  On a day in July, 1804, a ruddy-faced, handsome young Irishman, whose appearance must have commanded unusual attention in wild frontier surroundings, came out of the woods that overlooked Lake Erie, picking his way among the still-standing stumps, and trudged down the Indian trail, which had not long been made passable for wagons. Presently he came into the better part of the road, named Willink Avenue, passed a dozen scattered houses, and finally stopped at John Crow's log tavern, the principal inn of the infant Buffalo. He was dusty, tired, and disgusted with the fortune that had brought an accident some distance back in the woods, compelling him to finish this stage of his journey, not merely on foot, but disabled. Here, surrounded by more Indians than whites, he lodged for a day or so before continuing his journey to Niagara Falls; and here, according to his own testimony, he wrote a long poem, which was not only, in all probability, the first poem ever composed in Buffalo, and one of the bitterest tirades against America and American institutions to be found in literature; but which contained, so far as I have been able to discover, the first allusion to Niagara Falls, written by one who actually traveled thither, in the poetry of any language. The poetry of Niagara Falls is contemporary with the first knowledge of the cataract among civilized men. One may make this statement with positiveness, inasmuch as the first book printed in Europe which mentions Niagara Falls contains a poem in which allusion is made to that wonder. This work is the excessively rare "Des Sauvages" of Champlain (Paris, 1604), Mvses, si vous chantez, vrayment ie vous conseille Que vous louËz Champlain, pour estre courageux: Sans crainte des hasards, il a veu tant de lieux, Que ses relations nous contentent l'oreille. Il a veu le Perou, Du Vulcan infernal qui vomit tant de feux, Et les saults Mocosans, De ceux qui osent voir leur cheute nonpareille. Reduire les Gentils, & trouuer le Leuant, Par le Nort, ou le Su, pour aller À la Chine. C'est charitablement tout pour l'amour de Dieu. Fy des lasches poltrons qui ne bougent d'vn lieu! Leur vie, sans mentir, me paroist trop mesquine. I regret that some research has failed to discover any further information regarding the poet De la Franchise. Obviously, he took rather more than the permissible measure of poet's license in saying that Champlain had seen Peru, a country far beyond the known range of Champlain's travels. But in the phrase "les saults Mocosans," the falls of Mocosa, we have the ancient name of the undefined territory afterwards labeled "Virginia." The intent of the allusion is made plainer by Marc Lescarbot, who in 1610 wrote a poem in which he speaks of "great falls which the Indians say they encounter in ascending the St. Lawrence as far as the neighborhood of Virginia." It is gratifying to find our incomparable cataract a theme for song, even though known only by aboriginal report, thus at the very dawn of exploration in this part of America. It is fitting, too, that the French should be the first to sing of what they discovered. More than a century after De la Franchise and Lescarbot, a Frenchman who really saw the falls introduced them to the muse, though only by a quotation. This Est nemus HÆmoniÆ, prÆrupta quod undique claudit Sylva; vocant Tempe, per quÆ Peneus ab imo Effusus Pindo spumosis volvitur undis, Dejectisque gravi tenues agitantia fumos Nubila conducit, summisque aspergine sylvas, Impluit, et sonitu plusquam vicina fatigat. It would be strange if there were not other impressionable Frenchmen who composed or quoted verses expressive of Niagara's grandeur, during the eighty-one years that elapsed between the French discovery of Niagara Falls and the English Conquest—a period of over three-quarters of a century during which earth's most magnificent cataract belonged to France. But if priest or soldier, coureur-de-bois or verse-maker at the court of Louis said aught in meter of Niagara in all that time, I have not found it. A little thunder by Sir William Johnson's guns at Fort Niagara, a little blood on the Plains of Abraham, and Niagara Falls was handed over to Great Britain. Four years after the Conquest English poetry made its Have we not seen at pleasure's lordly call The smiling long-frequented village fall? Behold the duteous son, the sire decayed, The modest matron or the blushing maid, Forced from their homes, a melancholy train, To traverse climes beyond the western main; Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around And Niagara Even now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays Through tangled forests and through dangerous ways, Where beasts with man divided empire claim, And the brown Indian marks with murderous aim; There, while above the giddy tempest flies, And all around distressful yells arise, The pensive exile, bending with his woe, To stop too fearful and too faint to go, Casts a long look where England's glories shine, And bids his bosom sympathize with mine. Obviously, Oliver Goldsmith's "Traveller," in its American allusions, reflected the current literature of those years when Englishmen heard more of Oswego And this brings us again to our first visiting poet, Tom Moore, whose approach to Niagara by way of Buffalo in 1804 has been described. Penning an epistle in rhyme from "Buffalo, on Lake Erie," to the Hon. W. R. Spencer—writing, we are warranted in fancying, after a supper of poor bacon and tea, or an evening among the loutish Indians who hung about Crow's log-tavern—he recorded his emotions in no amiable mood: Even now, as wandering upon Erie's shore I hear Niagara's distant cataract roar, I sigh for home—alas! these weary feet Have many a mile to journey, ere we meet. Niagara in 1804 was most easily approached from the East by schooner on Lake Ontario from Oswego, though the overland trail through the woods was beginning to be used. Moore came by the land route. The record of the journey is to be found in the preface to his American Poems, and in his letters to his mother, It is but too true, of all grand objects, whether in nature or art, that facility of access to them much diminishes the feeling of reverence they