Life in the Clearings Versus the Bush

by Susanna Moodie

  The depth of the river below the bridge is two hundred and fifty feet, and the water partakes more largely of that singular deep green at this spot than I had remarked elsewhere. The American stage crossed the bridge as we were leaving it, and the horses seemed to feel the same mysterious dread which I have before described. A great number of strong wooden posts that support the towers take greatly from the elegance of this bridge; but I am told that these will shortly be removed, and their place supplied by a stone tower and buttresses. We returned by another and less dangerous route to the Clifton House, just in time to witness a glorious autumnal sunset.

  The west was a flood of molten gold, fretted with crimson clouds; the great Horse-shoe Fall caught every tint of the glowing heavens, and looked like a vast sheet of flame, the mist rising from it like a wreath of red and violet-coloured smoke. This gorgeous sight, contrasted by the dark pine woods and frowning cliffs which were thrown into deep shade, presented a spectacle of such surpassing beauty and grandeur, that it could only be appreciated by those who witnessed it. Any attempt to describe it must prove a failure. I stood chained to the spot, mute with admiration, till the sun set behind the trees, and the last rays of light faded from the horizon; and still the thought uppermost in my mind was – who could feel disappointed at a scene like this? Can the wide world supply such another?

  The removal of all the ugly mills along its shores would improve it, perhaps, and add the one charm it wants, by being hemmed in by tasteless buildings, – the sublimity of solitude.

  Oh, for one hour alone with Nature, and her great masterpiece Niagara! What solemn converse would the soul hold with its Creator at such a shrine, – and the busy hum of practical life would not mar with its jarring discord, this grand “thunder of the waters!” Realities are unmanageable things in some hands, and the Americans are gravely contemplating making their sublime Fall into a motive power for turning machinery.

  Ye gods! what next will the love of gain suggest to these gold-worshippers? The whole earth should enter into a protest against such an act of sacrilege – such a shameless desecration of one of the noblest works of God.

  Niagara belongs to no particular nation or people. It is an inheritance bequeathed by the great Author to all mankind, – an altar raised by his own almighty hand, – at which all true worshippers must bow the knee in solemn adoration. I trust that these free glad waters will assert their own rights, and dash into mist and spray any attempt made to infringe their glorious liberty.

  But the bell is ringing for tea, and I must smother my indignation with the reflection, that “sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.”

  A FREAK OF FANCY.

  “I had a dream of ocean,

  In stern and stormy pride;

  With terrible commotion,

  Dark, thundering, came the tide.

  High on the groaning shore

  Upsprang the wreathed spray;

  Tremendous was the roar

  Of the angry, echoing bay.

  “Old Neptune’s snowy coursers

  Unbridled trode the main,

  And o’er the foaming waters

  Plunged on in mad disdain:

  The furious surges boiling,

  Roll mountains in their path;

  Beneath their white hoofs coiling,

  They spurn them in their wrath.

  “The moon at full was streaming

  Through rack and thunder-cloud,

  Like the last pale taper gleaming

  On coffin, pall, and shroud.

  The winds were fiercely wreaking

  Their vengeance on the wave,

  A hoarse dirge wildly shrieking

  O’er each uncoffin’d grave.

  “I started from my pillow

  The moon was riding high,

  The wind scarce heav’d a billow

  Beneath that cloudless sky.

  I look’d from earth to heaven,

  And bless’d the tranquil beam;

  My trembling heart had striven

  With the tempest of a dream.”

  GOAT ISLAND

  “Adown Niagara’s giant steep,

  The foaming breakers crowding leap,

  With wild tumultuous roar;

  The mighty din ascends on high,

  In deafening thunder to the sky,

  And shakes the rocky shore.”

  S.M.

  The lady with the ringlets was absent with her party from the tea-table; I was not sorry to learn that she was gone. I had conceived a prejudice against her from the remark I heard her make about the Falls. Her gustativeness predominated so largely over her ideality, that she reminded me of a young lady who, after describing to me a supper of which by her own account she had largely partaken, said, with a candour almost shocking in its simplicity –

  “To tell you the plain truth, my dear Mrs. M—, my art (she was English, and cockney, and dreadfully mangled the letter h whenever it stumbled into a speech) is in my stomach.”

  The cup of excellent tea was most refreshing after the fatigues of the day; and, while enjoying it, I got into an agreeable chat with several pleasant people, but we were all strangers even in name to each other.

  The night was misty and intensely dark, without moon or stars. How I longed for one glimpse of the former, to shed if only a wandering gleam upon the Falls! The awful music of their continuous roar filled the heavens, and jarred the windows of the building with the tremulous motion we feel on board a steam-boat. And then I amused myself with picturing them, during one of our desolating thunderstorms, leaping into existence out of the dense darkness, when revealed by the broad red flashes of lightning; and I wished that my limited means would allow me to remain long enough in their vicinity, to see them under every change of season and weather. But it was not to be; and after peering long and anxiously into the dark night, I retreated to an unoccupied sofa in a distant part of the saloon, to watch and listen to all that was passing around me.

