Buffalo is a kind of half-way house between the East and the West—if anything may be called west this side of the Mississippi River—and it partakes of the characteristics of both sections. It was once the chief trading post on the Niagara frontier, and its vicinity has been the scene of many a hotly contested battle between dusky races now forever lost to this part of the world, and almost forgotten of history. Long ago, the Eries, or the Cat Nation, lived on the southern shores of the same lake whose waters now lap the wharves of Buffalo. They left it the heritage of their name, and that is all.

The race, in its lack of calculation, did not greatly differ from many isolated instances of the paler race of mankind around us now; for it died of a too o'erreaching ambition. Jealous of the distant fame of the Five Nations, the Eries set out to surprise and conquer them in deadly battle, and themselves met the fate they had meant for the Iroquois. They were exterminated; and few returned to the squaws in their lonely wigwams, to tell the tale of doom.

The noble race of Senecas succeeded the Cat Nation on the shores of Lake Erie, and after them, from across the great seas, came the dominant, pushing, civilizing Anglo-Saxons.

When the war of 1812 broke out, Buffalo was an exceedingly infant city, and did not promise well at all. Nobody would have then predicted her importance of to-day. Later, in 1813, the battle of Black Rock was fought, and while a few old soldiers made a determined stand against the onset of the solid British phalanx, most of the raw recruits fled down Niagara street in a regular Bull Run panic, chased by the pursuing foe. The village was then fired by the enemy, and every building except one was burned to the ground. The description of the suffering and flight of women and children, during that harrowing time, draws largely on the sympathies of the reader, and sounds strangely similar to the newspaper accounts of the burning of Western and Pennsylvania towns, of more recent occurrence.

But, though Buffalo was destroyed by fire, it shortly evinced all the power of the fabled phoenix, and rose from its ashes to a grander future than its early settlers ever dreamed of prophesying for it. The young city, however, suffered in its first days from a multiplicity of names, struggling under no less than three. The Indians named it Te-osah-wa, or "Place of Basswood;" the Holland Land Company dragged the Dutch name of New Amsterdam across the ocean and endeavored to drop it at the foot of Lake Erie; and finally, it took its present name of Buffalo, from the frequent visits of the American Bison to a salt spring which welled up about three miles out of the village, on Buffalo creek.

I think Buffalonians have reason to be grateful that the last name proved more tenacious than the other two. Think of the "Queen City" of the most Eastern West being overshadowed by the tiled-roof name of New Amsterdam!