ought to inspire. Of this fault, however, the route to Niagara, at this period—at least the portion of it which led through the Genesee country—could not justly be accused. The latter part of the journey, which lay chiefly through yet but half-cleared woods, we were obliged to perform on foot; and a slight accident I met with in the course of our rugged walk laid me up for some days at Buffalo. And so laid up—perhaps with a blistered heel—he sought relief by driving his quill into the heart of democracy. His friend, he lamented, had often told him of happy hours passed amid the classic associations and art treasures of Italy: But here alas, by Erie's stormy lake, As far from such bright haunts my course I take, No proud remembrance o'er the fancy plays, No classic dream, no star of other days That lingering radiance of immortal mind, Which gilds and hallows even the rudest scene, The humblest shed where Genius once had been. He views, not merely his immediate surroundings in the pioneer village by Lake Erie, but the general character of the whole land: All that creation's varying mass assumes, Of grand or lovely, here aspires and blooms. Bold rise the mountains, rich the gardens glow, Bright lakes expand and conquering rivers flow; But mind, immortal mind, without whose ray This world's a wilderness and man but clay, Mind, mind alone, in barren still repose, Nor blooms, nor rises, nor expands, nor flows. Take Christians, Mohawks, democrats and all, From the rude wigwam to the Congress Hall, From man the savage, whether slaved or free, To man the civilized, less tame than he, 'Tis one dull chaos, one unfertile strife Betwixt half-polished and half-barbarous life; Where every ill the ancient world could brew Is mixed with every grossness of the new; Where all corrupts, though little can entice, And naught is known of luxury, but its vice! Is this the region then, is this the clime For soaring fancies? for those dreams sublime, Which all their miracles of light reveal To heads that meditate and hearts that feel? Alas! not so! And after much more of proud protest against Columbia and "the mob mania that imbrutes her now," our disapproving poet turned in to make the best, let When we arrived at length at the inn, in the neighborhood of the Falls, it was too late to think of visiting them that evening; and I lay awake almost the whole night with the sound of the cataract in my ears. The day following I consider as a sort of era in my life; and the first glimpse I caught of that wonderful cataract gave me a feeling which nothing in this world can ever awaken again. It was through an opening among the trees, as we approached the spot where the full view of the Falls was to burst upon us, that I caught this glimpse of the mighty mass of waters falling smoothly over the edge of the precipice; and so overwhelming was the notion it gave me of the awful spectacle I was approaching, that during the short interval that followed, imagination had far outrun the reality—and vast and wonderful as was the scene that then opened upon me, my first feeling was that of disappointment. It would have been impossible, indeed, for anything real to come up to the vision I had, in these few seconds, formed of it, and those awful scriptural words, 'The fountains of the great deep were broken up,' can alone give any notion of the vague wonders for which I was prepared. But, in spite of the start thus got by imagination, the triumph of reality was, in the end, but the greater; for the gradual glory of the scene that opened upon me soon took possession of my whole mind; presenting from day to day, some new beauty or wonder, and like all that is most sublime in nature or art, awakening sad as well as elevating thoughts. I retain in my memory but one other dream—for such do events so long past appear—which can by any respect be associated with the grand vision I have just been describing; and however different the nature of their appeals to the imagination, I should find it difficult to say on which occasion I felt most deeply affected, when looking at the Falls of Niagara, or when standing by moonlight among the ruins of the Coliseum. It was the tranquillity and unapproachableness of the great fall, in the midst of so much turmoil, which most impressed him. He tried to express this in a Song of the Spirit of the region: There amid the island sedge, Just upon the cataract's edge, Where the foot of living man Never trod since time began, Lone I sit at close of day, The poem as a whole, however, is not a strong one, even for Tom Moore. As the Irish bard sailed back to England, another pedestrian poet was making ready for a tour to Niagara. This was the Paisley weaver, rhymster and roamer, Alexander Wilson, whose fame as an ornithologist outshines his reputation as a poet. Yet in him America has—by adoption—her Oliver Goldsmith. In 1794, being then twenty-eight years old, he arrived in Phila To Heaven's own gates the mountain seemed to rise —and equally long descents, from Seneca Lake to Cayuga. Here, after a night's rest, under a pioneer's roof: Our boat now ready and our baggage stored, Provisions, mast and oars and sails aboard, With three loud cheers that echoed from the steep, We launched our skiff "Niagara" to the deep. Down to old Cayuga bridge they sailed and through the outlet, passed the salt marshes and so on to Fort Oswego. That post had been abandoned on the 28th of October, about a week before Wilson arrived there. A desolate, woebegone place he found it: Those struggling huts that on the left appear, Where fence, or field, or cultured garden green, Or blessed plough, or spade were never seen, Is old Oswego; once renowned in trade, Where numerous tribes their annual visits paid. From distant wilds, the beaver's rich retreat, For one whole moon they trudged with weary feet; Piled their rich furs within the crowded store, Replaced their packs and plodded back for more. But time and war have banished all their trains And naught but potash, salt and rum remains. The boisterous boatman, drunk but twice a day, Begs of the landlord; but forgets to pay; Pledges his salt, a cask for every quart, Pleased thus for poison with his pay to part. From morn to night