NIAGARA
"Flow on forever in thy glorious robe
Of terror and of beauty; * * * God hath set
His rainbow on thy forehead; and the cloud
Mantles around thy feet."
--Mrs. Sigourney.
Niagara! What a wealth of memories come thronging to you as you
repeat the name! Some with visions of an emerald sea, filled
with the eternal roar and grandeur of many waters; others with
haunting melodies, quiet and tender as an Aeolian harp thrummed
by an unseen hand. What a poem of blended power and beauty was
here unfolded by Nature through countless centuries! Geological
grandeur such as one seldom sees elsewhere awaits you here;
splendor inconceivable is here wrought in ever varied and
powerful forms of beauty, giving rise to a sublimity of thought
and exuberance of feeling too powerful for words.
The awe felt in looking at this wild mass of raging water
humbles and overwhelms you; you feel the presence of a majesty
and grandeur in its onward sweep before unknown to you. When it
is dashed to gauzy, irised spray it seems as gentle as the
pearly mists of dawn, but its deep thunder-like detonations tell
of a mighty power. Beauty blended with the most awe-inspiring
sublimity is the order of passionate, impetuous Niagara.
The broad river takes the waters of the four lakes--Superior,
Huron, Michigan and Erie--to its turbulent bosom and bears them
about twenty-two miles from Lake Erie, where it becomes a raging
torrent and rushes in frenzied madness over the precipice
forming the incomparable falls. Then, before reaching Lake
Ontario, its water forgets its scourging and glides smoothly
again in its wider channel, presenting a picture of peace and
quietness in striking contrast to the surging tumult of the
noisy rapids above.
The country through which Niagara passes is comparatively level,
interspersed here and there with hills of "vernal loveliness."
Niagara seems to have only one all-absorbing interest. "Not many
features of the country through which it flows correspond in
that wildness and savage grandeur with which the falls are
clothed." The mahogany colored soil is devoted to vegetable and
fruit growing. In spring the well-cultivated trees, including
pear, plum, peach, and cherry, burst into a miracle of delicious
bloom, making patches of pink as vivid as a sunset sea or others
of pure white like snows new-fallen. Such scenes of pastoral
beauty enhance its wildness and surpassing grandeur.
The strange beauty of the ocean is comprehended long before one
reaches its shores. Mountain peaks are seen from afar, blending
imperceptibly with the horizon; at first only their faint
outlines are revealed as you gradually approach. You have,
perhaps, been looking for a rough country with great glacier-
sculptured walls or imposing rugged scenery on nearing the
falls. You do not suspect they are near and if you approach
Prospect Point in an automobile, you are in sight and sound of
them ere you are aware.
Here the vast panorama is presented to you. You are hardly
prepared for so much at once. One gentleman, on being asked what
effect the falls had upon his wife, replied: "She was struck
speechless." Whereupon the other gentleman said: "I shall bring
my wife tomorrow." Had Niagara this beneficent effect upon both
sexes who gaze upon it, one is almost certain that its number of
visitors instead of one million, would amount to many millions
annually, and "there would be more of heaven on earth, before it
is journeyed to."
Those who can see no beauty in Niagara (may the Lord pity such)
may still be rewarded by learning that this river is the
boundary between the United States and Canada and was therefore
the scene of many stirring conflicts between the Mother Country
and her young but plucky, wayward, willful child. Nearby, on the
Canadian side, are the battlefields of Chippewa, Lundy's Lane
and Queenstown Heights. On the steep bank of the river on the
top of a well-wooded height stands a graceful Doric shaft
erected by the British in memory of their commander, General
Brock, who fell on the battlefield of Queenstown Heights October
12, 1812. The monument has a lightning rod on it and on being
asked the reason for this a fellow traveler replied: "It is
because he has such striking features."
A trip to Niagara is not complete without a visit to the old
fort. How beautiful the tree bordered road leading from Niagara
along the river to its outlet at Lake Ontario! At first you
catch glimpses now and then through the tree and bush covered
banks of the river. The scenery along the river about half way
between Niagara and the lake consists of beautiful homes with
the orchards, vineyards and fields that stretch away over the
level valley.
As you approach Fort Niagara you will see the post's cemetery.
On the river between the cemetery and the fort is a lighthouse
and near it, under the walls of the old fort, a government life-
saving station. Entering the government ground the road winds
through a beautiful grove in which are located the officers'
homes. The barracks are adjacent to these and the road skirts
the parade grounds just beyond.
At right angles with the river and lake is located Fort Niagara.