It was not until 1822, on the completion of the Erie Canal, that Buffalo began the rapid advance towards prosperity that now marks its growth, the muster-roll of its population, at this writing, numbering the round figures of one hundred and sixty-one thousand. It now rejoices in business streets three and four miles long—full-fledged two-thirds of the distance, and the remainder embryonic. The harbor-front, facing the ship canal and the Lake, bristles with the tall tops of huge grain elevators—a whole village of them. A network of railroad lines, and the commerce of the great Lakes, have combined to build up and carry on a vast business at this point, and to make it a station of much importance between the East and the West. The rails of the New York Central, the Great Western, the Lake Shore, and the Buffalo and Philadelphia roads, besides many other lines, all centre here, carrying their tide of human freight, mainly westward, and transporting the cereals of the great grain regions in exchange for the manufactured products of less favored localities. When the representative of New York or New England wishes to go west, he finds his most direct route by rail, via Buffalo; or, if he desires a most charming water trip, he embarks, also via Buffalo, on one of the handsome propellers which ply the Lakes between this city and Chicago, and steaming down the length of Lake Erie, up through the narrower St. Clair and the broad Huron, he passes the wooded shores of Mackinac's beautiful island, surmounted by its old fort, and entering Lake Michigan, in due time is landed on the breezy Milwaukee banks, or is set down within that maelstrom of business, named Chicago. Indeed, after Chicago, Buffalo is the ranking city of the Lakes, and is said to cover more territory than almost any city in the country outside the great metropolis—the distance, from limit to limit, averaging seven and eight miles. Its suburban drives and places of summer resort, owing to the superior water localities of this region, are much out of the usual line. Niagara River, famous the world over, allures the daring boatman from Fort Porter onward, and the wonderful Falls themselves are only eighteen miles beyond that. Fort Porter, about two miles out from the heart of the city, is located just at the point where Niagara River leaves the lake in its mad race to the Falls. Here the banks are high and command a wide water prospect. Away to the westward the blue lake and the blue sky seem to meet and blend together as one; and in the opposite direction the rushing river spreads out like another lake, towards Squaw Island and Black Rock. One or more companies of United States Regulars are stationed here, and the barracks and officers' quarters surround a square inclosure, which is used as a parade ground. Graveled walks are laid out around it, and a grassy foot-path leads from the soldiers' quarters to the site of the old Fort on the brow of a gentle elevation just beyond. The Fort was built for frontier defence, in 1812, and the interior, now grass-grown and unused, is so deep that the roof of the stone structure, once appropriated as a magazine, is nearly on a level with the high ground at your feet. During our last war the building was occupied as a place of confinement for Rebel prisoners. It is now in a state of advanced collapse, and the battered walls and open windows expose to view the ruin within. A small, square outhouse, near one of the embrasures higher up, which was used for firing hot shot, is still intact. Field pieces, pointing grimly towards the Lake, and little heaps of cannon balls lying near, bring freshly to mind the nation's last war days, when "the winding rivers ran red" with the mingled blood of comrade and foe. The sunset gun boomed over the waters while we lingered at the old Fort, and the fading glow of day bridged the river with arches of crimson and gold.

Diagonally opposite from this point, one looks across into the Queen's dominions, where lies the little village of Fort Erie, historic as the place from which the British crossed to our shores on the night preceding the burning of Buffalo.

At Black Rock, about two miles below Fort Porter, the great International Railroad Bridge, a mile in length, spans the mighty river, having superseded the old-time ferry. This bridge is the connecting link on the Grand Trunk Road, between Canada and the States.

Near its terminus, on the American side, are located the immense malleable iron works of Pratt & Letchworth, said to be the largest manufactory of the kind in the world. Their goods certainly find a world-wide market, taking in New England and the Pacific coast, Mexico, England and Australia. A pretty picture of the country seat of Mr. Letchworth, at Portage, New York, may be seen at the Historical Rooms. It is named Glen Iris, and is surrounded by handsome grounds, groves and fountains.

Boating on the Niagara is much in vogue here, notwithstanding the rapid current and the dreadful certainty of the Falls in case of accident. The keeper of a boat house at Black Rock, opposite Squaw Island, told me that the proportion of accidents on the river was frightfully large—far greater than ever got into the public prints.

Forest Lawn Cemetery—Buffalo's city of the dead—is one of the loveliest burial places between Brooklyn and Chicago. It is picturesque with hill and dale and grove, not to mention a large artificial lake lapped in one of its grassy hollows, and a winding, wide and rocky-bedded creek running through it. The name of the creek is spelled S-c-a-j-a-q-u-a-d-a and pronounced Kon-joc'-e-ta. The Pratt monument, in a remote portion of the grounds, is perhaps the handsomest in the cemetery. It looks like a gothic gateway with fluted pillars of Italian marbles. A sculptured image of a child of one of the Fargos—of the famous Wells, Fargo & Co.—rests under a glass case on the lap of earth which marks her grave. The head is peculiarly noble, reminding one of that of the Belvidere Apollo. It is said to be a truthful likeness. Decoration Day at Forest Lawn was a picture long to be remembered. On a little knoll under the trees at the entrance to the grounds the military and civic processions assembled to listen to the eloquent words of Rev. Mr. Barrett, of Rochester. When the brief address was concluded, and the band music and singing were over, we followed the committees of decoration to the scattered graves of the patriot dead, and witnessed the strewing of flowers upon their sacred dust. A hushed circle above the mound of earth, a few fitly-spoken words from one of their number who knew the soldier-hero, and the floral tributes were tenderly placed above the sleeper's head. Thus, oh heroes, shall your memory be kept forever green! The flowers were wrought into every symbolic shape by which the language of affection could be translated. Crowns, and crosses, and stars, and anchors of hope, spoke their love and solace. The graves of the Confederate dead were also decorated, and side by side, under a common mantle of flowers, the Blue and the Gray received alike the benediction of the hour.

