The
      character of gorge was maintained only in the height and
      parallelism of the shores; it was lost altogether in their other
      traits. The walls of the ravine (through which the clear water
      still tranquilly flowed) arose to an elevation of a hundred and
      occasionally of a hundred and fifty feet, and inclined so much
      toward each other as, in a great measure, to shut out the light
      of day; while the long plume-like moss which depended densely
      from the intertwining shrubberies overhead, gave the whole chasm
      an air of funereal gloom. The windings became more frequent and
      intricate, and seemed often as if returning in upon themselves,
      so that the voyager had long lost all idea of direction. He was,
      moreover, enwrapt in an exquisite sense of the strange. The
      thought of nature still remained, but her character seemed to
      have undergone modification, there was a weird symmetry, a
      thrilling uniformity, a wizard propriety in these her works. Not
      a dead branch—not a withered leaf—not a stray pebble—not a patch
      of the brown earth was anywhere visible. The crystal water welled
      up against the clean granite, or the unblemished moss, with a
      sharpness of outline that delighted while it bewildered the eye. Having threaded the mazes of this channel for some hours, the
      gloom deepening every moment, a sharp and unexpected turn of the
      vessel brought it suddenly, as if dropped from heaven, into a
      circular basin of very considerable extent when compared with the
      width of the gorge. It was about two hundred yards in diameter,
      and girt in at all points but one—that immediately fronting the
      vessel as it entered—by hills equal in general height to the
      walls of the chasm, although of a thoroughly different character. Their sides sloped from the water’s edge at an angle of some
      forty-five degrees, and they were clothed from base to summit—not
      a perceptible point escaping—in a drapery of the most gorgeous
      flower-blossoms; scarcely a green leaf being visible among the
      sea of odorous and fluctuating color. This basin was of great
      depth, but so transparent was the water that the bottom, which
      seemed to consist of a thick mass of small round alabaster
      pebbles, was distinctly visible by glimpses—that is to say,
      whenever the eye could permit itself not to see, far down in the
      inverted heaven, the duplicate blooming of the hills. On these
      latter there were no trees, nor even shrubs of any size. The
      impressions wrought on the observer were those of richness,
      warmth, color, quietude, uniformity, softness, delicacy,
      daintiness, voluptuousness, and a miraculous extremeness of
      culture that suggested dreams of a new race of fairies,
      laborious, tasteful, magnificent, and fastidious; but as the eye
      traced upward the myriad-tinted slope, from its sharp junction
      with the water to its vague termination amid the folds of
      overhanging cloud, it became, indeed, difficult not to fancy a
      panoramic cataract of rubies, sapphires, opals, and golden
      onyxes, rolling silently out of the sky. The visitor, shooting suddenly into this bay from out the gloom
      of the ravine, is delighted but astounded by the full orb of the
      declining sun, which he had supposed to be already far below the
      horizon, but which now confronts him, and forms the sole
      termination of an otherwise limitless vista seen through another
      chasm-like rift in the hills. But here the voyager quits the vessel which has borne him so far,
      and descends into a light canoe of ivory, stained with arabesque
      devices in vivid scarlet, both within and without. The poop and
      beak of this boat arise high above the water, with sharp points,
      so that the general form is that of an irregular crescent. It
      lies on the surface of the bay with the proud grace of a swan. On
      its ermined floor reposes a single feathery paddle of satin-wood;
      but no oarsmen or attendant is to be seen. The guest is bidden to
      be of good cheer—that the fates will take care of him. The larger
      vessel disappears, and he is left alone in the canoe, which lies
      apparently motionless in the middle of the lake. While he
      considers what course to pursue, however, he becomes aware of a
      gentle movement in the fairy bark. It slowly swings itself around
      until its prow points toward the sun. It advances with a gentle
      but gradually accelerated velocity, while the slight ripples it
      creates seem to break about the ivory side in divinest
      melody—seem to offer the only possible explanation of the
      soothing yet melancholy music for whose unseen origin the
      bewildered voyager looks around him in vain. The canoe steadily proceeds, and the rocky gate of the vista is
      approached, so that its depths can be more distinctly seen. To
      the right arise a chain of lofty hills rudely and luxuriantly
      wooded. It is observed, however, that the trait of exquisite
      cleanness where the bank dips into the water, still prevails. There is not one token of the usual river _débris_. To the left
      the character of the scene is softer and more obviously
      artificial. Here the bank slopes upward from the stream in a very
      gentle ascent, forming a broad sward of grass of a texture
      resembling nothing so much as velvet, and of a brilliancy of
      green which would bear comparison with the tint of the purest
      emerald. This plateau varies in width from ten to three hundred
      yards; reaching from the river-bank to a wall, fifty feet high,
      which extends, in an infinity of curves, but following the
      general direction of the river, until lost in the distance to the
      westward. This wall is of one continuous rock, and has been
      formed by cutting perpendicularly the once rugged precipice of
      the stream’s southern bank, but no trace of the labor has been
      suffered to remain. The chiselled stone has the hue of ages, and
      is profusely overhung and overspread with the ivy, the coral
      honeysuckle, the eglantine, and the clematis. The uniformity of
      the top and bottom lines of the wall is fully relieved by
      occasional trees of gigantic height, growing singly or in small
      groups, both along the plateau and in the domain behind the wall,
      but in close proximity to it; so that frequent limbs (of the
      black walnut especially) reach over and dip their pendent
      extremities into the water. Farther back within the domain, the
      vision is impeded by an impenetrable screen of foliage. These things are observed during the canoe’s gradual approach to
      what I have called the gate of the vista.