This old fort is entered under an arched driveway, which may be
closed by two massive doors. Its walls are fourteen feet high
and four feet thick, built of stones that have been laid without
mortar. It has been remarkably well preserved. It was built by
the French approximately on the site occupied by LaSalle and
Denouville. It was taken by the British in 1789 and held by them
as a base of warfare against the American frontier during the
war of the Revolution. It was then occupied by the Americans.
You will be impressed with the old Lombardy poplars that were
planted by the French along the lake. Here they have stood,
buffeted by the winds of more than two centuries until they
resemble grim, sturdy warriors who have known many conflicts.
They stand near the water's edge, defiant still, like brave
soldiers unable to move farther, who have faced about to meet
the enemy. With their few scattered limbs still pointing upward,
they seem almost as old as the fort itself. Nature was kind and
had clothed their few aged limbs with bright green leaves, which
will retain their tints almost as long as any deciduous trees.
But why recall these tales of bygone days when the British and
the Americans were engaged in these terrible struggles? Let us
go back to the falls where a voice at once grand and awesome
speaks of a day so old we have no record, save the geological
hieroglyphics; those vast manuscripts written on the tables of
rocks by the hand of Time.
On going to Niagara for the first time, one fears that his
impression will not be great, for has he not heard from
childhood, that name reiterated a thousand times until it has
lost much of its glamour? Then, too, has he not seen pictures of
Niagara in his geography and heard his older brothers tell about
it until its grandeur seems, from what he had at first pictured
in fancy, to lose much of its significance? "But like sunsets,
mountains, lakes and some people he may know, who are still
strikingly beautiful though common, he will find a significance
in the real Niagara like these."
You will perhaps be advised not to follow the beaten trail and
rush to Prospect Point, but save the best portion of the trip
for the last. Through the park to Goat Island bridge you go in
eager anticipation to learn whether your fancy had pictured with
accurateness the real scene. From this massive stone structure
you gaze up the river and behold the so-called American rapids.
Here the view awes one into silence. Even the "Isn't it lovely?"
and "oh, how wonderful!" types of people can scarcely say more
than "Niagara!" Strange, too, it is that one seldom hears the
word "scrumptious." Perhaps the people have chosen the adjective
we heard a German use, who on being asked how he enjoyed the
view from the bridge replied, "Bully."
America should be justly proud that one of her great natural
wonders has views like this. You gaze enraptured at the
swishing, swirling, lapping mass of water above you, that falls
from a series of terrace-like cascades. As it draws nearer, you
are impressed by the glorious display of the wild, raging waters
around you. How slowly you walk across the bridge, still noting
the turbulent mass of water rushing past with amazing velocity
and grand display of power.
Directly in front of the bridge you will see a vast flat rock
over whose polished surface the water comes tumbling in a great
fan-shaped mass, which is as grand as anything at Niagara. The
waters loom up at this point like some majestic living creature
who is marshaling his forces for the final plunge after they
have been scourged and seem impatient and glad to escape. To
gaze down at this place, one seems to be near some "vast and
awful Presence." The writhing, seething waters seem always
advancing, yet never arrive; hurrying to escape but never are
gone; halting against stones still ever are moving; seeming
changeless across the flood of years.
Your companions who have contracted that strange disease, not
"Hookworm," but "Americanitis," tell you it is exceedingly
beautiful here, but you must hurry on as your time is limited.
One wonders if a certain time was set for the sculpturing of
Niagara. Slowly you move on, turning away reluctantly from a
scene so fair; pausing again to look at the beautiful elms and
willows that grow so near the edge of the stream, their drooping
branches almost touching the wild swirling waters, as if trying
to get a fleeting glimpse of their own beauty.
On one of the small islands you catch a glint of metallic blue
and you see a kingfisher alight on the limb of a dead pine tree
that hangs over the water. He is gazing so intently at the swift
rushing waters below him that you almost fancy he is attracted
by the view. Suddenly he darts from his perch and, holds himself
poised in mid-air until he sights a fish. He drops like a
plummet and disappears. He quickly reappears and flies to a near-
by rock with a fish, where he beats it to pieces and devours it.
You forget about going so slowly until some one admonishes you
that the rest of your party are treading the various paths of
Goat Island. You hurry now and are soon among your friends.
What a beauty spot is this group of islands and islets! It is
only half a mile long and contains but seventy acres. But where
in all this universe does one's fancy take such long aerial
flights or the mind become conscious of such grandeur and power?
