"Howe'er it be, it seems to me
'Tis only noble to be good,
Since hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood."
The various localities in Ottawa being so familiar to so many readers and
tourists, I will not dwell upon them at length, but suffice it to say I
visited the various Government Departments, and could not fail to be
deeply impressed by the truly elegant manners and courtly bearing of the
officials.
In one of these Departments I found an elderly gentleman, slightly
afflicted with deafness. According to the etiquette of their business
regulations I was received in standing attitude, and in the few moments'
interview were condensed the thoughts and feelings of years. He bought my
book, for which he paid two dollars and a half in gold, and, as he bade me
good-bye, he stooped and kissed my forehead with the stately grace of a
cavalier of the Crusades, which act of emotional deference was heightened
by the hot tears which fell from his eyes and dropped upon my cheeks, and
the fervor of his repeated--"God bless you, my child."
At Hamilton we called at the Mute and Blind Asylums, which were then
combined in one, where we were received with great kindness, every
possible attention being lavished upon us to heighten our interest and
render our visit enjoyable. Going to Buffalo we had a social, cozy visit
with an aunt of Hattie's, after which we proceeded to Niagara Falls.
It is no wonder that, as a nation, we are proud of Niagara, which, in
grandeur and sublimity, rivals any waterfall of note in the world. Taking
a carriage we drove to the Canada side, where are so many localities of
historical interest, and where, at certain points, are found the finest
views of the falls. I remained in the carriage while Hattie went under the
dashing, roaring, maddening sheet of water, which feat, as well as the
usual one of a trip in the Maid of the Mist, seems necessary, in its
apparent peril, to a full appreciation of the awful and stupendous
grandeur of this phenomenon of nature.
I walked over Suspension Bridge in order to realize its construction
through the sense of feeling, and our driver seemed much amused at my
manner of seeing. Dismissing our carriage, we walked over Goat Island, in
order to better take in the diversified beauty. The old man at the bridge,
in consideration of my affliction, refused to accept the usual fee; so
hard-hearted as they seem, in their spirit of gain, they have still some
vulnerable point, some avenue left open to the heart, thus confirming the
humanitarian sentiment, that no nature is utterly depraved.
Entering into conversation with the old bridge-tender, I was amused and
surprised at his fund of anecdote and wealth of wit. Among other playful
jests he declared he could define the exact condition of heart in each
individual who crossed over, as accurately as we note the mercury in the
barometer for atmospheric probabilities, even going so far as to say that
he could guess the "Yes" or "No," and consequently the engagement or
non-engagement of each returning couple.
We followed the meandering paths and shaded seclusions, where tree and
flower, rock and stream make up the fairy realm, and crowned all by
standing in the tower on Table Rock, our hearts awed and reverent and our
lips inaudibly whispering "Be still, and know that I am God."
Leaving by the Great Western Railway we stopped at London, Canada, where
Hattie had friends, and where I found a letter from my husband, who had
returned from Woodbine, and being about to establish himself for a time in
Milwaukee, where he was to build a mill, he desired me to return at once
and accompany him. Without delay we sped on in the lightning train to
Chicago, my impatient heart keeping time with the winged flight of the
cars.