 1831, says:  after breakfast I took leave of my friend, and walked on for the Falls, leaving the stage, in which I had secured a place, to follow.  The day was delightful, and as I ascended the steep hill from Queenston, I overtook a soldier of the 79th in charge of the baggage wagons, leaning on his musket, and wrapt in admiration of the surrounding scenery, “It’s mair like Scotland, sir, than ony thing I’ve seen sin’ I left it,” was the poor fellow’s remark, and truly it was far from misapplied, making due allowance for difference of scale.  The country from Queenston to the Falls is well settled, and finely diversified by farms, orchards and open forest.  The soil is perhaps light, but in some places of a stronger description, and all apparently fertile, desirable land.  A very beautiful property, originally laid out by the ill-fated Duke of Richmond, and subsequently possessed by Sir Peregrine Maitland, adjoins the Road.  The house, which is in the cottage style, of wood, seems large and commodious.  This estate is in a very favourable situation, and has been lately sold for 2,000l.; it contains about 450 acres of good, useful land.  The distance from Queenston to Niagara is about seven miles, and I sauntered on the whole way, the coach not overtaking me.  About four miles from the Falls, the sound came upon my ear like the murmur of Old Ocean on a rugged strand.  In certain states of the atmosphere and the wind this is heard at a much greater distance.  The noise gradually increased, and by and by the spray was seen rising in columns above the trees.  A splendid and extensive establishment was soon after recognised as Forsyth’s hotel, and, under feelings far more intense than common curiosity, I hurried forward to a point, where Niagara in all its glory came in view.  From the increasing facility of migrating now-a-days even from one end of the world to another, Niagara has lost somewhat of that mysterious halo with which it was wont to be enveloped; but still it must ever be Niagara.  The most eloquent descriptions, I should think, must prove inadequate to convey a just conception of the scene.  Nor can the pencil, I imagine, ever do it justice.  A cataract may be said, as regards the painter’s art, to differ from all other objects in nature.  The human face and figure, the rich and varied landscape, the animal and vegetable world, may with sufficient propriety be delineated at rest, but quiescence forms no feature here.  The ceaseless roar, the spray mounting like clouds of smoke from the giant limekiln, and the enormous sheet of water which rolls into the abyss, can only be felt and understood by repeated visits to the scene.  My attention was for a time distracted by the rapids which are extremely interesting, and with any other neighbour than the Falls would excite the highest admiration and wonder.  After some time spent in contemplation,