"In 1767 Sir William Johnson, who had suffered for years from a wound received in his hip in the war with the Indians, was told of the Great Medicine Waters. The Indians seemed to know of their location many years previous to this, for they were the ones who told Johnson about their great healing qualities. He was carried on stretchers to this mysterious spring. The waters proved so beneficial that he was able to return over the 'carrying place' on foot. The waters he drank were said to have been taken from High Rock spring of Saratoga Springs."

The city contains many spacious, imposing hotels and fine tree- bordered streets, which at once suggest that Saratoga was the one time "Queen of Spas." But if the people no longer come here in such great numbers, Nature still reigns over the place, and it possesses that quiet and repose which make it an ideal place in which to spend a vacation. Here are wonderful old elms whose branches intermingle to form a canopy over the streets. So gracefully do their drooping sprays of green descend that we could think of nothing with which to compare them save emerald fountains. These old trees are more stately, more graceful than those at Versailles. Beautiful villas, public halls and handsome churches are scattered about the city. Viewed from the surrounding hills, the buildings seem to nestle in a leafy wilderness. The annual horseraces held here still draw large crowds, but as a summer resort Saratoga, like Trenton Falls, has seen its day.

It is not Old Saratoga that contains the most interest for the traveler, but the region around Schuylerville. Here the green carpet covers all the hills, whose smooth, velvety appearance adds greatly to the beauty of the country.

The day of our arrival at Saratoga was extremely sultry, and heavy masses of clouds darkened the sky. Soon bursting peals of thunder told us that the warrior clouds were bringing their heavy artillery into action. This storm passed around us, however, and we hastened to the site of the beautiful monument commemorating the decisive victory of the Revolution. It stands on the site of Burgoyne's fortified camp, overlooking the place of his surrender. The height of this monument is one hundred and fifty-four feet, its base is forty feet square, and it contains one hundred and eighty-four steps, which lead up to the last windows, which command an enchanting view of from ten to thirty miles in all directions.

The country all around is full of very picturesque, scenic surprises, and the lordly Hudson winding among its hills of vernal loveliness is not the least of them. Your attention is quickly recalled from the dead past, whether you like it or not, to the living present. From this place you will see and hear things which no historian can ever record; paragraphs of the life history of the palpitant beauty and pulsing song of existence. The true lover of Nature will find no greater delight than to linger here to drink in the beauty of the place as his eyes rove over the vast expanse of gently undulating hills that melt away in the blue haze. The river flowing through masses of verdue, the towering trees that climb the surrounding heights and skirt the pastoral landscapes, afford constant evidence of the natural wealth and beauty of this historic region.

Standing here, gazing out over the beautiful scene, we recalled our visit to the famous battlegrounds of Waterloo.

It was on a lovely June day that we left the Belgium capital, turning again and again to look at the wonderful Palace of Justice which dominates this city, as the capitol does at Washington.

The country around the field of Waterloo is very level, hardly relieved by an undulation, and dotted at intervals with a few trees that heighten the loneliness of the scene rather than relieve it. Here we became aware that we were gazing at one of the finest sites that man has ever known for the purpose of mutual destruction. We readily saw that this level region gave ample room for both infantry and cavalry, where the many thousands of human beings were brought together in deadly collision. It was apparently designed by Nature to feed the hungry toilers of earth, but "was consecrated by man for a solemn spectacle of deliberate slaughter."

How often this fertile country was made the battleground of surrounding nations! Here it was we felt that indomitable spirit that rose above every oppression forced upon its people, stopping the hordes of invading armies.

We ascended the hill that flanked the right wing of the position of the English where the fight was hottest. From this eminence we looked down on vast cultivated fields with acres of waving barley and verdant meadows in which fine Holstein cattle were grazing. This hill is composed of soil dug from Mount St. Jean to cover the bones of the slain of both armies. This conical tumulus contains upon its summit, set in a spacious and lofty pedestal, a huge bronze lion cast from the cannon taken in battle.

As we stood on its top the scene unrolled before us like a wonderful panoramic painting, and we gazed out on this "great chessboard, where the last hard game of Napoleon's and Wellington's protracted match was played."

Here where all Nature seemed to breathe of peace and joy it seemed difficult to believe that at that very season, one hundred and four years ago, on this spot was fought one of the memorable battles of the world. Here, after participating in the activities of a world war, how like a dream it seemed to be gazing down upon this fertile plain. The larks were soaring in the blue above, uttering the same sweet notes that charmed the poet, Shelley, while we gazed out upon the fair scene toward La Belle Alliance and La Haye Sainte. Nearer our eyes rested upon the place that formed the key to the English position, where they successfully resisted, throughout the day of the eighteenth of June, the hottest assaults of the enemy. Then we beheld the high road to Namur which passed through the center of the lovely picture "as if inviting us to look upon the road Napoleon took to make his escape when in the agony of his heart he exclaimed 'Sauve qui peut!' and fled from the field."