You seem to wander in fairyland where the wild throng of many
voiced waters are telling aloud, "Nature's industry to create
beauty and usefulness." Lower and sweeter the voices, too, are
rising like musical incense to the Creator, pouring out their
passionate songs which tell of joy and enthusiasm in silvery
cataracts of melody, pitched in a higher key, yet not unlike
Niagara. You hear the cardinal's rich flute-like song of "What,
what cheer!" ringing from a wild grapevine. Again he seems to
say "Come, come here!" Whether it be an invitation to all
mankind or just a message to his coy mate you know he learned it
from the same teacher as Niagara, and their voices are alike
full of rarest melody. The leisurely golden chant of the wood
thrush, where the misty spray and cool shadows enfold you, seems
like a spirit voice speaking audibly to you, and the song-
sparrow sends his sweet wavering tribute to tell you he, too,
enjoys the shady nooks of Niagara.
Here if we could only interpret aright are still small voices
speaking of divine love and infinite beauty, just as audibly as
the more powerful voice of Niagara.
At the edge of Goat Island are numerous rocks where you may get
a remarkable view of the rapids; "and the forest invites the
lover of trees to linger long amid its dim-lighted aisles, where
he will find for his vivid imagination an ideal place for
reverie."
On inquiring why Goat Island is thus named you will perhaps be
told that it was once owned by a man who pastured several
animals on it; among them a goat, which perished during a severe
winter. Any one visiting the Falls during the winter, when a
cold wind sweeps across the island, can readily see how they
"got this man's goat."
The earliest description of the Falls is that by Father
Hennepin, a Franciscan monk, who with LaSalle visited it in 1678
and published this account of it: "Betwixt Lake Ontario and Erie
there is a vast and prodigious column of water which falls down
after a manner surprising and astonishing, inasmuch that the
universe does not afford a parallel. 'Tis true--Italy and
Switzerland boast of some such things; but we may well say that
they are sorry patterns when compared to this of which we speak.
At the foot of the horrible descent, we meet with the Niagara
river, which is not above a quarter of a league broad, but is
wonderfully deep in some places. It is so rapid above the
descent that it violently hurries down the wild beasts, while
endeavoring to pass it to feed on the other side, they not being
able to withstand the force of the current, which invariably
casts them headlong about six hundred feet high.
"This wonderful downfall is composed of two cross streams of
water, and two falls with an aisle sloping along the middle of
it. The waters which fall from this horrible precipice do foam
and boil after the most hideous manner imaginable, making an
outrageous noise more terrible than that of thunder." One can
easily see that the imaginative and excitable Frenchman is under
the spell of the great cataract.
But let us return to the island and follow the path that winds
among the trees until Stedman's Bluff is gained. Your reverie is
broken by the news that you are near this point. You go
hurriedly now and your speed is accelerated by hearing the noise
of the falls.
"Crowds of people fill the cool woodland paths; dark evergreens
and aged beech trees form a leafy screen on which the sunlight
falls, making a trembling, shifting mosaic as the branches open
and close in the passing breeze." The air is filled with melody
and redolent with the breath of the pine that is mingled with
various wild flowers. Here one is impressed with the awe he
feels while treading the dim aisles of some vast cathedral. Your
attention is diverted for a brief time by a species of flower
unknown to you. You pause long enough to recognize it, then
hurry on scarce noting the livid green of the waters going to
their fate, swiftly and with unbounded freedom, as if glad to
escape some pursuing demon of the watery underworld. One almost
feels sad as he watches the waters dash in utter helplessness
over the awful precipice.
Following the shore line from this point you come to a spiral
stairway that leads to the little wooden bridges that connect
the various rocks. Many visitors still go in front of that
superb sheet of water called, "The Bridal Veil." But owing to an
accident resulting in the death of three people, they no longer
permit visitors to enter the Cave of the Winds. A huge rock
whose estimated weight is many tons fell from above, crushing
the luckless victims. Even though you do not go behind the falls
this trip is full of fascinating interest. The Cave of the Winds
is situated between Luna and Goat Islands, at the foot of the
rock. At the present site of the Falls the edge of the cataract
is formed by a stratum of hard limestone reaching to a depth of
about eighty feet; and by the action of the spray the softer
shaly strata below have been hollowed out so as to form this
cave. It is about one hundred feet wide, one hundred and sixty
feet high, and about one hundred feet across.
You will perhaps go from here to a very commanding point known
as Porter's Bluff. Here, when the wind is favorable, you are
away from the drenching spray of the Falls. Here, too, the
American Falls are seen in all their grandeur. They shoot free
from the upper edge of the cliff, owing to the velocity they
have acquired in descending from the rapids above. As this vast
mass of water strikes the rocks below, loud, thunder-like
detonations are heard not unlike the reverberating tones of the
breakers of the ocean. There is a mellowness in the sound that
is soothing rather than a deafening roar as some seem to think.
At one point in the American Falls the water strikes a
projecting shelf of rock a short distance below the upper ledge
and is pulverized yet finer, making it gush out in silvery
plumes, which are worn to lustrous threads of marble whiteness.