At Forest Lawn, also, on the historic seventeenth of June—the Bunker Hill Centennial—a monument was dedicated to the memory of nine Spauldings who fought at that battle, one hundred years before. The granite cenotaph was erected by E. G. Spaulding, of Buffalo, descended from the same blood with the heroic nine. The names of the list inscribed on the Western front of the monument were headed by that of his grandfather, Levi Spaulding, who was captain of the ninth company, third regiment, under Colonel Reed, of the New Hampshire troops, engaged on that day.

Speeches reviving Revolutionary memories, and fresh descriptions of the Bunker Hill contest, were in order. There was a semi-military procession, and the interest felt in the occasion was general. A grand reception at Mr. Spaulding's residence in the evening, concluded the patriotic anniversary.

The large park adjoining Forest Lawn is plentiful in attractions, including the delights of boating on the Konjoceta and loitering in the shadowy coolness of the primeval woods. In addition to these, Buffalo is completing a grand boulevard system which encircles half the City, beginning at what is called the Front, in the neighborhood of Fort Porter, and making the circuit of the outskirts through Bidwell and Lincoln and Humboldt parkways to the intersection of Genesee street with the Parade, on the opposite arc of the circle. One is sure to find cool breezes along this drive, though the day be the hottest of the season. Indeed, the summer heats are, at all times, shorn of their fervor in this Queen City of the Lakes, and its climatic advantages are, therefore, superior.

Delaware Avenue is the leading street of Buffalo for private residences, and here much of the aristocracy do congregate. It is about three miles long, and double rows of shade trees line either side. Fast driving on this avenue is licensed by city authority, and racing down its gentle incline is much in vogue. In winter, when sleighing is good, this is carried to greater excess, and the snowy road is black with flying vehicles. Main street, the principal business thoroughfare of the city, at least for retail trade, is wide, well paved and straight, and is built up with substantial business blocks. Its sister thoroughfare on the east, Washington street, towards the lower end as it approaches the lake, degenerates into manufacturing, and the buzz of machinery and incessant din of hammers break in on the maiden meditations of the passive sight-seer.

As one approaches the Terrace, which is an elbow of blocks at one end and a diagonal at the other, one is confronted by a confusion of cross streets, which look as if they had been gotten up expressly to demoralize one's points of compass. They all look out on Buffalo harbor and the sea-wall beyond. Ohio street, following the bend of the harbor, is the great elevator district of the greatest grain mart in the world. Here, when business is at high tide, between two and three million bushels of grain per day are transferred by these giant monsters with high heads. The business places of this department of Buffalo enterprise are located principally on Central Wharf, in this vicinity, which fronts the harbor and which is crowded with offices two tiers deep.

Along the wharf the very air is charged with bustle and activity. Vessels of all descriptions are arriving and departing at all hours, and the commerce of the great lakes pours its flood tide into Buffalo through this gateway.

As for churches and schools, the city overflows with them. It is sprinkled in all directions with handsome religious edifices, like interrogation points, in stone and brick, asking the questions of a higher life. And there are thirty-six public schools, besides the State Normal, the Central, and the Buffalo Female Academy. This last is under the able guidance of Dr. Chester. But even these do not complete the list, as I understand there are numerous other private institutions of learning.