here noise and riot reign; From night to morn 'tis noise and roar again. Not a flattering picture, truly, and yet no doubt a trustworthy one, of this period in Oswego's history. But we must hurry along with the poet to his destination, although the temptation to linger with him in Our foresters undertook to coast along the Ontario shore in their frail "Niagara"; narrowly escaped swamping, and were picked up by A friendly sloop for Queenstown Harbor bound, where they arrived safely, after being gloriously seasick. It was the season of autumn gales. A few days before a British packet called the Speedy, with some twenty or thirty persons on board, including a judge advocate, other judges, witnesses and an Indian prisoner, had foundered and every soul perished. No part of the Speedy was afterwards found but the pump, which Wilson says his captain picked up and carried to Queenston. Wilson had moralized, philosophized and rhapsodized all the way from the Schuylkill. His verse, as he approaches the Mecca of his wanderings, fairly palpitates with expectation and excitement. He was not a bard to sing in a majestic strain, but his description of the falls and their environment is vivid and of historic value. As they tramped through the forest,— Heavy and slow, increasing on the ear, Deep through the woods a rising storm we hear. As when the strong northeast resistless blows, Or black tornado, rushing through the wood, Alarms th' affrighted swains with uproar rude. Yet the blue heavens displayed their clearest sky, And dead below the silent forests lie; And not a breath the lightest leaf assailed; But all around tranquillity prevailed. "What noise is that?" we ask with anxious mien, A dull salt-driver passing with his team. "Noise? noise?—why, nothing that I hear or see But Nagra Falls—Pray, whereabouts live ye?" This touch of realism ushers in a long and over-wrought description of the whole scene. The "crashing roar," he says, —— bade us kneel and Time's great God adore. Whatever may have been his emotions, his adjectives are sadly inadequate, and his verse devoid of true poetic fervor. More than one of his descriptive passages, however, give us those glimpses of conditions past and gone, which the historian values. For instance, this: High o'er the wat'ry uproar, silent seen, Sailing sedate, in majesty serene, Now midst the pillared spray sublimely lost, Swept the gray eagles, gazing calm and slow, On all the horrors of the gulf below; Intent, alone, to sate themselves with blood, From the torn victims of the raging flood. Wilson was not the man to mistake a bird; and many other early travelers have testified to the former presence of eagles in considerable numbers, haunting Moore, as we have seen, denounced the country for its lack of That lingering radiance of immortal mind which so inspires the poet in older lands. He was right in his fact, but absurd in his fault-finding. It has somewhere been said of him, that Niagara Falls was the only thing he found in America which overcame his self-importance; but we must remember his youth, the flatteries on which he had fed at home and the crudities of American life at that time. For a quarter of a century after Tom Moore's visit there was much in the crass assertiveness of American democracy which was as ridiculous in its way as the Old-World ideas of class and social distinctions were in their way—and vastly more vulgar and offensive. Read, in evidence, Mrs. Trollope and Capt. Basil Hall, two of America's severest and sincerest critics. It should be put down to Tom Moore's credit, too, that before he died he admitted to Washington Irving and to others that his writings on America were the greatest sin of his early life. Like Moore, Alexander Wilson felt America's lack of a poet; and, like Barlow and Humphreys and Freneau and others of forgotten fame, he undertook—like them again, unsuccessfully—to supply the lack. There is something pathetic—or grotesque, as we look at it—in the patriotic efforts of these commonplace men to be great for their country's sake. To Europe's shores renowned in deathless song, asks Wilson, Must all the honors of the bard belong? And rural Poetry's enchanting strain Be only heard beyond th' Atlantic main? Yet Nature's charms that bloom so lovely here, Unhailed arrive, unheeded disappear; While bare black heaths and brooks of half a mile Can rouse the thousand bards of Britain's Isle. There, scarce a stream creeps down its narrow bed, There scarce a hillock lifts its little head, Or humble hamlet peeps their glades among But lives and murmurs in immortal song. Our Western world, with all its matchless floods, Our vast transparent lakes and boundless woods, Stamped with the traits of majesty sublime, Unhonored weep the silent lapse of time, Spread their wild grandeur to the unconscious sky, In sweetest seasons pass unheeded by; While scarce one Muse returns the songs they gave, Or seeks to snatch their glories from the grave. This solicitude by the early American writers, lest the poetic themes of their country should go unsung, contrasts amusingly, as does Moore's ill-natured complaining, with the prophetic assurance of Bishop Berkeley's famous lines, written half a century or so before, in allusion to America: The muse, disgusted at an age and clime Barren of every glorious theme, In distant lands now waits a better time, Producing subjects worthy fame. . . . . . . . Westward the course of empire takes its way, ... I have found no other pilgrim poets making Niagara their theme, until the War of 1812 came to create heroes and leave ruin along the frontier, and stir a few patriotic singers to hurl back defiance to the British hordes. Iambic defiance, unless kindled by a grand genius, is a poor sort of fireworks, even when it undertakes to combine patriotism and natural grandeur. Certainly something might be expected of a poet who sandwiches Niagara Falls in between bloody battles, and gives us the magnificent in nature, the gallant in warfare and the loftiest patriotism in purpose, the three strains woven in a triple pÆan of passion, ninety-four duodecimo pages in length. Such a work was offered to the world at Baltimore in 1818, with this title-page: "Battle of