  Two young American ladies, not of a highly educated class, were engaged in a lively conversation with two dashing English officers, who, for their own amusement, were practising upon their credulity, and flattering their national prejudices with the most depreciating remarks on England and the English people.

  “I am English,” cried number one; “but I am no great admirer of her people and institutions. The Americans beat them hollow.”

  “All the world think so but themselves,” said the younger lady; “they are such a vain, arrogant set!”

  “Decidedly so. The men are bad enough, but the women, – I dare say you have heard them called handsome?”

  “Ah, yes,” in a very lively tone; “but I never believed it. I never in my life saw a pretty English woman among all that I have seen in New York. To my thinking, they are a sad set of frights. Stiff, formal, and repulsive, they dress in shocking bad taste, and consider themselves and their uncouth fashions as the standards of perfection.”

  “My dear Madam, you are right. They are odious creatures. The beauty for which they were once renowned has vanished with the last generation. Our modern English girls are decided barbarians. It is impossible to meet with a pretty English woman now-a-days. I have made a vow to cut them altogether; and if ever I commit such a foolish thing as matrimony, to take to myself an American wife.”

  “Are you in earnest?” with a very fascinating smile, and flashing upon him her fine dark eyes.

  “Quite so. But, now, you must not take me for a rich English Cœlebs in search of a wife. I am an unfortunate scapegrace, have run out all my means, and am not worth a York shilling to jingle on a tombstone. I was obliged to borrow money of my landlord – he’s a capital fellow – to pay my washerwoman’s bill this morning. So don’t fall in love with me. I assure you, on my honour, it would be a bad spec.”

  “Don’t be alarmed,” returned the dark-eyed girl, evidently much pleased with her odd companion. “Are you very young?”

  “I was never young. My mother told
me that I had cut my wisdom-teeth when I was born. I was wide awake, too, like your clever people, and have kept my eyes open ever since.”

  “You have seen a great deal of the world?”

  “Yes, too much of it; but ‘tis a tolerable world to live in after all.”

  “Were you ever in the United States?”

  “Only crossed from the other side a few days ago. Did you not notice the arrival of Mr. P—among the list of distinguished foreigners that honoured your great city with their presence?”

  “And what struck you most when you got there?”

  “Oh, the beauty and elegance of the women, of course.”

  “You flatter us.”

  “Fact, upon honour,” with a quizzical application of his hand to his heart.

  “What did you admire in them?”

  “Their straight up and down figures. They have no vulgar redundancies – no red cheeks and pug noses; and then their voices are so sweet and harmonious, their pronunciation so correct, so every way superior to the boisterous, hearty frankness of our British girls!”

  “English women have very bad noses – I have remarked that; and they are so horribly fat, and they laugh so loud, and talk in such a high key! My! I often wondered where they learned their manners.”

  “Oh! ‘tis all natural to them – it comes to them without teaching.”

  “I have been told that London is a shocking place.”

  “Dreadful; and the climate is disgusting. It rains there every day, and fogs are so prevalent that during the winter months, they burn candles all day to see to eat. As to the sun, he never comes out but once or twice during the summer, just to let us know that he has not been struck out of creation. And the streets, my dear young lady, are so filthy that the women have to wear pattens in their carriages.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “Just to keep their petticoats out of the mud, which is so deep that it penetrates through the bottom of the carriages.”

  “I never will go to England, I declare.”

  “You will be better appreciated in your free and glorious country. Slavery thrives there, and you make slaves of us poor men.”

  “Now, do stop there, and have done with your blarney.”

  “Blarney! I’m not Irish. Englishmen always speak the truth when talking to the ladies.”

  Here he paused, quite out of breath, and his companion in mischief commenced with the other lady.

  “Who is that tall, stout, handsome man, with the fat lady on his arm, who has just entered the room?”

  “That’s an American from the south; he’s worth his weight in gold, and that fleshy woman’s his wife. My! is he not handsome! and he’s so clever – one of our greatest senators.”

  “If size makes a man great, and he has the distinguished honour of being one of your senators, he must be a great – a very great man.”

  “He’s a splendid orator; you should hear him speak.”

  “He has kept his mouth shut all day; and when he does open it, it is only to speak in French to his wife. My curiosity is excited; it would be quite a treat to hear him talk on any subject.”

  “When he speaks, it’s always to the purpose. But there’s no one here who is able to appreciate talents like his.” “He’s an American aristocrat.”

  “We have no aristocrats with us. He’s a great slaveowner, and immensely rich.”

  “Very substantial claims to distinction, I must confess. You are wiser in these matters than we are. What do you think of Canada?”

  “I don’t know; it’s very well for a young place. I only came here with sister last night; we are on our way to Quebec.”

  “To visit friends?”

  “We have no friends in Canada. We want to see Lord

  Elgin.”

  “Lord Elgin!”

  “Yes. We have seen a great many curious things, but we never saw an English lord.”

  “And you are going to Quebec for no other purpose than to look at Lord Elgin? His lordship should feel himself highly flattered. What sort of an animal do you suppose him to be?”

  “A man, of course; but I assure you that the Boston ladies thought a great deal of him. Sister and I have plenty of time and money at our disposal, and we wanted to see if their opinion was correct.”