Near La Belle Alliance is a monument to the memory of the German legion. Corning down from the tumulus we made our way past fields of barley and paused to pluck a few cornflowers and poppies, and over all the blue sky like an angel of peace the skylark was still flooding the blue dome with melodies which for us can never die.

But we have been straying somewhat from Saratoga. The view we had from the monument reminded us a little of that to be obtained from the plateau of the citadel of Namur where we beheld the Sambre, the Meuse, and the forest of Ardennes. The valley of the Meuse through which we passed on our way to Liege, though wild, varied and secluded, full of unexpected turns and scenic surprises, has no more charm than Saratoga.

We were greatly impressed with the tablet presented in memory of the women of 1776 by the Daughters of the American Revolution. It represents one woman busy with spinning while another is making bullets at a fireplace. These noble and brave women deserve much credit for helping to win our independence, for while their husbands and sons fought they gathered in the crops, melted into bullets their treasured pewter ware, learned to shoot, bar their homes against Indians and conceal themselves from preying bands of Indians and Tories.

Before leaving the monument at Schuylerville we discovered that the birds had chosen the monument as a place for their nests. On General Gates' shoulder was a robin's nest, while another chose the center of an officer's hat for her domicile. Looking into the mouth of the twenty-four pounder presented by J. Watts de Peyster to the monument association, we discovered a blue bird's nest containing four eggs. This gun was at one time a part of the armament of a British vessel. The vessel becoming disabled, the gun was then mounted on wheels and placed on a bluff at Ticonderoga, where it was captured by the Americans. Right glad we were that the place knows no harsher sound than the soft, melodious warble of the bluebird and cherry carol of the robin. We thought how glorious the time when all monuments may be not merely grim reminders of war, but give shelter to the "color- bearer of the Spring Brigade."

Most admirable plans had been made by the British for a very brilliant campaign, but their success depended, like so many other things, in the ability of the British to work them.

Burgoyne, three thousand miles away, received his orders while in England. Howe did not receive his until the 16th of August, when he was entering Chesapeake Bay. "Burgoyne was already being defeated at Bennington while Howe was reading his dispatch and learning for the first time that he was expected to cooperate with Burgoyne."

King George said, "any means of discouraging the Americans will meet with my approval." So the scalping knife and tomahawk were associated with English arms.

Burgoyne had seven thousand picked troops, three thousand of whom were Germans in the pay of the British Army. This army was divided into three corps; Frazer, Riedesel and Phillips were their officers. "The excellent discipline, spirit and equipment of his army led Burgoyne to do and dare anything." Overconfidence in war as elsewhere usually proves disastrous. Burgoyne is reported to have said, "The enemy will probably fight at Ticonderoga. Of course I will beat them, then we will have a nice little promenade of eight days down to Albany." But the trip toward Albany turned out to be anything but a promenade and the British soldiers failed to see the nice part of it.

General Schuyler, on hearing that Burgoyne was on the march, seized all the firearms he could and hurried to his camp. Schuyler was superseded by General Gates. We learn that he was not on the line when the great fighting occurred, but that he was a very conspicuous character in "the final wind up." He reminds one of those ministers who are intensely interested in the welfare of the souls of those of their members who happen to have an exceptionally fine strawberry patch.

But let us turn our attention for a brief time to some of Saratoga's deserving heroes. It was at Bennington that John Stark pointed toward the redoubt of the enemy and exclaimed, "There, my lads, are the Hessians! Tonight our flag floats over yonder hill or Molly Stark is a widow." With New England yeomanry rudely equipped with pouches, powder horns and armed with old brown firelocks he stormed the trenches of the best trained soldiers of Europe and won a glorious victory. At Oriskany, Herkimer, in an unlooked-for battle, won undying fame, although most of his gallant little band were slaughtered. Schuyler sent Arnold with Larned's brigade to retrieve Herkimer's disaster, which he did in an admirable manner. Gansevoort held the fort against St. Leger, but his situation was growing desperate, when one day without apparent cause the enemy fled in haste, leaving camps, baggage and artillery. This inglorious flight was brought about by a half-wined fellow, who wandered into the enemy's camp and on being asked how many men were coming, pointed to the leaves on the trees, thus frightening the Indians and British into a hasty retreat.

It is singular that the fiercest fighting of Saratoga occurred on a farm hearing the significant name of Freeman. The ground around the old well was covered with bodies of dead soldiers after the battle. The British held persistently the position at the farm they gained in a line to the east on the bank of the river, where they built three redoubts on three hills.

