Niagara
"Come and worship at a shrine,
Rear'd by hands eternal,
Where the flashing waters shine,
And the turf is ever vernal,
And nature's everlasting voice
For ever cries--rejoice, rejoice!"
S.M.
The night had been one of pouring rain, and the day dawned through a
thick veil of misty clouds, on the morning of which we were to start
from Toronto to visit the Falls of Niagara.
"It is always so," I thought, as I tried to peer through the dense mist
that floated round the spire of St. George's church, in order to read
what promise there might lurk behind its gray folds of a fine day. "What
we most wish for is, for some wise purpose inscrutable to our narrow
vision, generally withheld. But it may clear up after all. At all
events, we must bide the chance and make the experiment."
By seven o'clock we were on board the "Chief Justice," one of the
steamers that daily ply between Toronto and Queenstone. A letter
that I got, in passing the post-office, from the dear children at
home, diverted my thoughts for a long while from the dull sky and the
drizzling rain; and when it had been read and re-read, and pondered over
for some time, and God inwardly thanked for the affection that breathed
in every line, and the good news it contained, the unpromising mist had
all cleared away, and the sun was casting bright silvery gleams across
the broad bosom of the beautiful Ontario.
We did not meet with a solitary adventure on our very pleasant voyage;
the deep blue autumnal sky, and the gently-undulating waters, forming
the chief attraction, and giving rise to pleasant trains of thought,
till the spirit blended and harmonized with the grand and simple
elements that composed the scene.
There were no passengers in the ladies' cabin, and we never left the
deck of the steamer until she came to her wharf at Queenstone.
The lake for some miles before you reach the entrance of the Niagara
river assumes a yellowish-green tint, quite different from the ordinary
deep blue of its waters. This is probably owing to the vast quantity of
soil washed down by the rapids from the high lands above.
The captain told us that after a storm, such as we had experienced on
the preceding night, this appearance, though it always existed, was more
apparent. You catch a distant glance of the Falls from this part of the
lake; but it is only in the shape of a light silvery cloud hovering on
the edge of the horizon. We listened in vain for any sound to give us
an indication of their near vicinity. The voice of nature was mute. The
roar of the great cataract was not distinguishable at that distance.
The entrance to the Niagara river is very interesting. You pass between
the two strong stone forts, raised for the protection of their
respective countries; and a hostile vessel would stand but a small
chance of keeping clear from danger in passing either Cerberus. It is
devoutly to be hoped that all such difficulties will be avoided, by the
opposite shores remaining firm friends and allies.
The town of Niagara is a quaint, old-fashioned looking place, and
belongs more to the past than the present of Canada; for it has not made
much progress since it ceased to be the capital of the Upper Province,
in spite of its very advantageous and beautiful locality.
As you approach Queenstone, the river is much contracted in its
dimensions, and its banks assume a bold and lofty appearance, till they
frown down upon the waters in stern and solemn grandeur, and impart a
wild, romantic character to the scene, not often found in the Upper
Province.
I never beheld any water that resembled the deep green of the Niagara.
This may be owing, perhaps, to the immense depth of the river, the
colour of the rocks over which it flows, or it may be reflected from the
beautiful trees and shrubs that clothe its precipitous banks; but it
must strike every person who first gazes upon it as very remarkable;
You cannot look down into it, for it is not pellucid but opaque in its
appearance, and runs with a smooth surface more resembling oil than
water.
The waters of the St. Lawrence are a pale sea-green, and so
transparently clear that you see through them to a great depth. At
sunrise and sunset they take all the hues of the opal. The Ottawa is a
deep blue. The Otonabee looks black, from the dark limestone bed over
which it foams and rushes. Our own Moira is of a silvery or leaden hue,
but the waters of the Niagara are a bright deep green; and did any
painter venture to transfer their singular colour to his canvas, it
would be considered extravagant and impossible.
The new Suspension Bridge at Queenstone is a beautiful object from the
water. The river here is six hundred feet in width; the space between
the two stone towers that support the bridge on either shore is eight
hundred and fifty feet; the height above the water, two hundred feet.
