“Well, here’s an evil of rail-road travelling that I never thought of
before!” screamed a bright girl, with pouting, rosy lips and a dimpled
chin, at the risque of spoiling as sweet a voice as ever warbled “Away
with Melancholy,” on a May morning; addressing her words to our good
cousin, who had taken upon himself the responsible charge of escorting a
party of ladies, (among whom were the fair speaker, his sister, and my
fortunate self,) to see the great ‘lion’ of this western world.
“You say that we are within five miles of Niagara, yet I cannot hear its
voice for the eternal gabble, gabble of this locomotive. Why, all my
dreams have been associated with the geographic recollections of
childhood, which invariably said, ‘The roar of the cataract may be heard
distinctly at the distance of fifteen or twenty miles.’”
“You forget,” replied her brother, “that it is when those wise
assurances were written, which make the eyes of the school-girl stand
out ‘as visibly as letters on a sign,’ that this rapid, noisy mode of
travelling was unthought of: wait a little, my sweet sis., till we reach
the point of our destination, and Niagara’s thundering bass will sound
all the mightier, for bursting suddenly upon your ear.”
While these remarks were passing, we were nearing the end of our
journey; and on reaching the depot, our party was among the foremost to
leave the puffing, snorting, “black poney” behind, as we turned our
faces towards the hotel. But neither my fair cousin nor myself seemed
_astounded_ at the noise of the cataract; much to the surprise of her
brother. The truth was, that in this particular of _sound_ our “loud
expectations” exceeded the reality; though it may as well be remembered
here as elsewhere, that before leaving Niagara, our ears _were_ “filled
with hearing,” no less than were our “eyes satisfied with seeing.” The
sun was first hiding his face behind the golden curtain of a July
evening, and tea already sending its grateful fragrance from the ample
board, as we reached “The Cataract House;” so it was agreed that we
should refresh ourselves with a dish of the green beverage, before
sallying out for a peep at the Falls:—furthermore, that until then, no
one of our party should approach a certain window which commanded a view
of the rapids, upon the penalty of our good-natured cousin’s
displeasure; and as we had one and all promised obedience to his wishes,
each poised herself on the tip-toe of curiosity, long enough to swallow
a boiling draught, at the expense of sore, though not _disabled_
tongues, for some days thereafter. We were, however, too unmerciful to
allow our gallant the comforts of his cigar after tea; but by sundry
hints, in the form of bonnets and shawls, compelled his politeness to
yield to our impatience for the evening ramble. Our footsteps were first
directed to the bridge which extends over the boiling, angry rapids, to
Goat Island. Even here, it would seem that as much of the awful, the
sublime, and the beautiful, had met together, as human eyes could endure
to look upon! As we leaned over the railing of the bridge, (holding on
instinctively with convulsive grasp,) and surveyed the yawning
whirlpools beneath, encompassed by the ever-restless foam, I, for one,
thought I had never seen any thing terrific before! But from the
imperfect view of the falls, which the gathering shades of twilight and
the American side gave us that evening, my “first impressions” were
those of bitter disappointment. “And is this the end of all my vast
imaginings?” said I, in haste to myself, but breathed it not aloud; for,
indeed, even then and there, the scene was grand and imposing: so I held
my peace, resolving to await the morning beams, for its rainbow crown,
and retire to my pillow _opinionless_, touching the glories of the grand
cataract.
The sun looked down upon us the next morning without the shadow of a
cloud between, and preparations commenced at an early hour, for a day at
Niagara. Much to our delight, we found a familiar party of ladies and
gentlemen, at a sister hotel, who had arrived during the night, and
would join us in the pleasures of the day. As it happened that the
gentlemen of said party outnumbered the ladies, the _fair_
responsibilities of our obliging cousin (who had performed the part of
“beau-general” much to the credit of his gallantry) were _fairly_
divided with the other beaux, and all things being arranged, each lady
could boast of her own protector. I know of nothing that quickens the
pleasing excitement of these excursions more than an unexpected recruit
of acquaintances and friends. Never was there a gayer or happier little
company than left the “Cataract House” that shadowless summer morning,
to cross the green waters of Niagara river for the Canada side. Oh! how
those bright faces come up before me now, as if among the vivid
recollections of yesterday! There was the brilliant Mrs. —— with her
raven curls, matchless form, and “dangerous eyes of jet,” ever and anon
returning a dazzling smile for the involuntary gaze of admiration. And
what coquette by _nature_ ever learned, until she had been the happy
wife and mother _more_ than two years, to confine her favorable glances
to _one_ beloved object. Albeit the beautiful Mrs. —— is “a jewel of a
wife,” though I heard her adoring husband confess that very day, that
she “caught” him “with her eyes!” There, too, in striking contrast, was
the gentle wife of our happy cousin, with her hazel “eyes, like shaded
water;” the carnation of modesty on her cheeks, and “the ornament of a
meek and quiet spirit” beaming on her brow. And then the fair Miss ——,
only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. ——, from New York, who were exposing,
for the first time, their fragile flower of sixteen summers, whose
delicate complexion, and lily hands, needed none to affirm that “the
winds of heaven never visited her too roughly;” but whose chief
attraction seemed in some way connected with the appellation of
“heiress!” So no doubt thought a whiskered “fortune-hunter,” who, by
dint of bows and smiles, had contrived to insinuate himself into the
good graces of our party, and played the devoted to Miss ——, after the
most approved fashion. To say nothing of the pretty sister of our
cousin, with her tiny feet—“the lightest and gentlest that ever from
the heath-flower brushed the dew!” Nor of the radiant and fascinating
belle of ——, who had already commenced a flirtation with the rich
southerner, who was her chosen _knight_ for the day. Nor of other
laughing eyes and mirth-stirring spirits that made up the party. But,
alas! the shadow of death falls ever upon life’s retrospect picture. Of
one individual, whose gallantry, good sense and extraordinary musical
powers, rendered him a favorite of the fair, on that occasion, may it
now be said, “the places that knew him shall know him no more.” In early
manhood, and in a stranger’s grave, sleeps he whose active step, whose
buoyant spirits, whose melody of song and sparkling wit concealed from
us the insatiate disease, whose slow, sure worm had even then fastened
upon his vitals. Consumption sent him to the balmy south, there to find
a resting place ’mid orange groves and perpetual-blooming flowers. Peace
be with the ashes of the early, the gifted dead.