They form long gauzy streamers as fine as sifted snow, giving to
it the name of "Bridal Veil." No bride ever wore a veil of such
delicate and exquisite texture unless it was some water sprite,
fit creature to be adorned with such gauzy and wind-woven
drapery. Only the fairy looms of Nature can produce lace-like
gossamer films of such intricate and varied designs.
>From this point the colors of the American Falls are superb. How
remarkably soft and fine they are! The pearl-grey, snow-white,
lavender and green masses seem to mingle together, blending
imperceptibly from one to the other, making a novel and
beautiful effect that surpasses the rarest dreams of the most
gifted decorative painter. The extreme beauty of delicate and
striking variety of coloring, like evening skies and sunset
seas, baffle any attempt at description. When the morning
sunbeams stream through the mist of the Falls their exquisite
tones of purple and gray and the marvelous fineness of the
American Falls come to one like a revelation.
One can never forget his morning visit to the American Falls
when the sunlight comes from the required angles, heightening
the beauty of the whole wild mass of waters, sifting in
ravishing splendor through the clouds of drifting spray. What an
artist Nature is! One has seen nothing in the delicate colored
wing of night moths, in the purple bloom of the ocean, the color
of autumn woods or clouds of fair Italian skies, that could
rival this "evanescent bow" in exquisite fineness. A huge mass
of lovely colors, like an arch of glory, rises from the boiling
spray near you, while a breeze causes the larger mass to waver
from color to color and mingle with the trees on the Canadian
shore. A secondary bow with softer colors is visible like a long
remembered dream you have had with which you associate some real
event of life.
What a sublime view we get from the Terrapin Rocks! "Here are
tremendous flat-shaped boulders left here ages ago, when those
vast geological forces were at work hewing out this gorge. Here
you gaze through ever rising columns of spray into the bright
green water. Here the velocity is amazing and in its deep bass
roar that, "night and day, weeks, months, years and centuries,
speaks in the same mighty voice," you gain the real might and
majesty of Niagara. Here you will have that trinity of grandeur,
power, and beauty indelibly impressed upon your memory. Here,
too, you gaze again in silence and admiration at the awful mass
of troubled water. The marvelous flood of livid green waters
rushes into the yawning abyss below, where it is broken into
fine spray that rises like steam from an immense cauldron. One
feels an irresistible fascination at this point but all good
things must end and you reluctantly turn away.
Now you find yourself observing the wild flowers, ferns, and
grasses with which the cliffs are clothed. All along these
inaccessible walls are "hanging gardens" whose masses of the
dainty fern make smaller Niagaras of brightest verdure. Virginia
creeper and various vines throw down long ropes of green, as if
to help their flower friends up the steep walls; thatching their
sides with softest beauty. The bluemint, butterfly weed and
harebell venture far out along the slightest ledges where only a
few, "who are willing to gain beauty as well as bread by the
sweat of their brows observe them."
People are after all more interesting than natural phenomena.
Here some will sit through the long summer hours discussing
morals, industry, women's suffrage, the immortality of the soul
or some item about the latest divorce scandal, while the
sublimity of Niagara lies all unnoticed before them. One feels
as if his senses were playing him false, and that he is back
again in some particular town, the memory of which is painfully
familiar, where from daylight till dawn and dawn till daylight
such timely topics are discussed from that loafer's haven, the
village store.
Goat Island is said to be covered with verdant forest, but it is
no longer verdant, for it shows the ravages of those who wish
some one to know they had visited Niagara. Important news, this,
that requires those beautiful registers of God's own building
for its recording. The large majestic beech trees, among whose
verdant branches the orioles and tanagers poured forth their
rich notes once whispered from all their wealth of emerald
leaves invitations to the weary to come and enjoy the sanctuary
of healing coolness and restful shade and shelter. Many were the
travelers who left the hot, dusty highways for the cool, dewy
carpet of velvety moss in the woodland solitude, where numerous
wild flowers and sweet-scented ferns filled all the air with
fragrance. The noble beech trees throw up their naked branches
as if pointing ghostly fingers of accusation to the carelessness
and indifference of those vandal days. Now these decaying
emblems stand scarred and desolate, "Monuments to fond hearts
and foolish heads."
"Here, as in by-gone days, no song of bird or wealth of plumage
gladdens its forlorn branches; no lovely flowers or shade-loving
moss and fern make patches of emerald and gold;" no weary
pedestrian turns aside from the hot, dusty path where the heated
air flows in tremendous rays unless to decipher some name on the
bark where Nature in pity is covering the scars with the lovely
woodbine.