The towers are not built on the top of the bank, but a platform for each
has been quarried out of the steep sides of the precipice, about thirty
feet below the edge of the cliffs. The road that leads up from the
Queenstone ferry has been formed by the same process. It is a perilous
ascent, and hangs almost over the river, nor is there any sufficient
barrier to prevent a skittish horse from plunging from the giddy height
into the deep, swift stream below. I should not like to travel this
romantic road of a dark October night, even on foot. The Queenstone
cab-drivers rattle up and down this fearful path without paying the
least regard to the nerves of their passengers. At the entrance to the
bridge, a space is quarried out of the bank to allow heavy teams to turn
on to the bridge, which is done with the greatest ease and safety.
Several heavy loaded teams were crossing from the other side, and it was
curious to watch the horses, when they felt the vibratory motion, draw
back close to the vehicles, and take high, short steps, as if they
apprehended some unknown danger. It is surprising how well they behave
on this trying occasion, for a horse, though a very brave animal, is one
of the most nervous ones in creation.
These beautiful, airy-looking structures, are a great triumph of
mechanical art over a barrier which had long been considered as
insurmountable, except by water. The ready mode of communication which
by their means has been established between the opposite shores, must
prove of incalculable advantage to this part of the colony.
It is to be hoped that similar bridges will soon span the many rapid
rivers in Canada. A sudden spring thaw gives such volume and power to
most of the streams, that few bridges constructed on the old plan are
long able to resist the impetuosity of the current, but are constantly
liable to be carried away, occasioning great damage in their vicinity.
The Suspension Bridge, by being raised above the possible action of the
water, is liable to none of the casualties that operate against the old
bridge, whose piers and arches, though formed of solid masonry, are not
proof against the powerful battering-rams formed by huge blocks of ice
and heavy logs of wood, aided by the violent opposing force of the
current.
The light and graceful proportions of the Suspension Bridge add a great
charm to the beauty of this charming landscape. It is well worth paying
a visit to Niagara, if it possessed no object of greater interest in its
neighbourhood than these wonderful structures.
The village of Queenstone is built at the foot of the hill, and is a
very pretty romantic-looking place. Numerous springs wind like silvery
threads along the face of the steep bank above; and wherever the waters
find a flat ledge in their downward course, water-cresses of the finest
quality grow in abundance, the sparkling water gurgling among their
juicy leaves, and washing them to emerald brightness. Large portions
of the cliff are literally covered with them. It was no small matter
of surprise to me when told that the inhabitants made no use of this
delicious plant, but laugh at the eagerness with which strangers seek
it out.
The Queenstone Heights, to the east of the village, are a lofty ridge of
land rising three hundred feet above the level of the country below.
They are quite as precipitous as the banks of the river. The railroad
winds along the face of this magnificent bank. Gigantic trees tower far
above your head, and a beautiful fertile country lies extended at your
feet. There, between its rugged banks, winds the glorious river; and,
beyond forest and plain, glitters the Ontario against the horizon,
like a mimic ocean, blending its blue waters with the azure ocean of
heaven. Truly it is a magnificent scene, and associated with the most
interesting historical events connected with the province.
Brock's monument, which you pass on the road, is a melancholy looking
ruin, but by no means a picturesque one, resembling some tall chimney
that has been left standing after the house to which it belonged had
been burnt down.
Some time ago subscriptions were set on foot to collect money to rebuild
this monument; but the rock on which it stands is, after all, a more
enduring monument to the memory of the hero than any perishable
structure raised to commemorate the desperate struggle that terminated
on this spot. As long as the heights of Queenstone remain, and the river
pours its swift current to mingle with the Ontario, the name of General
Brock will be associated with the scene. The noblest tablet on which the
deeds of a great man can be engraved, is on the heart of his grateful
country.
Were a new monument erected on this spot to-morrow, it is more than
probable that it would share the fate of its predecessor, and some
patriotic American would consider it an act of duty to the great
Republic to dash it out of _creation_.
From Queenstone we took a carriage on to Niagara, a distance of about
eight miles, over good roads, and through a pleasant, smiling tract of
country. This part of the province might justly be termed the garden
of Canada, and partakes more of the soft and rich character of English
scenery.