Niagara, a Poem Without Notes, and Goldau, or the Maniac Harper. Eagles and Stars and Rainbows. By Jehu O' Cataract, author of 'Keep Cool.'" I have never seen "Keep Cool," but it The "Battle of Niagara," he informs the reader, was written when he was a prisoner; when he "felt the victories of his countrymen." "I have attempted," he says, "to do justice to American scenery and American character, not to versify minutiÆ of battles." The poem has a metrical introduction and four cantos, in which is told, none too lucidly, the story of the battle of Niagara; with such flights of eagles, scintillation of stars and breaking of rainbows, that no brief quotation can do it justice. In style it is now Miltonic, now reminiscent of Walter Scott. The opening canto is mainly an apostrophe to the Bird, and a vision of glittering horsemen. Canto two is a dissertation on Lake Ontario, with word-pictures of the primitive Indian. The rest of the poem is devoted to the battle near the great cataract—and throughout all are sprinkled the eagles, stars and rainbows. Do not infer from this characterization that the production is wholly bad; it is merely a good specimen of that early Ameri A brief passage or two will sufficiently illustrate the author's trait of painting in high colors. He is a word-impressionist whose brush, with indiscreet dashes, mars the composition. I select two passages descriptive of the battle: The following picture of the camp at sunset, as the reveille rings over the field, and Niagara's muffled drums vibrate through the dusk, presents many of the elements of true poetry: Low stooping from his arch, the glorious sun Hath left the storm with which his course begun; And now in rolling clouds goes calmly home In heavenly pomp adown the far blue dome. In sweet-toned minstrelsy is heard the cry, All clear and smooth, along the echoing sky, Of many a fresh-blown bugle full and strong, The soldier's instrument! the soldier's song! Niagara, too, is heard; his thunder comes Like far-off battle—hosts of rolling drums. All o'er the western heaven the flaming clouds Detach themselves and float like hovering shrouds. Loosely unwoven, and afar unfurled, A sunset canopy enwraps the world. The Vesper hymn grows soft. In parting day Wings flit about. The warblings die away, The shores are dizzy and the hills look dim, The cataract falls deeper and the landscapes swim. Jehu O' Cataract does not always hold his fancy with so steady a rein as this. He is prone to eccentric flights, to bathos and absurdities. His apostrophe to Lake Ontario, several hundred lines in length, has many fine fancies, but his luxuriant imagination continually wrecks itself on extravagancies which break down the effect. This I think the following lines illustrate: ... He had fought with savages, whose breath He felt upon his cheek like mildew till his death. . . . . . . . So stood the battle. Bravely it was fought, And sold in desperate combat. Wrapped in flame, Died these idolaters of bannered fame. Three times that meteor hill was bravely lost— Three times 'twas bravely won, while madly tost, Encountering red plumes in the dusky air; While Slaughter shouted in her bloody lair, And spectres blew their horns and shook their whistling hair. . . . . . . . There are allusions to Niagara in some of the ballads of the War of 1812, one of the finest of which, "Sea and Land Victories," beginning With half the western world at stake See Perry on the midland lake,— appeared in the Naval Songster of 1815, and was a great favorite half a century or more ago. So far, however, as the last War with Great Britain has added to our store of poetry by turning the attention of the poets to the Niagara region as a strikingly picturesque scene of war, there is little worthy of attention. One ambitious work is remembered, when remembered at all, as a curio of literature. This is "The Fredoniad, or Independence Preserved," an epic poem by Richard Emmons, a Kentuckian, afterwards a physician of Philadelphia. He worked on it for ten years, finally printed it in 1826, and in 1830 got it through a second edition, ostentatiously dedicated to Lafayette. "The Fredoniad" is a history in verse of the War of 1812; it was published in four volumes; it has forty cantos, filling 1,404 duodecimo pages, or a total length of about 42,000 lines. The first and second cantos are devoted No sooner was the frontier at peace, and the pathways of travel multiplied and smoothed, than there set in the first great era of tourist travel to Niagara. From 1825, when the opening of the Erie Canal first made the falls easily accessible to the East, the tide of visitors steadily swelled. In that year came one other poetizing pilgrim, from York, now Toronto, who, returning home, published in his own city a duodecimo of forty-six pages, entitled "Wonders of the West, or a Day at the Falls of Niagara in 1825. A Poem. By a Canadian." The author was J. S. Alexander, said to have been a Toronto school-teacher. It is a great curio, though of not the least value as poetry; in fact, as verse it is ridiculously bad. The author does not narrate his own adventures at Niagara, but makes his descriptive and historical passages incidental to the story of a hero named St. Julian. Never was the name of this beloved patron saint of travelers more unhappily bestowed, for this St. Julian is a lugubrious, crack Again to our dear native France, Where we shall talk of all we saw, At thy dread falls, Niagara. From about this date the personal adventures of individuals bound for Niagara cease to be told in verse, and if they were they would cease to be of much historic interest. The relation of the poets to Niagara no longer concerns us because of its historic aspect. There remains, however, an even more important division of the subject. The review must be less narrative than critical, to satisfy the natural inquiry, What impress upon the poetry of our literature has There is much significance in the fact, that what has been called the best poem on Niagara was written by one who never saw the falls. Chronologically, so far as I have ascertained, it is the work which should next be considered, for it appeared in the columns of a New-England