We think how blest had been our fate,
If Heaven had but assigned us
To live and die 'mid scenes like this,
With some we've left behind us."
Shout, reader, on the hill-tops of deliverance, for you and I are out of Wimbledon. We have left behind us the Pimbles, the Mumbles, the Simcoes, and their multitudinous voices grow indistinct in the distance, as, borne by the rushing steam-steed, we fly on our way in search of our fair traveller, who has got the start of us by several hours. We hardly know whether to go up the Hudson, or hold straight on over the Erie road for Niagara; but as we have no particular desire to see the former, our remembrances of its picturesque scenery being marred by the unpleasant circumstances under which we first beheld it, we incline to the latter course.
So world-wondered-at Niagara shall be our destination, where Florence Howard and her father are already arrived and installed occupants of a regally-furnished suite of apartments at the Clifton House on the Canada side of the river.
The new arrival had created quite a sensation; as new arrivals at these fashionable watering-places, where the masses resort to display themselves and behold and comment upon the display of others, always do. As Florence, dressed with simple grace, leaned on the arm of her noble-looking father, and entered the spacious dining-saloon, where hundreds of both sexes, all flaunted out in the gayest and richest attire, were already seated at the splendidly laid tables, every eye levelled a critical glance on her garb and figure. Many an elegant lady, in startling silks and astonishing ear-jewels, turned her nose sublimely skyward and exclaimed "No great fetch,—these folks!" Gentlemen, in surprising pants and prodigious vest buttons, said, with a princely contempt, "Aw, an unsawphistawcated country gawl!"
But there were some, the precious few, who graced the saloons of the Clifton House, not to gorge themselves on its spicy viands, or grow inebriate over its sparkling wines, or yet to display their spindling limbs encased in miraculous tights, their alarming waistcoats and elephantine fob-chains; but who had come to look on and admire the wonderful cataract, with its surrounding scenery of wildness and grandeur; who marked the elegant bearing of an accomplished lady in the sweet open countenance, simple dress, and graceful movements of the "new arrival."
Florence seemed wholly regardless of the volleys of glances directed toward her during the sumptuously-served dinner. She retired before dessert, so great was her impatience of a nearer view of the sublime spectacle visible from the piazzas of the Clifton House.
On Table Rock she stood, with her father's arm cast protectingly around her, and gazed, tremulous with intense emotion, on the tremendous sweep of rushing waters over the mighty horse-shoe fall, down, down forever, upon the floods that boiled and surged like fathomless seas of angry foam in the depths below. Then she turned to the lofty American fall, spanned by its brilliant rainbow, like the bright wing of the Spirit of the Waters cast beauteously o'er her stupendous creation of power and sublimity.