The ground rises and falls in gentle slopes; the fine meadows, entirely
free from the odious black stumps, are adorned with groups of noble
chestnut and black walnut trees; and the peach and apple orchards in
full bearing, clustering around the neat homesteads, give to them an
appearance of wealth and comfort, which cannot exist for many years to
come in more remote districts.
The air on these high table-lands is very pure and elastic; and I could
not help wishing for some good fairy to remove my little cottage into
one of the fair enclosures we passed continually by the roadside, and
place it beneath the shade of some of the beautiful trees that adorned
every field.
Here, for the first time in Canada, I observed hedges of the Canadian
thorn--a great improvement on the old snake fence of rough split timber
which prevails all through the colony. What a difference it would make
in the aspect of the country if these green hedgerows were in general
use! It would take from the savage barrenness given to it by these
crooked wooden lines, that cross and recross the country in all
directions: no object can be less picturesque or more unpleasing to
the eye. A new clearing reminds one of a large turnip field, divided
by hurdles into different compartments for the feeding of sheep and
cattle. Often, for miles on a stretch, there is scarcely a tree or
bush to relieve the blank monotony of these ugly, uncouth partitions
of land, beyond charred stumps and rank weeds, and the uniform belt of
forest at the back of the new fields.
The Canadian cuts down, but rarely plants trees, which circumstance
accounts for the blank look of desolation that pervades all new
settlements. A few young maples and rock elms, planted along the
roadsides, would, at a very small expense of labour, in a very few
years remedy this ugly feature in the Canadian landscape, and afford
a grateful shade to the weary traveller from the scorching heat of
the summer sun.
In old countries, where landed property often remains for ages in the
same family, the present occupant plants and improves for future
generations, hoping that his son's sons may enjoy the fruit of his
labours. But in a new country like this, where property is constantly
changing owners, no one seems to think it worth their while to take any
trouble to add to the beauty of a place for the benefit of strangers.
Most of our second growth of trees have been planted by the beautiful
hand of nature, who, in laying out her cunning work, generally does it
in the most advantageous manner; and chance or accident has suffered the
trees to remain on the spot from whence they sprung.
Trees that grow in open spaces after the forest has been cleared away,
are as graceful and umbrageous as those planted in parks at home. The
forest trees seldom possess any great beauty of outline; they run all
to top, and throw out few lateral branches. There is not a tree in the
woods that could afford the least shelter during a smart shower of rain.
They are so closely packed together in these dense forests, that a very
small amount of foliage, for the size and length of the trunk, is to be
found on any individual tree. One wood is the exact picture of another;
the uniformity dreary in the extreme. There are no green vistas to be
seen; no grassy glades beneath the bosky oaks, on which the deer browse,
and the gigantic shadows sleep in the sunbeams. A stern array of rugged
trunks, a tangled maze of scrubby underbrush, carpetted winter and
summer with a thick layer of withered buff leaves, form the general
features of a Canadian forest.
A few flowers force their heads through this thick covering of leaves,
and make glad with their beauty the desolate wilderness; but those who
look for an Arcadia of fruits and flowers in the Backwoods of Canada
cannot fail of disappointment. Some localities, it is true, are more
favoured than others, especially those sandy tracts of table-land that
are called plains in this country; the trees are more scattered, and the
ground receives the benefit of light and sunshine.
Flowers--those precious gifts of God--do not delight in darkness and
shade, and this is one great reason why they are so scarce in the woods.
I saw more beautiful blossoms waving above the Niagara river, from every
crevice in its rocky banks, than I over beheld during my long residence
in the bush. These lovely children of light seem peculiarly to rejoice
in their near vicinity to water, the open space allowed to the wide
rivers affording them the air and sunshine denied to them in the close
atmosphere of the dense woods.
The first sight we caught of the Falls of Niagara was from the top of
the hill that leads directly into the village. I had been intently
examining the rare shrubs and beautiful flowers that grew in an
exquisite garden surrounding a very fine mansion on my right hand,
perfectly astonished at their luxuriance, and the emerald greenness of
the turf at that season, which had been one of unprecedented drought,
when, on raising my head, the great cataract burst on my sight without
any intervening screen, producing an overwhelming sensation in my mind
which amounted to pain in its intensity.