newspaper, about the time when the newly-opened highway to the West robbed Niagara forever of her majestic solitude, and filled the world with her praise. They may have been travelers' tales that prompted, but it was the spiritual vision of the true poet that inspired the lines printed in the Connecticut Mirror at Hartford, about 1825, by the delicate, gentle youth, John G. C. Brainard. It is a poem much quoted, of a character fairly indicated by these lines: It would seem As if God formed thee from his "hollow hand" And hung his bow upon thine awful front; And spoke in that loud voice, which seemed to him "The sound of many waters"; and bade Thy flood to chronicle the ages back, And notch his centuries in the eternal rocks. Measured by the strength of an Emerson or a Lowell, this is but feeble blank verse, approaching the bombastic; but as compared with what had gone before, and much that was to follow, on the Niagara theme, it is a not unwelcome variation. The soul's vision, through imagination's magic glass, receives more of Poesy's divine light than is shed upon all the rapt gazers at the veritable cliff and falling flood. During the formative years of what we now regard as an established literary taste, but which later generations will modify in turn, most American poetry was imitative of English models. Later, as has been shown, there was an assertively patriotic era; and later still, one of great laudation of America's newly-discovered wonders, which in the case of Niagara took the form of apostrophe and devotion. To the patriotic literature of Niagara, besides examples already cited, belongs Joseph Rodman Drake's "Niagara," printed with "The Culprit Fay, and Other Poems" in 1835. Then pour thy broad wave like a flood from the heavens, Each son that thou rearest, in the battle's wild shock, When the death-speaking note of the trumpet is given, Will charge like thy torrent or stand like thy rock. Let his roof be the cloud and the rock be his pillow, Let him stride the rough mountain or toss on the foam, Let him strike fast and well on the field or the billow, In triumph and glory for God and his home! Nine years after Drake came Mrs. Sigourney, who, notwithstanding her genuine love of nature and of mankind, her sincerity and occasional genius, was hopelessly of the sentimental school. Like Frances S. Osgood, N. P. Willis and others now lost in even deeper oblivion, she found great favor with her day and generation. Few things from her ever-productive pen had a warmer welcome than the lines beginning: Up to the table-rock, where the great flood Reveals its fullest glory, and her "Farewell to Niagara," concluding ... it were sweet To linger here, and be thy worshipper, Until death's footstep broke this dream of life. Supremely devout in tone, her Niagara poems are commonplace in imagination. Her fancy rarely reaches higher than the perfectly obvious. I confess that I cannot read her lines without a vision of the lady herself standing in rapt attitude on the edge of Table Rock, with note-book in hand and pencil uplifted to There's nothing great or bright, thou glorious fall! Thou mayst not to the fancy's sense recall— but he saves himself with a fairly creditable sentiment: Oh! may the wars that madden in thy deeps There spend their rage nor climb the encircling steeps, And till the conflict of thy surges cease The nations on thy bank repose in peace. A British poet who should perhaps have mention in No poem on Niagara that I know of is more entitled to our respectful consideration than the elaborate work which was published in 1848 by the Rev. C. H. A. Bulkley of Mt. Morris, N. Y. It is a serious attempt to produce a great poem with Niagara Falls as its theme. Its length—about 3,600 lines—secures to Western New York the palm for elaborate treatment of the cataract in verse. "Much," says the author, "has been written hitherto upon Niagara in fugitive verse, but no attempt like this has been made to present its united wonders as the theme of a single poem. It seems a bold adventure and one too hazardous, because of the greatness of the subject and the obscurity of the bard; but his countrymen are called upon to judge it with impartiality, and pronounce its life or its death. The author would not shrink from criticism.... His object has been, not so much to describe at length the scenery of Niagara in order to excite emotions in the reader similar to those of the beholder, for this would be a vain endeavor, as to give a transcript of what passes through the mind of one who is supposed to witness so grand an achievement of nature. The difficulty," he adds, "with those who visit this wonderful cataract is to give utterance to those feelings and Of a poem which fills 132 duodecimo pages it is difficult to give a fair idea in a few words. There is an introductory apostrophe, followed by a specific apostrophe to the falls as a vast form of life. Farther on the cataract is apostrophized as a destroyer, as an historian, a warning prophet, an oracle of truth, a tireless laborer. There are many passages descriptive of the islands, the gorge, the whirlpool, etc. Then come more apostrophes to the fall respecting its origin and early life. It is viewed as the presence-chamber of God, and as a proof of Deity. Finally, we have the cataract's hymn to the Creator, and the flood's death-dirge. No long poem is without its commonplace intervals. Mr. Bulkley's "Niagara" has them to excess, yet as a whole it is the work of a refined and scholarly mind, its imagination hampered by its religious habit, but now and than quickened to lofty flights, and strikingly sustained and noble in its diction. Only a true poet takes such cognizance of initial impulses and relations in nature as this: In thy hoarse strains is heard the desolate wail Of streams unnumbered wandering far away, From mountain homes where, 'neath the shady rocks Their parent springs gave them a peaceful birth. It presents many of the elements of a great poem, reaching the climax in the cataract's hymn to the Creator, beginning Oh mighty Architect of Nature's home! At about this period—to be exact, in 1848—there was published in New York City, as a pamphlet or thin booklet, a poem entitled "Niagara," by "A Member of the Ohio Bar," of whose identity I know nothing. It is a composition of some merit, chiefly interesting by reason of its concluding lines: ... Then so live, That when in the last fearful mortal hour, Thy wave, borne on at unexpected speed, O'erhangs the yawning chasm, soon to fall, Thou start not back affrighted, like a youth That wakes from sleep to find his feeble bark Suspended o'er Niagara, and with shrieks And unavailing cries alarms the air, Tossing his hands in frenzied fear a moment, Then borne away forever! But with gaze Calm and serene look through the eddying mists, On Faith's unclouded bow, and take thy plunge As one whose Father's arms are stretched beneath, Who falls into the bosom of his God! The close parallelism of these lines with the exalted conclusion of "Thanatopsis" is of course obvious; but they embody a symbolism which is one of the best that has been suggested by Niagara. From the sublime to the ridiculous was never a shorter descent than in this matter of Niagara poetry. At about the time Mr. Bulkley wrote, and for some years after, it was the pernicious custom to keep public albums at the Table Rock and other points at the falls, for the record of "impressions." Needless to These Table-Rock Albums contain some true poetry; much would-be fine verse which falls below mediocre; much of horse-play or puerility; and now and then a gleam of wit. Here first appeared the lines which I remember to have conned years ago in a school-rhetoric, and for which, I believe, N. P. Willis was responsible: To view Niagara Falls one day, A parson and a tailor took their way; The parson cried, whilst wrapped in wonder, And listening to the cataract's thunder, And fill our hearts with vast surprise";— The tailor merely made his note: "Lord! what a place to sponge a coat!" There has been many a visitor at Niagara Falls who shares the sentiments of one disciple of the realistic school: Loud roars the waters, O, Loud roars the waters, O, When I come to the Falls again I hope they will not spatter so. Another writes: My thoughts are strange, sublime and deep, As I look up to thee— What a glorious place for washing sheep, Niagara would be! Examples of such doggerel could be multiplied by scores, but without profit. There was sense if not poetry in the wight who wrote: I have been to "Termination Rock" Where many have been before; But as I can't describe the scene I wont say any more. Infinitely better than this are the light but pleasing verses written in a child's album, years ago, by the late Col. Peter A. Porter of Niagara Falls. He pictured the discovery of the falls by La Salle and Hennepin and ponders upon the changes that have followed: What troops of tourists have encamped upon the river's brink; What poets shed from countless quills Niagaras of ink; Of the waters falling as they fell two hundred years ago. . . . . . . . And stately inns feed scores of guests from well-replenished larder, And hackmen drive their horses hard, but drive a bargain harder, And screaming locomotives rush in anger to and fro; But the waters fall as once they fell two hundred years ago. And brides of every age and clime frequent the islands' bower, And gaze from off the stone-built perch—hence called the Bridal Tower— And many a lunar belle goes forth to meet a lunar beau, By the waters falling as they fell two hundred years ago. Towards the close of the long poem the author takes a more serious tone, but throughout he keeps up a happy cleverness, agreeably in contrast to the prevailing high gush on one hand and balderdash on the other. Among the writers of serious and sometimes creditable verse whose names appear in the Table-Rock Albums were Henry D. O'Reilly, C. R. Rowland, Sarah Pratt, Maria del Occidente, George Menzies, Henry Lindsay, the Rev. John Dowling, J. S. Buckingham, the Hon. C. N. Vivian, Douglas Stuart, A. S. Ridgely of Baltimore, H. W. Parker, and Josef Leopold Stiger. Several of these names are not unknown in literature. Prof. Buckingham is remembered as an earlier Bryce, whose elaborate three-volume work on America is still of value. Vivian was a distinguished traveler who wrote books; and Josef Leopold Stiger's stanzas beginning Sei mir gegrÜsst, des jungen Weltreichs Stolz und Zierde! are by no means the worst of Niagara poems. I cannot conceive of Niagara Falls as a scene promotive of humor, or suggestive of wit. Others may see both in John G. Saxe's verses, of which the first stanza will suffice to quote: See Niagara's torrent pour over the height, How rapid the stream! how majestic the flood Rolls on, and descends in the strength of his might, As a monstrous great frog leaps into the mud! The "poem" contains six more stanzas of the same stamp. The writing of jingles and doggerel having Niagara as a theme did not cease when the Albums were no longer kept up. If there is no humor or grotesqueness in Niagara, there is much of both in the human accessories with which the spot is constantly supplied, and these will never cease to stimulate the wits. I believe that a study of this field—not in a restricted, but a general survey—would discover a decided improvement, in taste if not in native wit, as compared with the compositions which found favor half a century ago. Without entering that field, however, it will suffice to submit in evidence one "poem" from a recent publication, which shows that the making of these American genre sketches, with Niagara in the background, is not yet a lost art: Before Niagara Falls they stood, He raised aloft his head, For he was in poetic mood, And this is what he said: "Oh, work sublime! Oh, wondrous law That rules thy presence here! How filled I am with boundless awe To view thy waters clear! "What myriad rainbow colors float About thee like a veil, And in what countless streams remote Thy life has left its trail!" "Yes, George," the maiden cried in haste, "Such shades I've never seen, I'm going to have my next new waist The color of that green." From about 1850 down to the present hour there is a striking dearth of verse, worthy to be called poetry, with Niagara for its theme. Newspapers and magazines would no doubt yield a store if they could be gleaned; perchance