No sooner was our little barge on the centre of the rapid tide, and the
eye glanced upward and round about, than a scene of magnificence and
glory burst upon us, which it had “never entered into the heart to
conceive!” Many have attempted to describe it; but if the ablest pen of
the most ready writer hath failed to embrace half its wondrous beauties,
let not this humble pen dare to desecrate what for sublimity and
loveliness is verily _indescribable_! To us it seemed that “the
fountains of the deep were again broken up”—as if old _Ocean_ was
pouring forth his deep green floods into that awful abyss, so wide, so
vast, so terrible was their rush to the brink—so mighty and resistless
their plunge into the boiling chasm! There hung the rainbow, with God’s
promise in its hues of beauty—
“That arch, where angel-forms might lean,
And view the wonders of the mighty scene!”
On reaching the Canada side, our first “post of observation” was Table
Rock. The picture it presents—who shall paint it? The most striking
feature of the whole is the vast _quantity_ of water which pours
unceasing and unspent, and its consequent deeply emerald hue as it
passes the rocks, before breaking in its fall to the pure, amber-shaded
foam, which sends up an eternal incense of spray to Heaven. Another
feature of beauty which arrested our attention was the meeting of the
floods at the termination of the “Horse-shoe Fall,” where an angle of
the rocks causes a continual _embrace of the waters_. The eye could
scarce weary in viewing this _one_ beauty of the scene; but before the
mighty _whole_, awe-struck, the heart could only bow in silent adoration
to that Great Being who made it all, for “the spirit of God moved on the
face of the waters!” We next ascended the craggy steep to a
wide-extended plain above, where are placed the barracks of the
“Forty-third regiment of Her Majesty’s troops.” Fortunately for us, the
day was one of regular review, and the whole regiment was out on duty.
As we reached the brow of the hill, where, on the one side, was Niagara
in all its glory, and on the other an extensive military display of red
coats and arms of steel flashing in the sunlight, I thought that Nature
and Art needed no embellishment from the pen of Fancy—“’Twas like
enchantment all!” While in the full enjoyment of this glorious scene,
her Majesty’s well-disciplined band played the familiar air of “God save
the Queen!” as to _us_ it was never played before, and my heart vibrated
with as much joy as it ever felt at the sound of our national air, “Hail
Columbia!”
Our party returned to the hotel at sunset, all uniting in the opinion
that it is impossible to anticipate too much of enjoyment at Niagara, so
far as it respects the marvellous and beautiful in nature, and only
regretting that we could not pass a month, instead of a day, with its
scenes around us. A few hours, previous to our departure the following
morning, were spent in exploring Goat Island, so far as our limited time
would allow. ’Tis in sooth a “fairy isle,” lashed day and night by the
untiring rapids, and affording various and beautiful views of the great
cataract it divides. The luxuriant foliage of its majestic trees
shelters the admirer of the scenes around from the noonday heat, and the
odors from its garden of flowers regale his senses the while.
We bade a reluctant adieu to Niagara, calling to mind all the
imaginations that the heart had devised—all the descriptions we had
heard from others’ lips—but with the words of “the Queen of the East”
on our own, “_The half was not told me_.”
By way of concluding this imperfect sketch, we add some few lines, which
were written in despite of a resolution most religiously _made_ against
such a presumptive measure; for, somehow or other, the humblest, as well
as the loftiest pen, will attempt in numbers to express the _un_numbered
thoughts and “strange, which crowd into the brain” at Niagara. And while
this prince of cataracts flows on, its terrific beauties will be still
the oft-told but unspent theme of the “spirit-stirring muse.”