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FROM Toronto we made a brief detour in order to feast
our eyes once more on that grandest, brightest, purest of all
earthly spectacles—the Falls of Niagara. I never can express
one-tenth part of the emotion to which it gives rise. There is a
glory about it which is hardly of the earth earthy. Perhaps it is
wisest just to abandon oneself to the luxury of indefinite pleasure.
But this is not the way to enable others to share your enjoyment. I
will avail myself here of something which I wrote on occasion of a
former visit, when I spent three days at Niagara, and at the end
seemed to be only learning to spell out the alphabet of its glory.
There is no fine scenery in the neighbourhood. The country round is
flat and featureless, and this probably is the cause of the
disappointment many visitors feel on their first glimpse of the
Falls. Instead of a setting of majestic rocks, with all the glory of
Alpine magnificence, the cascade of Niagara is surrounded by level
fields and gentle heights, and the only great feature that breaks
the monotony is the cliff over which the river is precipitated. The
Falls are alone in their magnificence, the one glory of the
neighbourhood.
Most people know that a mile or two above the Falls the liver
Niagara, carrying along the whole body of water collected in Lakes
Superior, Huron, Michigan, and Erie, spreads out over an expanse of
two or three miles; then it begins to contract, and descends with
great velocity, till it rolls over the cliff. Goat Island divides
the stream into two just before the plunge. The eastern or American
section goes round the island, and descends with great regularity
and majesty in a line almost at right angles to the western or
Canadian Fall. This other cataract, double the breadth of the
former, is borne more rapidly to the edge of the cliff, and comes
over it with greater impetuosity. It is in the form of a horseshoe,
the curve bending up the stream. In the bosom of the curve there is
a chasm in the rock, also passing upwards, causing a tremendous
collision between the two masses of water that dash over it on.
either side. As the Canadian Fall, though not quite so high, is more
impetuous than the American, the form of the falling water is more
broken, the spray dashes with more vehemence, and the eddies at the
bottom are more wild and tumultuous. In the sunshine, when the air
is full of vapour, a splendid rainbow spans the fall.
But what is it that gives Niagara such a charm? It is not, as we
have remarked, the surrounding scenery. The height is not
remarkable—only a hundred and fifty-eight feet on the Canadian side,
and a hundred and sixty-four on the American. The Staubbach is five
times its height; the Yosemite Fall many times more. What, then,
gives Niagara such imperial pre-eminence?
In the first place, there is the wonderful ploy of life, extending
over the whole length and breadth of the cascade (the breadth of the
one fall is one thousand one hundred, and of the other two thousand
two hundred feet); the quick, darting movement of the wafers,
leaping in a marvellous state of exhilaration down the height. This
rapidity of motion gratifies and charms one of the most powerful
instincts of our nature. For there is nothing that has more
attraction for human eyes or more interest for the human mind than
the vigorous play of life. Be it the horse racing on the turf, or
the rocket flying in the air, or the forked tongue of the lightning,
or a ship sliding from a slip into the water, or the express train
whirling past us, or the collision of armies, or the collision of
intellect in Parliament or Church court—all are attractive because
of the display of living energy. Now, about Niagara, everything is
instinct with life. Such an immense body of water, estimated at a
million and a half tons per minute, Hinging itself over more than
half a mile of precipice's, is a marvellous display of “animated
nature.” First, there is the preparation for the leap— the gathering
of the waters at the “Rapids,” a little above the falls, as if
making ready for a tremendous effort. And really, if there were
nothing else, the Rapids are a wonderful sight; the water rushes
past the “Three Sisters” with such arrowy swiftness that you can
hardly follow the wild, perpetual motion. Then, when the edge is
reached, there is the unhesitating, fearless plunge, as if the water
enjoyed the somersault and did not care one straw for the
consequences. If you fix your eye more powerfully on a portion of
the waters in their descent, you observe that the desperate
earnestness of the great movement is combined with innumerable
little touches of frolic and merriment. Every filament of the stream
seems to have a. life of its own. Everywhere the water is leaping,
laughing, dancing, dashing, flying, evidently in the highest
spirits. It is as if all the nymphs and naiads of classic story were
collected together for some wild frolic, and were entering into it
with the keenest enthusiasm. And as fast as one set of naiads
plunges into the caldron, there comes another and another in
everlasting succession.