the one Niagara pearl of poetry is thus overlooked; but it is reasonably safe to assume that few really great poems sink utterly from sight. There is, or was, a self-styled Bard of Niagara, whose verses, printed at Montreal in 1872, need not detain us. The only long work on the subject of real merit that I know of, which has appeared in recent years, is George Houghton's "Niagara," published in 1882. Like Mr. Bulkley, he has a true poet's grasp of the material aspect of his subject: Formed when the oceans were fashioned, when all the world was a workshop; Loud roared the furnace fires and tall leapt the smoke from volcanoes, Whilst with a cunning hand, the mountains were linked together. Then through the day-dawn, lurid with cloud, and rent by forked lightning, Stricken by earthquake beneath, above by the rattle of thunder, Sudden the clamor was pierced by a voice, deep-lunged and portentous— Thine, O Niagara, crying, "Now is creation completed!" He sees in imagination the million sources of the streams in forest and prairie, which ultimately pour their gathered "tribute of silver" from the rich Western land into the lap of Niagara. He makes skillful use of the Indian legendry associated with the river; he listens to Niagara's "dolorous fugue," and resolves it into many contributory cries. In exquisite fancy he listens to the incantation of the siren rapids: Thus, in some midnight obscure, bent down by the storm of temptation (So hath the wind, in the beechen wood, confided the story), Pine trees, thrusting their way and trampling down one another, Curious, lean and listen, replying in sobs and in whispers; Till of the secret possessed, which brings sure blight to the hearer (So hath the wind, in the beechen wood, confided the story), Faltering, they stagger brinkward—clutch at the roots of the grasses, Cry—a pitiful cry of remorse—and plunge down in the darkness. The cataract in its varied aspects is considered with a thought for those who Sin, and with wine-cup deadened, scoff at the dread of hereafter,— And, because all seems lost, besiege Death's door-way with gladness. The master-stroke of the poem is in two lines: That alone is august which is gazed upon by the noble, That alone is gladsome which eyes full of gladness discover. Herein lies the rebuking judgment upon Niagara's detractors, not all of whom have perpetrated album rhymes. Mr. Houghton, as the reader will note, recognizes the tragic aspect of Niagara. Considering the insistence with which accident and suicide attend, making here an unappeased altar to the weaknesses and woes of mankind, this aspect of Niagara has been singularly neglected by the poets. We have it, however, exquisitely expressed, in the best of all recent Niagara verse—a sonnet entitled "At Niagara," by Richard Watson Gilder. There at the chasm's edge behold her lean Trembling, as, 'neath the charm, A wild bird lifts no wing to 'scape from harm; Her very soul drawn to the glittering, green, Smooth, lustrous, awful, lovely curve of peril; While far below the bending sea of beryl Thunder and tumult—whence a billowy spray Enclouds the day. . . . . . . . There is a considerable amount of recent verse commonly called "fugitive" that has Niagara for its theme, but I find little that calls for special attention. A few Buffalo writers, the Rev. John C. Lord, Judge Jesse Walker, David Gray, Jas. W. Ward, Henry Chandler, and the Rev. Benjamin Copeland among them, have ... the isle That, locked in wild Niagara's fierce embrace, Still wears a smile of summer on its face— Love in the clasp of Madness. With this beautiful imagery in mind, recall the lines of Byron: On the verge . . . . . . . An Iris sits amidst the infernal surge . . . . . . . Resembling, 'mid the tortures of the scene, Love watching Madness with unalterable mien. Byron did not write of Niagara, but these stanzas beginning The roar of waters ... often have been applied to our cataract. Mr. Gray may or may not have been familiar with them. In any event he improved on the earlier poet's figure. Merely as a matter of chronicle, it is well to record here the names of several writers, some of them of considerable reputation, who have contributed to the poetry of Niagara. Alfred B. Street's well-known narrative poem, "Frontenac," contains Niagara passages. So does Levi Bishop's metrical volume The Rev. William Ellery Channing, the Rev. Joseph H. Clinch, the Rev. Joseph Cook, Christopher P. Cranch, Oliver I. Taylor, Grenville Mellen, Prof. Moffat, John Savage, Augustus N. Lowry, Claude James Baxley of Virginia, Abraham Coles, M. D., Henry Howard Brownell, the Rev. Roswell Park, Willis Gaylord Clark, Mary J. Wines, M. E. Wood, E. H. Dewart, G. W. Cutter, J. N. McJilton, and the Chicago writer, Harriet Monroe, are, most of them, minor poets (some, perhaps, but poets by courtesy), whose tributes to our cataract are contained in their collected volumes of verse. In E. G. Holland's "Niagara and Other Poems" (1861), is a poem on Niagara thirty-one pages long, with several pages of notes, "composed for the most part by the Drachenfels, one of the Seven Mountains of the Rhine, in the vicinity of Bonn, September, 1856, and delivered as a part of an address on American Scenery the day following." Among the Canadian poets who have attempted the theme, besides several already named, may be recorded John Breakenridge, a volume of whose verse was printed at Kingston in 1846; Charles Niagara, national emblem! Cataract Born of the maddened rapids, sweeping down Direct, resistless from the abyss's crown Into the deep, fierce pool with vast impact Scarce broken by the giant boulders, stacked To meet thine onslaught, threatening to drown Each tillaged plain, each level-loving town 'Twixt thee and ocean. Lo! the type exact! America Niagarized the world. Europe, a hundred years agone, beheld An avalanche, like pent-up Erie, hurled Through barriers, to which the rocks of eld Seemed toy things—leaping into godlike space A sign and wonder to the human race. Friedrich Bodenstedt and Wilhelm Meister of Germany, J. B. Scandella and the Rev. Santo Santelli of Italy ("Cascada di Niagara," 1841), have place Niagara is the betrothal of Earth's life With the Heavenly life. And