Yes, the great object of my journey--one of the fondest anticipations of
my life--was at length accomplished; and for a moment the blood recoiled
back to my heart, and a tremulous thrill ran through my whole frame. I
was so bewildered--so taken by surprise--that every feeling was absorbed
in the one consciousness, that the sublime vision was before me; that I
had at last seen Niagara; that it was now mine forever, stereotyped upon
my heart by the unerring hand of nature; producing an impression which
nothing but madness or idiotcy could efface!
It was some seconds before I could collect my thoughts, or concentrate
my attention sufficiently to identify one of its gigantic features.
The eye crowds all into the one glance, and the eager mind is too much
dazzled and intoxicated for minor details. Astonishment and admiration
are succeeded by curious examination and enjoyment; but it is impossible
to realize this at first. The tumultuous rush of feeling, the excitement
occasioned by the grand spectacle, must subside before you can draw a
free breath, and have time for thought.
The American Fall was directly opposite, resembling a vast rolling
cylinder of light flashing through clouds of silvery mist, and casting
from it long rays of indescribable brightness. I never could realize in
this perfect image of a living and perpetual motion, a _fall_ of
waters; it always had to my eyes this majestic, solemn, rotatory
movement, when seen from the bank above. The Horse-shoe Fall is further
on to the right, and you only get a side view of it from this point.
The Falls are seen to the least possible advantage from the brow of the
steep bank. In looking down upon them, you can form no adequate idea of
their volume, height, and grandeur; yet that first glance can never be
effaced. You feel a thrilling, triumphant joy, whilst contemplating this
master-piece of nature--this sublime idea of the Eternal--this wonderful
symbol of the power and strength of the divine Architect of the
universe.
It is as if the great heart of nature were laid bare before you, and you
saw and heard all its gigantic throbbings, and watched the current of
its stupendous life flowing perpetually forward.
I cannot imagine how any one could be disappointed in this august scene;
and the singular indifference manifested by others;--it is either
a miserable affectation of singularity, or a lamentable want of
sensibility to the grand and beautiful. The human being who could stand
unmoved before the great cataract, and feel no quickening of the pulse,
no silent adoration of the heart towards the Creator of this wondrous
scene, would remain as indifferent and as uninspired before the throne
of God!
Throwing out of the question the romantic locality,--the rugged wooded
banks, the vast blocks of stone scattered at the edge of the torrent,
the magic colour of the waters, the overhanging crags, the wild flowers
waving from the steep, the glorious hues of the ever-changing rainbow
that spans the river, and that soft cloud of silvery brightness for ever
flowing upward into the clear air, like the prayer of faith ascending
from earth to heaven,--the enormous magnitude of the waters alone, their
curbless power, and eternal motion, are sufficient to give rise to
feelings of astonishment and admiration such as never were experienced
before.
Not the least of these sensations is created by the deep roar of the
falling torrent, that shakes the solid rocks beneath your feet, and is
repeated by the thousand hidden echoes among those stern craggy heights.
It is impossible for language to convey any adequate idea of the
grandeur of the Falls, when seen from below, either from the deck of
the "Maid of the Mist,"--the small steamer that approaches within a few
yards of the descending sheet of the Horse-shoe Falls--or from the ferry
boat that plies continually between the opposite shores. From the frail
little boat, dancing like a feather upon the green swelling surges,
you perhaps form the best notion of the vastness and magnitude of the
descending waters, and of your own helplessness and insignificance.
They flow down upon your vision like moving mountains of light; and the
shadowy outline of black mysterious-looking rocks, dimly seen through
clouds of driving mist, adds a wild sublimity to the scene. While the
boat struggles over the curling billows, at times lifted up by the
ground-swells from below, the feeling of danger and insecurity is
lost in the whirl of waters that surround you. The mind expands with
the scene, and you rejoice in the terrific power that threatens to
annihilate you and your fairy bark. A visible presence of the majesty of
God is before you, and, sheltered by His protecting hand, you behold the
glorious spectacle and live.