In one of the triangular pieces of ground where the three streets of Niagara, Erie and Church make their entrance into Main street, stands the picturesque structure of St. Paul's Episcopal Cathedral. It is built of brown stone, and the creeping ivy nearly covers one end of it, from the crosses and minarets at the pinnacle to the trailing vines on the ground. The gray, gothic edifice of St. Joseph's Romish Cathedral, fronting on Franklin street, is also very large, and the interior is rich in architectural design.

As for the immeasurable realm of books, Buffalo furnishes her children access to this, through her libraries. Chiefest among them is the Grosvenor, which has a bit of history all by itself. It was founded by a retired merchant of New York, who had lived in Buffalo during the earliest infancy of the city, and whose property had been destroyed when the then frontier village was fired by the British and Indians, in retaliation for the burning of Newark. This generous gentleman also left thirty thousand dollars to found a reference library for the High School of New York City. His will provided a legacy of ten thousand for Buffalo, to be applied towards a fire-proof building for a library, and the sum of thirty thousand, the interest of which was to be used for the purchase of books. The building fund having been on interest ever since, now amounts to twenty-eight thousand, and in addition the city has donated what is known as the Mohawk street property, used at present for police purposes, which will sell for an amount sufficiently large, together with the deposit already on hand, to erect a handsome building. The library is now located over the Buffalo Savings Bank, facing a pleasant little park between Washington and Main streets.

In 1870 the interest had more than doubled the donation, and the Trustees then commenced the work of making the library a living institution. After a great deal of trouble, they at last secured the services of Alexander J. Sheldon, who was willing, without any certain compensation, to undertake the task of organizing and superintending the library. Mr. Sheldon, who is an expert in books, is native to the city, and from boyhood has been connected with this line of business. The first year of his hard labor at the Grosvenor was rewarded by the large sum of five hundred dollars! It was well for the institution, however, that Mr. Sheldon was not dependent on his salary for support. He entered into the work with an enthusiasm which surmounted all difficulties, and which has brought the library to its present state of progress, making it a credit to the city of Buffalo.

The large reading room is neatly fitted up with black walnut cases, nine feet in length, and eight feet high, opening on both sides, and capable of holding eight or nine hundred average volumes. There are about thirty of these cases in the room, with reading tables and easy chairs interspersed between them. The style of alcove and arrangement, which was also Mr. Sheldon's suggestion, produces a very handsome effect. The cases stand on black walnut platforms six inches in height, and are surmounted by a pretty cornice. The shelves are interchangeable, and are of such moderate height that the necessity for step-ladders is entirely avoided. There are also dummy volumes, made to resemble books and properly titled, which, if their mission is to deceive the uninitiated, certainly accomplish that task. The number of volumes has now accumulated to about eighteen thousand, and includes the choicest works in art, science, literature and the professions. The fiction department comprehends all the recognized standard works, but the mass of worthless novels, which pass current in some of our circulating libraries, is unhesitatingly excluded. The bindings are nearly all morocco, with gilt or marbled tops, and the back of each book, as it is added to the library, is given a coat of white shellac varnish, which prevents it, in a great degree, from fading, and renders it easy of renovation.

The small ante-room which is used by the librarian and committeemen contains several hundred volumes on bibliography, which is a very important feature of such an institution. The rooms in summer are breezy, from the lake winds, and in winter are heated by steam radiators. A heavy cocoa matting deadens all sound on the floors, and absolute quiet is thus secured. Thanks to the efforts of Mr. Sheldon, the Grosvenor is undoubtedly the best library for a student west of the Hudson.