Some people evidently spent more time in laboriously carving
their names than in viewing the wondrous beauty of the Falls.
When they perchance do gaze at them one can almost hear them
shooting, "Behold us, Niagara, we are here," or "Just as we
expected, only a big pile of water." Better it were to leave a
living tree like the palm that the loving hands of Queen
Victoria planted in the Hiles' estate at Cannes, France. Here
groups of weary American soldiers gazing up at its lovely
fronded foliage, then out over the deep blue Mediterranean,
beheld a sunset sky like a more vast sea of amethyst through
which a few orange colored clouds were idly drifting. They
forgot for a time the horrors of war and as they caught a view
of the far-flushing Alpine peaks that appeared like vast walls
of alternate shades of crimson and purple rising from a golden
sea of light they joined in the twilight prayer of the universe
to Him who made such wondrous beauty for the delight of man.
It was here that Victoria showed by her queenly life the right
to her title. Her memory still remains verdant in the hearts of
her countrymen whom she showed in a thousand acts of charity and
nobleness that "The crown does not make the queen."
Memories of delight steal o'er you as you recall again the many
noble trees at Mt. Vernon. Just north of the brick wall of the
flower garden are two magnificent tulip trees towering in their
stately grandeur far above their companions; filling their
branches with a wealth of creamy bell-shaped blossoms which like
innumerable swinging censers scatter delicious incense on the
passing breeze. The master of those beautiful and spacious
grounds has long since departed; but when we gaze upon those
magnificent trees planted by his hands we seem to catch the
spirit of the man whispered by all their green leaves, melodies
clearer and sweeter than any music we had heard before.
We have been straying from the Falls but as we said people are
more interesting.
At the edge of the Canadian channel are the Three Sister
Islands, so named because the three daughters of General Whitney
were the first white women to cross to the outer island long
before the bridges were built.
The river below the Falls is very narrow and the descent is very
steep, about three-quarters of a mile below the suspension
bridge. Here a sudden turn in the channel causes the waters to
impinge against the Canadian shore, where they have made a deep
indentation, and to rush back to the American side in a great
whirl or eddy, rendered more furious by the uneven bed of the
river, and the narrow space into which it contracts. "Here the
most terrific commotion of any of Niagara's tumultuous
demonstrations is seen. The frenzied waters form a seething
vortex, the terror of the most daring navigators." Here the
hissing, clashing, seething, upswirling mass of water where it
strikes the rocks is whirled in swift eddies as if drawn
downward by some awful river monster below. The waves produced
are like the billows of the ocean, and have the same quality of
loud booming tones, possessing the same wild exuberance of
motion. The passionate torrent swirls in wild ecstasy around the
rocks, springing aloft and tipping the waves with a silvery
radiance or clashing its emerald waters in plumes of spray. One
never tires gazing at the waters leaping and gliding like living
creatures as they dash themselves to pieces on the rocks, or
listening to the swash and gurgle of the rapid waters or the
keen clash of heavier waves.
In Niagara we have a wonder that typifies the rugged grandeur,
the restless, tireless energy of the Western World. In
contemplating it one almost invariably thinks of New York city,
that human Niagara, where the restless, crowding, surging waves
of humanity are dashed against the rough crags of adversity
where many are crushed and broken in body and spirit. Others are
drawn into the swift stream of competition and are plunged over
the precipice of financial gloom, where they seek solace in the
whirlpool rapids of society, till at last with blighted hopes
and ruined lives they go plunging into the abyss of despair, as
if glad to escape some pursuing demon of financial disaster or
more hideous monster of social vice. Only a few great and
magnanimous souls show in the rainbows of a kindly beneficence
that they have seen the beauty and grandeur of Niagara.
Between Whirlpool Rapids and the American Falls the water seems
to rest in a quiet reach, where it grows calm and composed
before it enters upon its boisterous journey at the rapids.
An electric car runs along the edge of the bluff, high above the
waters of the gorge, passing the cantilever bridge, completed
December, 1883, which carries a double line of rails. About one
hundred yards away is another steel arch railroad bridge.
"Before you reach these bridges you will see the outlet of the
great tunnel through which pours a miniature Niagara, the water
that has passed through the turbine wheels of the great
powerhouse up the river, and which has furnished power for
running factories and electric railways in Niagara Falls,
Buffalo, and other neighboring cities." When one sees how the
great cataract has been harnessed and made to develop thousands
of horse-power for driving the industries of man, he marvels
almost as much at man's ingenuity as at the Falls themselves.
The waters at the Falls plunge into an abyss about one thousand
feet wide, and during the next seven miles make a descent of
about one hundred and four feet through a deep ravine with
perpendicular banks rising to a height of from two hundred to
three hundred and fifty feet, the breadth of the river varying
from two hundred and fifty to four hundred yards. It is a
thrilling experience to view.