The dark forests of pine that form the background to the Falls, when
seen from above, are entirely lost from the surface of the river, and
the descending floods seem to pour down upon you from the skies.
The day had turned out as beautiful as heart could wish; and though I
felt very much fatigued with the journey, I determined to set all aches
and pains at defiance whilst I remained on this enchanted ground.
We had just time enough to spare before dinner to walk to the table
rock, following the road along the brow of the steep bank. On the way
we called in at the Curiosity Shop, kept by an old grey-haired man, who
had made for himself a snug little California by turning all he touched
into gold; his stock-in-trade consisting of geological specimens from
the vicinity of the Falls--pebbles, plants, stuffed birds, beasts, and
sticks cut from the timber that grows along the rocky banks, and twisted
into every imaginable shape. The heads of these canes were dexterously
carved to imitate snakes, snapping turtles, eagles' heads, and Indian
faces. Here, the fantastic ends of the roots of shrubs from which they
were made were cut into a grotesque triumvirate of legs and feet; here a
black snake, spotted and coloured to represent the horrid reptile, made
you fancy its ugly coils already twisting in abhorrent folds about your
hands and arms. There was no end to the old man's imaginative freaks in
this department, his wares bearing a proportionate price to the dignity
of the location from which they were derived.
A vast amount of Indian toys, and articles of dress, made the museum
quite gay with their tawdry ornaments of beads and feathers. It is
a pleasant lounging place, and the old man forms one of its chief
attractions.
Proceeding on to the table rock, we passed many beautiful gardens, all
bearing the same rich tint of verdure, and glowing with fruit and
flowers. The showers of spray, rising from the vast natural fountain in
their neighbourhood, fill the air with cool and refreshing moisture,
which waters these lovely gardens, as the mists did of yore that went
up from the face of the earth to water the garden of Eden.
The Horse-shoe Fall is much lower than its twin cataract on the American
side; but what it loses in height, it makes up in power and volume,
and the amount of water that is constantly discharged over it. As we
approached the table rock, a rainbow of splendid dyes spanned the river;
rising from out the driving mist from the American Fall, until it melted
into the leaping snowy foam of the great Canadian cataract. There is
a strange blending, in this scene, of beauty and softness with the
magnificent and the sublime: a deep sonorous music in the thundering
of the mighty floods, as if the spirits of earth and air united in one
solemn choral chant of praise to the Creator; the rocks vibrate to the
living harmony, and the shores around seem hurrying forward, as if
impelled by the force of the descending torrent of sound. Yet, within
a few yards of all this whirlpool of conflicting elements, the river
glides onward as peacefully and gently as if it had not received into
its mysterious depths this ever-falling avalanche of foaming waters.
Here you enjoy a splendid view of the Rapids. Raising your eyes from
the green, glassy edge of the Falls, you see the mad hubbub of boiling
waves rushing with headlong fury down the watery steep, to take their
final plunge into the mist-covered abyss below. On, on they come--that
white-crested phalanx of waves pouring and crowding upon each other in
frantic chase!
"Things of life, and light, and motion,
Spirits of the unfathom'd ocean,
Hurrying on with curbless force,
Like some rash unbridled horse;
High in air their white crests flinging,
And madly to destruction springing."
These boiling breakers seem to shout and revel in a wild ecstasy of
freedom and power; and you feel inclined to echo their shout, and
rejoice with them. Yet it is curious to mark how they slacken their
mad speed when they reach the ledge of the fall, and melt into the icy
smoothness of its polished brow, as if conscious of the superior force
that is destined to annihilate their identity, and dash them into mist
and spray. In like manner the waves of life are hurried into the abyss
of death, and absorbed in the vast ocean of eternity.
Niagara would be shorn of half its wonders divested of these
glorious Rapids, which form one of the grandest features in the
magnificent scene.
We returned to our inn, the Clifton House, just in time to save our
dinner: having taken breakfast in Toronto at half-past six, we were
quite ready to obey the noisy summons of the bell, and follow our sable
guide into the eating room.
