June 4, 80.FOR really seizing a great picture or book, or piece of music, or architecture, or grand sceneryor perhaps for the first time even the common sunshine, or landscape, or may-be even the mystery of identity, most curious mystery of allthere comes some lucky five minutes of a mans life, set amid a fortuitous concurrence of circumstances, and bringing in a brief flash the culmination of years of reading and travel and thought. The present case about two oclock this afternoon, gave me Niagara, its superb severity of action and color and majestic grouping, in one short, indescribable show. We were very slowly crossing the Suspension bridgenot a full stop anywhere, but next to itthe day clear, sunny, stilland I out on the platform. The falls were in plain view about a mile off, but very distinct, and no roarhardly a murmur. The river tumbling green and white, far below me; the dark high banks, the plentiful umbrage, many bronze cedars, in shadow; and tempering and arching all the immense materiality, a clear sky overhead, with a few white clouds, limpid, spiritual, silent. Brief, and as quiet as brief, that picturea remembrance always afterwards. Such are the things, indeed, I lay away with my lifes rare and blessed bits of hours, reminiscent, pastthe wild sea-storm I once saw one winter day, off Fire islandthe elder Booth in Richard, that famous night forty years ago in the old Boweryor Alboni in the childrens scene in Normaor night-views, I remember, on the field, after battles in Virginiaor the peculiar sentiment of moonlight and stars over the great Plains, western Kansasor scooting up New York bay, with a stiff breeze and a good yacht, off Navesink. With these, I say, I henceforth place that view, that afternoon, that combination complete, that five minutes perfect absorption of Niagaranot the great majestic gem alone by itself, but set complete in all its varied, full, indispensable surroundings.