"The fortified camp of the Americans lay about one and one-half miles below, in a parallel line, from the British. Here within bugle call from each other, for two weeks the hostile forces sat upon the hill of Saratoga; frowning defiance at each other as boys who are afraid to start a fight but persist in making faces from back doors, or like cocks who stand immovable and try to stare each other out of countenance, yet ready to open the conflict with a moment's notice."

On October the 7th the British moved from their entrenchments in battle array. Gates took up the gauntlet thus thrown down to him and exclaimed: "Order out Morgan to begin the game."

It must have been a thrilling scene that fair October morning, for autumn had wrought her oriental magic and far and near the lovely forests were arrayed in chromatic harmony. The maples were ablaze for miles, and so vivid seemed the flame of sumac berries one almost expected to see smoke ascending on the tranquil morning air. The scarlet banner of the woodbine fluttered from many a tree like a bloody omen, the ash was clad in purple robes, the elm and linden trees were like yellow flames among the bright red fires of gum and dogwood. The purple haze over all gave to the scene an air of mystery.

The stillness was intense. Only the chink of the bobolinks bound for the plains of the Orinoco or the chonk, chonking of ground squirrels broke the silence. This stillness must have been more awful than any noise of battle could possibly be. Amid such lovely and peaceful surroundings as this, Morgan dashed to the fray and scattered Burgoyne's advance guard, then rushed on the trained forces of Fraser and swept them from their position to the left, which they had taken in advance.

"Fraser rallied his men and was forming a second line when he fell, mortally wounded. The sharp whistle of Morgan once more called his men into action, while Poor and Larned attacked the center and right. The battle swayed back and forth through the great ravine. Another charge from Morgan and the British retreated to their entrenchments.

"At this moment the indignant Arnold, stung to madness by the slights put upon him by Gates, dashed across the field. He gathered the regulars under his leadership by enthusiasm, bravery, and vehemence. He broke through the lines of entrenchments at Freeman's farm. Repulsed for a moment, he assailed the left and charged the strong redoubt of Breyman, which flanked the British camp at the place now called Burgoyne's Hill. The patriotic army, fired with new hope and courage, crowded fearlessly up to the very mouths of the belching guns of the redoubt and won the final victory of the day; then, exhausted by the deadly fight, before they took possession of the British camp, sullenly dropped down for a rest.

"Silently and sullenly the defeated army withdrew from the works of Freeman's farm and huddled closely together under the three redoubts by the river. Here the women trembled over the drying form of Fraser. In the cellar of the old Marshall House Madame Riedesel, with her three little girls, found refuge from the American bullets during the week preceding Burgoyne's surrender. Here Surgeon Jones had his remaining leg shot away while the other was being amputated. Eleven cannon balls passed through the house. The splintered beams and other relics well preserved are still shown. With slight alterations the house remains as at the time of the surrender.

"The hospital stood with its overflowing of wounded and dead. The great and princely army awaited in doubt and despair while the commander hesitated and wavered in his plans. Should he risk another engagement or retreat? He decided to retreat, and it began as the Americans fired the guns for Fraser's funeral at sunset. The blood-red sun sank behind the heights in which the exultant and victorious American army lay. Heavy clouds followed, and quickly after a drenching rain the army of the British, abandoning their sick and wounded, began the retreat up the river, Retracing their steps from Bemis Heights, the scene of their disaster, they followed the river road to the Fishkill and the Schuyler mansion, which they burned to the ground. It was an illumination of their own defeat.

"Failing here to make an advancing stand against the Americans they fell back, formed an entrenched camp and planted their batteries along the heights of old Saratoga. In this camp they still hoped to hold out until relief came up the Hudson from New York. Here the pathos of the campaign culminated. The sick and wounded took up refuge in cellars. Burgoyne was entrenched on the hills with the river below, yet had no water to drink except a cupful brought now and then by the British women. The gallant Americans would not fire upon them. Burgoyne sent in the terms of surrender near the site of the old Schuyler mansion so recently burned. Here he laid down his arms and surrendered to General Gates. Along the road just across the Fishkill the disarmed prisoners were marched to the tune of 'Yankee Doodle,' played first as a national air.

"When the last cannon was heard to die among to hills it was as if the expiring note of British domination in America was sounded. This victory decided the fate of that mighty empire. It will stand unrivaled and alone, deriving lustre and perpetuity in its singleness."

There was soon to he peace throughout the land and independence. Again the golden grain would wave and the Hudson would be white with the sails of ships from many seas.

We left Schuylerville under a gloomy sky that foreboded rain. The clouds gathered thicker and thicker, and soon the rain was descending in torrents. We took refuge in a kind of barn erected for the purpose of sheltering horses during church services. We did not know the denomination of the church that stood near this shelter. We believed more strongly in a religion that is kind to dumb animals and does not have them standing for hours in a cruel storm while they shout "Glory to God." After the storm had abated we started onward once more.

CHAPTER XV

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.

THE END