The Clifton House is a large, handsome building, directly fronting the
Falls. It is fitted up in a very superior style, and contains ample
accommodations for a great number of visitors. It had been very full
during the summer months, but a great many persons had left during the
preceding week, which I considered a very fortunate circumstance for
those who, like myself, came to see instead of to be seen.
The charges for a Canadian hotel are high; but of course you are
expected to pay something extra at a place of such general resort, and
for the grand view of the Falls, which can be enjoyed at any moment
by stepping into the handsome balcony into which the saloon opens,
and which runs the whole length of the side and front of the house.
The former commands a full view of the American, the latter of the
Horse-shoe Fall; and the high French windows of this elegantly
furnished apartment give you the opportunity of enjoying both.
You pay four dollars a-day for your board and bed; this does not include
wine, and every little extra is an additional charge. Children and
servants are rated at half-price, and a baby is charged a dollar a-day.
This item in the family programme is something new in the bill of
charges at an hotel in this country; for these small gentry, though
they give a great deal of trouble to their lawful owners, are always
entertained gratis at inns and on board steamboats.
The room in which dinner was served could have accommodated with ease
treble the number of guests. A large party, chiefly Americans, sat down
to table. The dishes are not served on the table; a bill of fare is laid
by every plate, and you call for what you please.
This arrangement, which saves a deal of trouble, seemed very distasteful
to a gentleman near us, to whom the sight of good cheer must have been
almost as pleasant as eating it, for he muttered half aloud--"that he
hated these new-fangled ways; that he liked to see what he was going to
eat; that he did not choose to be put off with kickshaws; that he did
not understand the French names for dishes. He was not French, and he
thought that they might be written in plain English."
I was very much of the same opinion, and found myself nearly in the same
predicament with the grumbler at my left hand; but I did not betray my
ignorance by venturing a remark. This brought forcibly to my mind a
story that had recently been told me by a dear primitive old lady, a
daughter of one of the first Dutch settlers in the Upper Province, over
which I had laughed very heartily at the time; and now it served as an
illustration of my own case.
"You know, my dear," said old Mrs. C---, "that I went lately to New
York to visit a nephew of mine, whom I had not seen from a boy. Well,
he has grown a very great man since those days, and is now one of the
wealthiest merchants in the city. I never had been inside such a grandly
furnished house before. We know nothing of the great world in Canada, or
how the rich people live in such a place as New York. Ours are all bread
and butter doings when compared with their grand fixings. I saw and
heard a great many things, such as I never dreamed of before, and which
for the life of me I could not understand; but I never let on.
"One morning, at luncheon, my nephew says to me, 'Aunty C---, you have
never tasted our New York cider; I will order up some on purpose to see
how you like it.'
"The servant brought up several long-necked bottles on a real silver
tray, and placed them on the table. 'Good Lord!' thinks I, 'these are
queer looking cider bottles. P'raps it's champagne, and he wants to get
up a laugh against me before all these strange people.' I had never
seen or tasted champagne in all my life, though there's lots of it sold
in Canada, and our head folks give champagne breakfasts, and champagne
dinners; but I had heard how it acted, and how, when you drew the corks
from the bottles, they went pop--pop. So I just listened a bit, and held
my tongue; and the first bounce it gave, I cried out, 'Mr. R---, you may
call that cider in New York, but we call it champagne in Canada!'
"'Do you get champagne in Canada, Aunty?' says he, stopping and looking
me straight in the face.
"'Oh, don't we?' says I; 'and it's a great deal better than your _New
York cider_.'
"He looked mortified, I tell you, and the company all laughed; and I
drank off my glass of champagne as bold as you please, as if I had been
used to it all my life. When you are away from home, and find yourself
ignorant of a thing or two, never let others into the secret. Watch and
wait, and you'll find it out by and by."
Not having been used to French dishes during my long sojourn in Canada,
I was glad to take the old lady's advice, and make use of my eyes and
ears before I ordered my own supplies.
It would have done Mrs. Stowe's heart good to have seen the fine corps
of well-dressed negro waiters who served the tables, most of whom were
runaway slaves from the States. The perfect ease and dexterity with
which they supplied the guests, without making a single mistake out of
such a variety of dishes, was well worthy of notice.