But while this is your impression as you watch the separate
streamlets (as it were), you get a marvellous idea of majesty when
you survey the whole. You are awed by the spectacle of such a vast
body of water rolling over, as if in the consciousness of imperial
will and resistless might. It is the very emblem of Sovereignty,
moving for ever with a force to which any resistance that could be
offered would not have the weight of a feather. An unwearied life
too, like that of Him who fainteth not, neither is weary.
This idea of pre-eminence and majesty is one of the greatest
elements of impression, and grows on you as you give a little scope
to your imagination. For all this has been going on hour after hour,
year after year, century after century, in daylight and in darkness,
in summer and in winter, in war and in peace, if not since the
beginning of the world, at least throughout the whole period of
history. Where else shall the mind find such a display of the
unwearied activity and irresistible will of the Sovereign Creator?
Then there is the beautiful display of colour. One of the first
things to catch the eye on a sunny day is the bright blue of the
water as it curls over the precipice. You see the same shade of blue
at the seaside on a sunny day, when the neck of a wave catches the
sunbeam, just as it turns over to break. You see also the lily
whiteness of the foam; but you do not see at the seaside the pearly
lustre of the water as it rushes past you in its fall. Lower down,
the water assumes a sea-green colour. Blue, white, green, the waters
gleam before you in vast masses of colour; and if it is summer or
autumn, you have, in addition, the colours of the surrounding woods
and fields, and the azure of the sky above. And if the rainbow sheds
its gleam, you have all the colours, and most conspicuous of all the
red, which they tell us is never wanting in a perfect picture.
Nor must we omit mention of the sound. It is true, many are
disappointed with this. They expected a noise of thunder: they find
little more than a solemn murmur. But watch the murmur, and it will
gain upon you; it will by-and-by sound like a psalm, like the song
of creation to Him who made the heaven and the earth, the sea and
the fountains of waters. Then you remember that that psalm has been
going up unceasingly from the beginning—before human foot trod the
earth, before Red Indian flourished his tomahawk. You try to catch
the burden of the psalm: it gives praise to God from everlasting to
everlasting. How it contrasts with the broken tribute of our lives,
and with our songs of praise so few and so feeble, so little worthy
of the great Being, our Creator, Redeemer, Lord, and Father, our
Portion, our God for ever!
And this leads to yet another view of Niagara—its symbolism. It is a
sermon as well as a psalm. Ever since the globe assumed its present
form it has been the same. The stream has been flowing on, as we
have said, without cessation and without interruption. Could there
be a fitter emblem of the grace of God and the love of the Lord
Jesus Christ? Could any material thing more fitly portray the
endless stream of the divine mercy in Christ, bearing down all
opposition and defying all efforts to exhaust it? Does it not seem
to echo that beautiful psalm: “Thy mercy, O Lord, is in the heavens;
and thy faithfulness reacheth unto the clouds. Thy righteousness is
like the great mountains; thy judgments are a great deep: O Lord,
thou preservest man and beast. How excellent is thy loving kindness,
O God! therefore the children of men put their trust under the
shadow of thy wings. They shall be abundantly satisfied with the
fatness of thy house; and thou shalt make them drink of the river of
thy pleasures. For with thee is the fountain of life: in thy light
we shall see light.”
We cannot put up with the impertinences practised on Niagara. The
men that trifle with its majesty are not only fools, but impudent
knaves. But in this respect things are not so bad as is sometimes
represented. On the morning of the day when we reached Niagara, we
had read in a Toronto newspaper an elaborate account of a wonderful
feat said to have taken place the day before: how a certain American
cooper had got into a barrel which he had contrived for the purpose,
and being duly strapped inside of it, and the barrel well secured
with two padlocks, had been thrown into the river, and after an hour
carried over the precipice; how the barrel came to land, and being
opened by a friend, the cooper was found to be stunned, but after a
copious draught of whisky came all right, and proceeded quietly to
his home! Strolling along the Queen Victoria Park, we came on a
park-keeper, and on being asked how much truth there was in the
paragraph, he simply stared and said, “Not one word.” And the
landlord of the Clifton corroborated! Of course the absurd story
went the round of the world, though it was afterwards contradicted.
That any one could have believed it is hardly credible; but how it
could have got into the columns of a sober Toronto journal passes
belief. |
