was soon stretching my neck out of the window,
looking out for the first glimpse of the great Cataract.
In vain � nor could I hear its roar.     On, fast
and more excited and interested, and expectant than
I ever have been before in my life.   A stoppage
was an intolerable affliction.       At length through
the vistas of young trees we see rows of tents, and
then straggling people; then crowds,  a perfect swarm.
Halt � and off I am, through the dusty throng
across the tracks, listening to a dull monstrous
roar, and as I near the river bank conscious of
a most refreshing humidity of the atmosphere. It
is always moist here � and most delightful to res-
piration.   Called at the huge �Cataract House�
close by, and inquired for Mr Priestley, Whig
Review Editor.    They�d letters for him, but knew
not his whereabouts.    So I gave them my carpet
bag to back up and then off.    Across a