It gave me pleasure to watch the quickness of all their motions, the
politeness with which they received so many complicated orders, and the
noiseless celerity with which they were performed. This cost them no
effort, but seemed natural to them. There were a dozen of these blacks
in attendance, all of them young, and some, in spite of their dark
colouring, handsome, intelligent looking men.
The master of the hotel was eloquent in their praise, and said that they
far surpassed the whites in the neat and elegant manner in which they
laid out a table,--that he scarcely knew what he would do without them.
I found myself guilty of violating Lord Chesterfield's rules of
politeness, while watching a group of eaters who sat opposite to me at
table. The celerity with which they despatched their dinner, and yet
contrived to taste of everything contained in the bill of fare, was
really wonderful. To them it was a serious matter of business; they
never lifted their eyes from their plates, or spoke a word beyond
ordering fresh supplies, during feeding time.
One long-ringletted lady in particular attracted my notice, for she did
more justice to the creature comforts than all the rest. The last
course, including the dessert, was served at table, and she helped
herself to such quantities of pudding, pie, preserves, custard, ice, and
fruit, that such a medley of rich things I never before saw heaped upon
one plate. Some of these articles she never tasted; but she seemed
determined to secure to herself a portion of all, and to get as much as
she could for her money.
I wish nature had not given me such a quick perception of the
ridiculous--such a perverse inclination to laugh in the wrong place; for
though one cannot help deriving from it a wicked enjoyment, it is a very
troublesome gift, and very difficult to conceal. So I turned my face
resolutely from contemplating the doings of the long-ringletted lady,
and entered into conversation with an old gentleman from the States--a
_genuine_ Yankee, whom I found a very agreeable and intelligent companion,
willing to exchange, with manly, independent courtesy, the treasures of
his own mind with another; and I listened to his account of American
schools and public institutions with great interest. His party consisted
of a young and very delicate looking lady, and a smart active little boy
of five years of age. These I concluded were his daughter and grandson,
from the striking likeness that existed between the child and the old
man. The lady, he said, was in bad health--the boy was hearty and
wide-awake.
After dinner the company separated; some to visit objects of interest
in the neighbourhood, others to the saloon and the balcony. I preferred
a seat in the latter; and ensconcing myself in the depths of a large
comfortable rocking chair, which was placed fronting the Falls, I gave
up my whole heart and soul to the contemplation of their glorious
beauty.
I was roused from a state almost bordering on idolatry by a lady
remarking to another, who was standing beside her, "that she considered
the Falls a great humbug; that there was more fuss made about them than
they deserved; that she was satisfied with having seen them once; and
that she never wished to see them again."
I was not the least surprised, on turning my head, to behold in the
speaker the long-ringletted lady.
A gentleman to whom I told these remarks laughed heartily.--"That
reminds me of a miller's wife who came from Black Rock, near Buffalo,
last summer, to see the Falls. After standing here, and looking at them
for some minutes, she drawled through her nose--'Well, I declare, is
that all? And have I come eighteen miles to look at you? I might ha'
spared myself the expense and trouble; my husband's mill-dam is as good
a sight,--only it's not just as _high_.'"
This lady would certainly have echoed the sublime sentiment expressed
by our friend the poet,--
"Oh, what a glorious place for washing sheep
Niagara would be!"
In the evening my husband hired a cab, and we drove to see the Upper
Suspension Bridge. The road our driver took was very narrow, and close
to the edge of the frightful precipice that forms at this place the bank
of the river, which runs more than two hundred feet below.
The cabman, we soon discovered, was not a member of the temperance
society. He was very much intoxicated; and, like Jehu the son of Nimshi,
he drove furiously. I felt very timid and nervous. Sickness makes us sad
cowards, and what the mind enjoys in health, becomes an object of fear
when it is enfeebled and unstrung by bodily weakness.
My dear husband guessed my feelings, and placed himself in such a manner
as to hide from my sight the danger to which we were exposed by our
careless driver. In spite of the many picturesque beauties in our road,
I felt greatly relieved when we drove up to the bridge, and our short
journey was accomplished.
