Mr. Harrison and myself were guests of the Hon. Mr. Dodge, President of the American Evangelical Alliance. On our arrival he conducted us to his country seat on the banks of the Hudson, near Tarryton.
We were in the midst of charming scenery, immortalised by Washington Irving; near the glen of “Sleepy Hollow,” and the haunts of Ichabod Crane. By the little Dutch church in the neighbourhood lies a cemetery, where “the American Goldsmith” is buried.
We were driven to Sunnyside, where he lived and died, in an old-fashioned Dutch-looking house, with picturesque gables, bearing a seventeenth-century date. It is embosomed amidst trees which so overshadow the lawn and walks, that “Sunnyside,” even when unclouded, can suffer nothing from the blaze of day. Miss Irving, niece of the author, and a friend of our host, welcomed us to this sylvan abode, and showed us her uncle’s library, writing table, and shelves of books, just as he left them.
We should have been glad to remain longer at Mr. Dodge’s villa, but were anxious to reach Niagara, as soon as possible; therefore, on the second morning after our arrival, Mr. Harrison, with Newman Hall, who had accompanied us to America, embarked on a steamer for the Catskills, on our way to the Falls. We arrived at the Mountain House in the evening, having, in our river voyage, been struck with the Hudson, as resembling in some parts, a succession of lakes full of Italian-like beauty. We spent a Sunday at our capacious resting-place, which could accommodate four or five hundred visitors, and engaged in united worship with Bishop Bedell, successor to Bishop McIlvaine, of Ohio. He preached in the morning, and at his request, I occupied the desk at night.
We did not reach Niagara till late on Monday, and heard the roar of the cataract some time before our arrival.
Niagara is a grand study, and we spent the greater part of four days over it—the first in taking general views, the other three in gathering up details. I sat down on the rocks, and wrote my impressions from point to point. From the suspension bridge, below the Falls, you have an inclined plane of troubled waters. From the south side of Goat Island, you have a still more striking view of the rapids, like an arm of the sea, two miles in width, and in front it dashes down the Horse Shoe Fall. Just at the edge it is a ridge of emerald, tinged, or rather lined, with white. Then it goes on in rows of streaks, white, white, white; at the bottom, the flood vanishes in vapour. In the forenoon under sunshine the picture is crossed by a rainbow. Beyond the mist the river is a shifting floor of variegated marble. At a right angle with the Horse Shoe, the American Fall is seen in profile, from what is called, I think, “Prospect Park.” The rapids below are finer than those above the Falls. Those below are hemmed in by rocks; those above are bordered by open country on both sides. Further on, below the Falls, there is an enormous whirlpool.
Instead of a unity, I found Niagara manifold, varying as one wanders about the banks. The channel here is worthy of the stream. It is cut into precipitous cliffs, picturesque rocks, forests of trees, bridges, hotels and other houses. In photographs and engravings, there is often but a tame outline, with which the reality does not correspond. Of the upper and lower Rapids, I prefer the former in one respect; it gives good views of the foliage which fringes the water. Emphatically, one may use the word beauty in reference to the landscape as distinguished from the Rapids. Colours are charming—greens of all tints; at sunset streaks of pink, violet, lavender, lilac, along the edge of the Falls; azure tints in the river; sky with crimson and purple flushes at eventide.
At the expense of repetition, I will quote the words I find in my notebook written on a rocky bank:—“Opposite, looking west, is the Canada side, skirted by thick trees, forming a continuous border—the Horse Shoe form of a rocky ledge, crossed by the sweep of water, would measure the third of a mile. It still resembles a ridge of emerald, tinged, or rather lined, with white. Then the flood plunges down, to rise again from the bottom in columns of vapour. In sunshine the whole is crossed by a wonderful rainbow. Then, afterwards, it appeared to me like an altar of frosted silver, spanning the end of a temple choir, sending up incense for ever and ever! Looking down into the precipitous gulf, formed by the Canadian and American shores, one sees the river flowing on steadily like a shifting floor of variegated marble,—green, streaked with white. I shift my position, walking under the trees of Goat Island, about a quarter of a mile from the Horse Shoe, and sit upon a bit of tableland, forming what is called Lunar Island,—dividing into two unequal limbs the watery flood. At the bottom appears another rainbow. I shift again, walking up the Goat Island, and cross a bridge over Rapids, and then enter the grounds called (as just said) Prospect Park; and there one faces both cataracts—the American in profile, the Horse Shoe full face.”
A suspension bridge crosses the whirling waters on which it makes one giddy to look down. Then occurs a turn, where a whirlpool is formed, and pieces of timber are swept round and round by enormous eddies. Four days I spent at these never-to-be-forgotten spots filled with marvels of Divine creation.
My visit to Montreal was very short, but we saw enough to indicate the city’s prosperity; it underwent great reverses afterwards. We were invited to the handsome dwellings of several wealthy citizens, and witnessed much zeal in the cause of religion.