An hour's ride in the cars brought us to the village of Niagara Falls, a splendid manufacturing point, having all modern improvements and unsurpassed railway facilities of various kinds. The village was incorporated in 1848, and has about 4,000 inhabitants.
The average annual number of visitors to this beautiful place is estimated to be 400,000.
At the station of Niagara Falls, Mr. James engaged vehicles which afforded accommodations for all of us—a party of ten—including the steward, who accompanied us, carrying a bountiful repast.
The drivers of Niagara Falls are excellent ciceroni. We drove through the handsome village to Prospect Park, a property owned by the State of New York, and included in the Niagara Reservation, which the State acquired by purchase in 1885. All the unsightly buildings, heretofore obstructing the view, have been removed, and a terrace was erected for a distance of half a mile, affording uncountable attractions to the visitor with its venerable trees, comfortable seats, and delightful views.
The main entrance is a tasty structure at the foot of Cascade Street. The point of land at the brink of the falls is called Prospect Point. Since it commands a fine view, which is the feature of the park, our drivers advised us to abandon the carriages and to step nearer to the long stone wall running for some distance along the edge of the gorge.
Standing on the platform, I glanced at the mighty volume of water; here precipitated over a huge rock 163 feet high with a thunderlike roar that can be heard, under favorable circumstances, a distance of fifteen miles.
For a long time we remained there, spell-bound by the wonderful panorama, plunged into a reverie of rapture. Mrs. James, reminding me the carriages were waiting for us, brought me back to consciousness.
The spectacle is so sublime and overwhelming that the mind, unable to grasp it, cannot adjust itself at once to a scale so stupendous, and the impression fails. But, gradually, as you remain longer, the unvarying, ponderous, unspeakably solemn voice of the great flood finds its way to the soul, and holds it with a fascination which is all pervasive and cannot be shaken off.
In a car, moving on an inclined plane, we descended to the water's edge. These cars are raised and lowered by water-power, by means of a three-inch cable 300 feet long, running over steel wheels.
At the foot of the stairway, tickets may be obtained for the trip on the
"Maid of the Mist," that steams up to the Horseshoe Fall; then back to the
Canadian side, and finally returns to her starting point.