More glorious is Niagara in the garish light of a cloudless day,
slipping and rushing in wildest extravagance from the rapids
above. But at night the beauty is enchanting. There is a dim
veiled grandeur as in viewing mountains from a great distance.
While standing at Terrapin Point you are overwhelmed by the
spirit of the scene around you, which seems more grand and
awesome as the dusk of evening begins to throw a dark veil over
the landscape; the sense of hearing is made more receptive by
the lessening of the vision and you realize the awful sublimity
of Niagara. The islands, like dark phantoms, loom in the dim
shadows. Then in the east the moon rises mellowing and softening
the beautiful scene, while all about you is the eternal roar of
the waters. The vast spectral terribleness is quickly
transformed into a scene of indescribable loveliness.
The name "Niagara" was given to the falls by the Iroquois
Indians and means "The thunder of waters." How significant the
name, for with its hundred million tons of water every hour
pouring over the rocks, it sounds like the solemn roar of the
sea. Ever the varied voices about you tuned to the sighing of
the night and gently murmuring pine mingle and blend with the
sound of the falls.
How often will memory recall those glacier-sculptured walls! How
often you shall see in fancy as you once did in reality, the
wonderful opulence of colors! How often, too, you shall behold
those glorious curtains that seem to have fallen from the sky
and hang poised before you!
How many untold centuries have its thunders reverberated among
the rocks! How long have those restless waters flowed on in
frenzied madness without a moment's pause! Yet will Niagara
remain the same? The rate of recession is very uncertain. There
can be no doubt that within the last two hundred years the
aspect of the Falls has been greatly altered. Goat Island
extended, up to a comparatively recent period, for another half
mile northerly in a triangular prolongation; some parts have
receded much over one hundred feet since 1841, others have
remained more or less stationary. In June, 1850, Table Rock
disappeared. Geologists tell us that the recession of the
Canadian Falls by erosion is five feet in one year. Even judging
it to be one foot in a year, the falls at the commencement of
the Christian era were near Prospect Point; three thousand years
ago it was at the upper steel arch bridge. Niagara shall in due
time pass away. The eroding power that has made Niagara will
perhaps be its undoing.
Nations shall rise into being and write a record of their
glorious supremacy, then pass away, forgotten perhaps save by a
record of their deeds or history of their decline. Nature plans
not for one season, but for all time. The years as they came to
the painted Iroquois will come with never-ending delight to
generations yet to be. Our faith in Nature's grandeur and beauty
becomes stronger as each succeeding year slips away; the
kingfisher shall still watch from his perch on some pine bough
the finny inhabitants below him; the chimney swifts will still
fly through the spray of the falls for their bath; the flowers,
if not on Goat Island, will be just as fair as those that
blossomed long ago in their pristine loveliness; the stars when
day is done will gleam in the velvet sky as brightly as those of
far Judea. But what about Niagara? It may pass away, but not a
drop of its waters will be lost. The same powers that carved
Niagara are still at work creating new and more wondrous beauty
as the seasons pass.
One is here reminded that our sojourn is not much more a than
the wild water lapping against the rocks or the waves that beat
against the rocky ledges and are gone. Yet will they never
reappear? Even while we linger here the spray forms cloud fleets
to float across the azure sky of June; drifting like white-
sailed ships far out to sea. The resurrection of Niagara Waters!
MY HOME
"This is the place which I love the best,
A little brown house, like a ground-bird's nest,
Hid among grasses and vines and trees,
Summer retreat of the birds and bees.
The tenderest light that ever was seen
Sifts through the vine-made window screen--
Sifts and quivers and flits and falls,
On home-made carpets and gray-hung walls.
All through June the west wind free
The breath of the clover brings to me.
All through the languid July day
I catch the scent of the newmown hay.
The morning-glories and scarlet vine,
Over the doorway twist and twine
And every day, when the house is still,
The humming-bird comes to the window-sill.
In the cunningest chamber under the sun
I sink to sleep when the day is done;
And am waked at morn in my snow-white bed,
By a singing-bird on the roof o'erhead.
Better than treasures brought from Rome,
Are the living pictures I see at home--
My aged father, with frosted hair,
And mother's face, like a painting rare.
Far from the city's dust and heat,
I get but sounds and odors sweet.
Who can wonder I love to stay
Week after week here, hidden away,
In this sly nook that I love the best
The little brown house like a ground-bird's nest.
--Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
THE END.
ITINERARY
We have included this itinerary so that others who are
contemplating a trip over the Old National Road to the East may
in some measure find it helpful in planning a journey.