The Suspension Bridge on which we now stood--surveying from its dizzy
height, two hundred and thirty feet above the water, the stream
below--seems to demand from us a greater amount of interest than the one
at Queenstone, from the fact of its having been the first experiment of
the kind ever made in this country,--a grand and successful effort of
mechanical genius over obstacles that appeared insurmountable.
The river is two hundred feet wider here than at Queenstone, and the
bridge is of much larger dimensions. The height of the stone tower that
supports it on the American side is sixty-eight feet, and of the wooden
tower on the Canadian shore fifty feet. The number of cables for the
bridge is sixteen; of strands in each cable, six hundred; of strands in
the ferry-cable, thirty-seven, the diameter of which is seven-eighths of
an inch. The ultimate tension is six thousand five hundred tons, and the
capacity of the bridge five hundred. A passage across is thrillingly
exciting.
The depth of the river below the bridge is two hundred and fifty feet,
and the water partakes more largely of that singular deep green at this
spot than I had remarked elsewhere. The American stage crossed the
bridge as we were leaving it, and the horses seemed to feel the same
mysterious dread which I have before described. A great number of strong
wooden posts that support the towers take greatly from the elegance of
this bridge; but I am told that these will shortly be removed, and their
place supplied by a stone tower and buttresses. We returned by another
and less dangerous route to the Clifton House, just in time to witness a
glorious autumnal sunset.
The west was a flood of molten gold, fretted with crimson clouds; the
great Horse-shoe Fall caught every tint of the glowing heavens, and
looked like a vast sheet of flame, the mist rising from it like a wreath
of red and violet-coloured smoke. This gorgeous sight, contrasted by the
dark pine woods and frowning cliffs which were thrown into deep shade,
presented a spectacle of such surpassing beauty and grandeur, that it
could only be appreciated by those who witnessed it. Any attempt to
describe it must prove a failure. I stood chained to the spot, mute
with admiration, till the sun set behind the trees, and the last rays
of light faded from the horizon; and still the thought uppermost in my
mind was--who could feel disappointed at a scene like this? Can the wide
world supply such another?
The removal of all the ugly mills along its shores would improve it,
perhaps, and add the one charm it wants, by being hemmed in by tasteless
buildings,--the sublimity of solitude.
Oh, for one hour alone with Nature, and her great master-piece Niagara!
What solemn converse would the soul hold with its Creator at such a
shrine,--and the busy hum of practical life would not mar with its
jarring discord, this grand "thunder of the waters!" Realities are
unmanageable things in some hands, and the Americans are gravely
contemplating making their sublime Fall into a motive power for turning
machinery.
Ye gods! what next will the love of gain suggest to these
gold-worshippers? The whole earth should enter into a protest against
such an act of sacrilege--such a shameless desecration of one of the
noblest works of God.
Niagara belongs to no particular nation or people. It is an inheritance
bequeathed by the great Author to all mankind,--an altar raised by his
own almighty hand, at which all true worshippers must bow the knee in
solemn adoration. I trust that these free glad waters will assert their
own rights, and dash into mist and spray any attempt made to infringe
their glorious liberty.
But the bell is ringing for tea, and I must smother my indignation with
the reflection, that "sufficient for the day is the evil thereof."
A Freak Of Fancy.
"I had a dream of ocean,
In stern and stormy pride;
With terrible commotion,
Dark, thundering, came the tide.
High on the groaning shore
Upsprang the wreathed spray;
Tremendous was the roar
Of the angry, echoing bay.
"Old Neptune's snowy coursers
Unbridled trode the main,
And o'er the foaming waters
Plunged on in mad disdain:
The furious surges boiling,
Roll mountains in their path;
Beneath their white hoofs coiling,
They spurn them in their wrath.
"The moon at full was streaming
Through rack and thunder-cloud,
Like the last pale taper gleaming
On coffin, pall, and shroud.
The winds were fiercely wreaking
Their vengeance on the wave,
A hoarse dirge wildly shrieking
O'er each uncoffin'd grave.
"I started from my pillow--
The moon was riding high,
The wind scarce heav'd a billow
Beneath that cloudless sky.
I look'd from earth to heaven,
And bless'd the tranquil beam;
My trembling heart had striven
With the tempest of a dream."