The Historical Rooms deserve notice as one of the salient points of Buffalo, and though the Society is young and not by any means wealthy, yet it is fairly started on its road to distinction. It was founded in 1862, and subsists principally by donations, as it is yet too poor to make purchases of books or relics. The Rooms are located at the corner of Main and Court streets, nearly opposite the ancient site of the old Eagle Tavern. A picture of this hotel as it looked fifty years ago may be seen among their collection. A huge gilt eagle surmounted the main entrance, and an enclosed porch, or what looks like it, at one end of the building, bore the inscription "Coach Office," in large letters over the doorway. Here also is the noble looking portrait of Red Jacket, the great Seneca Chief, together with the grand-daughter of Red Jacket's second wife—Nancy Stevenson—taken at sixteen. This bright-eyed, brown maiden married an Indian named Hiram Dennis, and was still living in 1872. Belts of wampum, war hatchets and pipes of peace, besides numerous pictures, in oil, of celebrated red warriors, are among the Indian mementoes connected with Buffalo's early history. The war of 1812 also contributes its scattered waifs to keep alive the memory of that time. The sword of Major-General Brown, worn at the battle of Sackett's Harbor, and a piece of timber from Perry's ship, on which is traced the legend "We have met the enemy and they are ours," are among the heirlooms of history. Here, too, is a Mexican lance from the field of Monterey, and the clarionette used in Buffalo's first band of music, whose strains helped swell the chorus during the triumphal march of Lafayette through her streets in 1824. A representation of the first boat on the Erie Canal, named "Chief Engineer of Rome," looks quaint enough. The walls of the large apartment devoted to historical collections are covered with pictures of Buffalo's prominent men, and at one end of the room hangs a handsome portrait of Millard Fillmore, set in heavy gilt. Their list of books and directories is also quite large. The story of a city's growth is always one of deep interest, and the generations of future years will, no doubt, be grateful for these landmarks of their early history.

Journalism in Buffalo rides on the top wave, and her leading papers have achieved an enviable fame. Eight dailies swell the list, four of which are German, besides ten weeklies and seven monthly papers. The history of the Commercial Advertiser dates back to October, 1811. It was issued at that time, under the name of the Buffalo Gazette, by the Salisbury brothers, from Canandaigua. With the exception of a paper at Batavia, begun in 1807, the Gazette was the only paper published at that time in Western New York. It afterwards changed its name to the Buffalo Patriot, and since 1836 it has been issued as the Daily Commercial Advertiser. The Courier and Commercial are the ranking papers of the city, in point of influence.

Buffalo doesn't seem to be ambitious of display in her public buildings, judging from the quality of those already on hand. The new City Hall, however, is a noble exception to the general rule. It is built of Maine granite, in the form of a double Roman cross, and the tower, which is two hundred and forty-five feet high, is surmounted by four pieces of statuary. Its estimated cost is over two millions of dollars.

St. James' Hall and the Academy of Music are the chief places of amusement in the city, the latter place being conducted by the Meech brothers, two young gentlemen of acknowledged ability. Many noted stars of the stage whose names have blazed forth in histrionic glory have here made their first conquests, before applauding audiences. The stock company is unusually good, Ben Rogers, stage manager and first comedian, being a host in himself.

The fire department of the city is said to be exceedingly efficient, and the police system has gained a reputation for thorough work which ought to be the terror of the criminal class. It embraces a body of mounted police, a corps of detectives and of patrolmen, besides the regular force stationed at the harbor.

Among the minor peculiarities of Buffalo may be mentioned the superabundance of dog carts to be seen in her streets; not the conventional kind that goes rolling down Fifth Avenue, among the bewildering array of splendid equipages—coupes, landaus, landaulets, drags and what not—that daily make their way to Central Park; not any of these; but the original dog cart, with the dog attached. He is to be seen in all the varieties of the species, from a muddy yellow to the fierce-looking mastiff. He is usually harnessed in company with a collapsed old woman or a cadaverous looking little boy, and he carries all kinds of mixed freight, from an ash barrel to a load of sticks. The undercurrent of Buffalo society does not seem to look upon the dog in a purely ornamental light.

This chapter on a place so fertile in suggestion might be prolonged indefinitely; but we are gazing westward, along a line of cities whose terminus does not end until it reaches the Golden Gate and the most famous centre of population on the Pacific coast. Our steps are bent toward that far-off goal, and we must say good-bye to the ancient land of the Eries and the former haunts of the buffalo.

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CHAPTER IV.