Without undue haste we have gone over the route herein
designated, and have a world of delightful recollections of
those forever memorable excursions.
FIRST DAY--Richmond, Ind., via Greenville, O., through the fine
agricultural region of Darke County, passing through Xenia,
which deserves more than passing notice, for, on the outskirts
of the town William Dean Howells lived in a log cabin with his
father, Wm. D. Gallagher and Coates Kinney, two poets of note,
lived here; and here, too, is the birthplace of Whitelaw Reid.
If the traveler wishes to spend a day in Dayton he will find a
visit to the National Cash Register plant full of interest.
SECOND DAY--Dayton to Hillsborough, via Germantown and
Farmersville, across the great conservancy dam on Twin creek,
through Middletown and Lebanon, crossing the Miami valley, famed
for its richness of natural beauty and thrifty towns and cities.
THIRD DAY--Hillsborough to Portsmouth, Ohio, via the caves and
Bainbridge.
FOURTH DAY--Portsmouth to Columbus, over the Scioto trail,
passing through the beautiful hill country via Waverly,
Chillicothe and Circleville.
FIFTH DAY--Columbus to Wheeling, via Zanesville and Cambridge.
At Zanesville we crossed the bridge over the Muskingum river.
There are only one or two other examples of this type of bridge
in the world; one being in Germany. Stopped at the Windsor
hotel, which is recommended not only for its surrounding
scenery, but is of special interest to the tourist because of
its location on the banks of the Ohio river. A breakfast on the
terrace overlooking this beautiful river will be a never-to-be-
forgotten experience. We passed McCullough's Leap on the
national road at the crest of Fulton Hill, at Wheeling. A
monument marks the spot where the famous Indian fighter escaped
his pursuers by going over a precipice one hundred and fifty
feet in height.
SIXTH DAY--From Wheeling to Cumberland, Md., passing Washington,
Pa., which was the first city in the United States to be named
for its first president. Here is still standing the house of
Thomas Braddock, leader of the Whiskey Rebellion. At this place
the first community building in the United States was erected.
You will pass Braddock's grave, where a fine monument marks the
spot along the old national highway. It leads through the great
meadows of history, near where Ft. Necessity was built and which
marks the site of the first and only surrender Washington ever
made. Two centuries ago an Indian trail led through the
Allegheny mountains. Here may still be seen the place where
Washington crossed the road and tried to make his way to
Pittsburg, then called Ft. Duquesne. The mountain scenery here
is superb. Travelers will find a delightful place to rest in the
Ft. Cumberland Hotel.
SEVENTH DAY--Cumberland via Hagerstown across Massanutten
mountain to Luray Caverns, staying overnight at the Lawrence
Hotel.
EIGHTH DAY--Luray Caverns via Harpers Ferry to Frederick, Md.
Spent the night at the delightful Wayside Inn.
NINTH DAY--Frederick to Washington, D. C.
TENTH, ELEVENTH, TWELFTH DAYS--Washington and vicinity.
THIRTEENTH DAY--Washington to Wt. Vernon, and Alexandria. The
Metropolitan hotel while in Washington will be found a most
pleasant stopping place.
FOURTEENTH DAY--Washington to Gettysburg via Baltimore. While
here pay a visit to Ft. McHenry, Poe's tomb, and Druid Hill
Park, which is one of the most beautiful of America's fine
parks.
FIFTEENTH DAY--Gettysburg to Lancaster via Harrisburg. Travelers
should not miss the wonderful drive along the Susquehanna river
at Harrisburg, for few in the east are as beautiful. It might be
well at this juncture to sound a note of warning in regard to
the use of chains while crossing the mountains, as one cannot be
too careful in using every safeguard.
SIXTEENTH DAY--Lancaster to Valley Forge to Philadelphia.
SEVENTEENTH DAY--Philadelphia. Visit historical places and
lovely park.
EIGHTEENTH Day--Cross ferry over the Delaware at Philadelphia,
through New Jersey to Atlantic City.
NINETEENTH DAY--Atlantic City.
TWENTIETH DAY--Atlantic City to Belmar.
TWENTY-FIRST DAY--Belmar via Asbury Park, Newark and Metuchen to
New York City.
TWENTY-SECOND, TWENTY-THIRD, TWENTY-FOURTH AND TWENTY-FIFTH DAYS-
- New York City. Travelers will find a fine place to stop while
here in the Hotel Theresa.
TWENTY-SIXTH DAY--New York City via Tarrytown to Poughkeepsie.
TWENTY-SEVENTH DAY--Poughkeepsie to Greenfield, Mass., through
the Berkshire hills on the Mohawk trail.