  “Well, I hope you may be gratified, and agree with the Boston ladies that he is a very clever man.”

  “Is he handsome?”

  “He has an English nose.”

  “Oh, shocking!”

  “A decided Anglo-Saxon face.”

  “I’m sure I shan’t admire him.”

  “But I’ll not anticipate. A man may be a fine looking fellow in spite of his nose. But what do you think of the Falls?”

  “Well, I have not quite made up my mind about them. I should like to ride down to the edge of the river to look at them from below.”

  “I will order a carriage to-morrow morning, and drive you down.”

  “Thank you; I can do that for myself, if I have a mind to. I should like to ride down on horseback.”

  “The path is too steep; no one ventures down that terrible road on horseback.”

  “But I’m a capital rider.”

  “No matter; they use cows for that purpose here.”

  “Cows! ”

  “They are very safe, sure-footed animals. All the ladies ride down to the Falls on cows.”

  “Are they fools?”

  “Wise women. Did not you see that fine drove of cows pass the hotel at sunset?”

  “I did. I thought they were driven into the yard to be milked.”

  “Why, yes; but those cows are making Mr.—’s fortune. They serve a double purpose, providing delicious butter and cream for his customers, and acting as horses for the ladies. I will pick out the most docile among them for your excursion to-morrow morning, and see it bridled and saddled myself.”

  This was too much for the gravity of anyone. My son-in-law ran out of the room, and I laughed aloud. The poor girls began to find out that they were sold, and retreated into the balcony. An hour afterwards, as I was pacing through the long gallery that led to our sleeping apartment, one of the many doors on either side softly opened, and the youngest of these bright-eyed damsels stole out.

  “I want to ask you a question,” she said, laying her very white hand confidingly on my arm; “were those Englishmen quizzing my sister and me?”

  “Need you ask that question?” said I, not a little amused at her simplicity.

  “I never suspected it till I saw your son laughing to himself, and then I guessed something was wrong. It was a great shame of those rude fellows to amuse themselves at our expense; but your son is quite a different person – so handsome and gentlemanly. We admire him so much. Is he married?”

  “His wife is my daughter.”

  I can’t tell why my answer struck the fair inquirer dumb; she drew back suddenly into her chamber, and closed the door without bidding me good night, and that was the last time I saw or heard of her and her companion.

  “A summer spent at the Clifton House would elicit more extraordinary traits of character than could be gathered from the chit-chat of a dozen novels,” thought I, as I paced on to No. 50, the last room on the long tier.

  I was up by daybreak the next morning to see the Falls by sunrise, and was amply repaid for leaving my warm bed, and encountering the bright bracing morning air, by two hours’ enjoyment of solemn converse alone with God and Niagara. The sun had not yet lifted his majestic head above the pine forest, or chased with his beams the dark shadows of night that rested within the curved sides of the great Horse-shoe. The waters looked black as they rolled in vast smooth masses downward, till, meeting the projecting rocks, they were tossed high into the air in clouds of dazzling foam – so pure, so stainlessly white, when contrasted with the darkness, that they looked as if belonging to heaven rather than to earth. Anon, that dancing feathery tumult of foam catches a rosy gleam from the coming day. A long stream of sun
light touches the centre of the mighty arch, and transforms the black waters into a mass of smooth transparent emerald green, and the spray flashes with myriads of rubies and diamonds; while the American Fall still rolls and thunders on in cold pure whiteness, Goat Island and its crests of dark pines shrouding it in a robe of gloom. The voice of the waters rising amidst the silence that reigns at that lovely calm hour, sounds sonorous and grand. Be still, O my soul! earth is pouring to her Creator her morning anthem of solemn praise!

  Earth! how beautiful thou art! When will men be worthy of the paradise in which they are placed? Did our first father, amidst the fresh young beauty of his Eden, ever gaze upon a spectacle more worthy of his admiration than this? We will except those moments when he held converse with God amid the cool shades of that delicious garden.

  “That’s a sublime sight!” said a voice near me.

  I turned, and found the old American gentleman at my side.

  “I can see a change in the appearance of these Falls,” he continued, “since I visited them some forty years ago. Time changes everything; I feel that I am changed since then. I was young and active, and clambered about these rugged banks with the careless hardihood of a boy who pants for excitement and adventure, and how I enjoyed my visit to this place! A change has taken place – I can scarcely describe in what respect; but it looks to me very different to what it did then.”

  “Perhaps,” I suggested, “the fall of that large portion of the table-rock has made the alteration you describe.”

  “You have just hit it,” he said; “I forgot the circumstance. The Horse-shoe is not so perfect as it was.”

  “Could these Falls ever have receded from Queenstone?” said I.

  He turned to me with a quick smile –“If they have, my dear Madam, the world is much older by thousands of ages than we give it credit for; but –” continued he, gazing at the mighty object in dispute, “it is possible that these Falls are of more recent date than the creation of the world. An earthquake may have rent the deep chasm that forms the bed of that river, and in a few seconds of time the same cause might break down that mighty barrier, and drain the upper lakes, by converting a large part of your fine province into another inland sea. But this is all theory. Fancy, you know, is free, and I often amuse myself by speculating on these things.”