TWENTY-EIGHTH DAY--Greenfield to Providence, Rhode Island, down
the Connecticut river valley, which affords scenery as fine as
any which New England has to offer. The fertile farm lands of
the valley give beauty by way of contrast. The traveler will be
interested in the fields of tobacco which are grown under
canvas. Some of these fields contain thirty acres and others we
were told were still larger.
A most delightful close to a perfect day is the hotel Weldon at
this lovely town. The motorist will find here a quiet, restful
charm that makes for the tired traveler a delightful halt and a
tranquil stopping place for more permanent guests.
"One rarely finds in a rural town a hotel which affords all the
essentials of a city hotel of the first class. The picturesque
entrance with greenery and Italian stone settles, the handsome
office and lounging hall of library effect, the broad passages
and solid woodwork of each floor, the spacious glass-roofed sun
parlor and outer porch, with plentiful vines and other verdure,
and which in summer time are opened widely to the lawn, the
lofty topmost floor recently built (for warm weather guests) of
a semi- Spanish effect by way of broad screen doors on open air
corridors, from airy suites overlooking the woody hill country--
these items are likely to impress the guests with pleasant
surprises."
Then, too, the Weldon is situated in the charming residential
section of the town, of no small natural beauty. But of all
pleasing memories of Greenfield, that of its beautiful tree-
bordered streets will remain the longest.
In passing through the old town of Windsor you will think of
John Fitch whose birthplace was here. John Mason, leader of the
Colonists during the Pequot War, also had his home in Windsor.
Here, too, is the fine old home of Oliver Ellsworth, now kept as
a museum by the Daughters of The American Republic.
You will pass through Pomfert, the town whose special point of
interest is Wolf Den, where Israel Putnam slew a sheep-killing
wolf single handed. The story was geographically described in
our school readers of two centuries ago.
At Willamantic is a monument to Nathan Hale, the martyr spy of
the Revolution, who had his home here, as did also General Lyon,
killed at Eastport in the Revolutionary War. Here, too, was the
home of Jonathan Trumbull, one of the financiers of the
Revolution, and Commodore Swift, U. S. N. This town is widely
known as the home of Willamantic thread.
TWENTY-NINTH DAY--Providence to Newport.
THIRTIETH DAY--Newport to Plymouth via Fall River, Cape Cod and
Provincetown, staying at the Plymouth Rock Hotel.
THIRTY-SECOND, THIRTY-THIRD AND THIRTY-FOURTH DAYS--Plymouth to
Boston via the Shore Road.
THIRTY-FIFTH DAY--Boston to Portsmouth, N. H. Here was signed
the treaty which closed the Russo-Japanese War.
THIRTY-SIXTH DAY--Portsmouth to Crawford's Notch, via Portland,
Maine.
THIRTY-SEVENTH DAY--Crawford's Notch through Green mountains to
Lake Champlain.
THIRTY-EIGHTH DAY--Lake Champlain through Adirondacks to Lake
George Village.
THIRTY-NINTH AND FORTIETH DAYS--Among mountains and lakes.
FORTY-FIRST DAY--Lake George to Albany.
FORTY-SECOND DAY--Albany through Catskills to Mt. Tremper, where
we spent a most delightful evening at the Howland House.
FORTY-THIRD DAY--Mt. Tremper to Utica.
FORTY-FOURTH DAY--Utica and Trenton Falls to Syracuse. Spent the
night at the Mizpah hotel. This hotel is unique in that it is
run in connection with a Baptist church. The building is a
beautiful specimen of Gothic architecture. The surplus money is
used for the various church expenses. You may listen to the
noted Belgian organist while resting in your own room. This
undertaking has proven to be a success in numerous ways.
FORTY-FIFTH DAY--Syracuse to Lake Chautauqua via Jamestown.
FORTY-SIXTH DAY--Jamestown to Niagara Falls via Indian
reservations.
FORTY-SEVENTH AND FORTY-EIGHTH DAYS--Niagara Falls, via Albion,
Pa., to Ashtabula, Ohio.
FORTY-NINTH DAY--Ashtabula to Richmond, Ind.
It is to be sincerely hoped that all the youth of our land may
some day visit the nation's shrines and there drink deep from
the fountains of truth and patriotism which our worthy
forefathers have established. To follow the old Pilgrim trail,
to climb Bunker Hill Monument, to reverently tread the halls of
Mt. Vernon, to muse by the monuments at Valley Forge,
Gettysburg, and Arlington; to be thrilled with the grandeur and
power of our great nation while in Washington: and to behold the
unsurpassed beauty of the countless places of natural grandeur
our country affords would help to solve many of the serious
problems confronting our nation today.