now can I leave Niagara. She has Told me her word of primeval being. Another Scandinavian poet, John Nyborn, has written a meritorious poem on Niagara Falls, an adaptation of which, in English, was published some years since by Dr. Albin Bernays. It is a striking fact that Niagara's stimulus to the poetic mind has been quite as often through the ear as through the eye. The best passages of the best poems are prompted by the sound of the falling waters, rather than by the expanse of the flood, the height of cliffs, or the play of light. In Mr. Bulkley's work, which indeed exhausts the whole store of simile and comparison, we perpetually hear the voice of the falls, the myriad voices of nature, the awful voice of God. "Minstrel of the Floods," he cries: What pÆans full of triumph dost thou hymn! . . . . . . . However varied is the rhythm sweet Of thine unceasing song! The ripple oft Astray along thy banks a lyric is Of love; the cool drops trickling down thy sides Are gentle sonnets; and thy lesser falls Are strains elegiac, that sadly sound A monody of grief; thy whirlpool fierce, A shrill-toned battle-song; thy river's rush A strain heroic with its couplet rhymes; . . . . . . . While the full sweep of thy close-crowded tide Resounds supreme o'er all, an epic grand. Of this class, too, is the "Apostrophe to Niagara," by one B. Frank Palmer, in 1855. It is said to have been "written with the pencil in a few minutes, the author seated on the bank, drenched, from the mighty bath at Termination Rock, and still listening to the roar and feeling the eternal jar of the cataract." The Rev. T. Starr King, upon reading it in 1855, said: "The apostrophe has the music of Niagara in it." As a typical example of the devotional apostrophe it is perhaps well to give it in full: This is Jehovah's fullest organ strain! I hear the liquid music rolling, breaking. From the gigantic pipes the great refrain Bursts on my ravished ear, high thoughts awaking! The low sub-bass, uprising from the deep, Swells the great pÆan as it rolls supernal— Anon, I hear, at one majestic sweep The diapason of the keys eternal! Standing beneath Niagara's angry flood— The thundering cataract above me bounding— I hear the echo: "Man, there is a God!" From the great arches of the gorge resounding! Behold, O man! nor shrink aghast in fear! Survey the vortex boiling deep before thee! The Hand that ope'd the liquid gateway here Hath set the beauteous bow of promise o'er thee! Here, in the hollow of that Mighty Hand, Which holds the basin of the tidal ocean, Let not the jarring of the spray-washed strand Disturb the orisons of pure devotion. Roll on, Niagara! great River King! Beneath thy sceptre all earth's rulers, mortal, The matchless grandeur of thy peerless portal! I hear, Niagara, in this grand strain, His voice, who speaks in flood, in flame and thunder— Forever mayst thou, singing, roll and reign— Earth's grand, sublime, supreme, supernal wonder. Such lines as these—which might be many times multiplied—recall Eugene Thayer's ingenious and highly poetic paper on "The Music of Niagara." That Niagara's supreme appeal to the emotions is not through the eye but through the ear, finds a striking illustration in "Thoughts on Niagara," a poem of about eighty lines written prior to 1854 by Michael McGuire, a blind man. The poem, which as a whole is far above commonplace, develops a pathetic prayer for sight; and employs much exalted imagery attuned to the central idea that here Omnipotence speaks without ceasing; here is A temple, where Jehovah is felt most. But for the most part, the world's strong singers have passed Niagara by; nor has Niagara's newest aspect, that of a vast engine of energy to be used for the good of man, yet found worthy recognition by any poet of potentials. This survey, though incomplete, is yet sufficiently comprehensive to warrant a few conclusions. More than half of all the verse on the subject which I have examined was written during the second quarter of this century. The first quarter, as has been shown, was the age of Niagara's literary discovery, and produced a few chronicles of curious interest. During the last half of the century—the time in which practically the whole brilliant and substantial fabric of American liter To where, 'twixt Erie and Ontario, Leaps green Niagara with a giant roar. But in such a symphony as his, Niagara is a subservient element, not the dominating theme. Most of the Niagara poets have been of local repute, unknown to fame. What, then, must we conclude? Shall we say with Martin Farquhar Tupper—who has contributed to the alleged poetry of the place—that there is nothing sublime about Niagara? The many poetic and impassioned passages in prose descriptions are against such a The poetic in nature is essentially independent of the detail of natural phenomena. A waterfall 150 feet high is not intrinsically any more poetic than one but half that height; or a thunder-peal than the tinkle of a rill. True poetry must be self-expression, as well as interpretive of truths which are manifested through physical phenomena. Hence it is in the nature of things that a nameless brook shall have its Tennyson, or a Niagara flow unsung. FOOTNOTES:"Ce fut cet Iroquois qui montra À M. Jolliet un nouveau chemin que les FranÇois n'avoient point sceu jusques alors pour revenir des Outaouacs dans le pays des Iroquois. Cependant la crainte que ce sauvage eut de retomber entre les mains des Antastoes luy fit dire À M. Jolliet qu'il falloit qu'il quittast son canot et marchast par terre plustost qu'il n'eust fallu, et mesme sans cette terreur du sauvage, M. Jolliet eust pu venir par eau jusques dans le lac Ontario, en faisant un portage de demi-lieue pour Éviter le grand sault dont j'ay dÉjÀ parlÉ, mais entin il fut obligÉ par son guide de faire cinquante lieues par terre, et abandonner son canot sur lebord du lac EriÉ." It is singular that so important a relation in the history of our region has never been published in English. De GalinÉe's original MS. Journal is preserved in the BibliothÈque Nationale, in Paris. It was first printed in French by M. Pierre Margry in 1879; but five years prior to that date Mr. O. H. Marshall of Buffalo, having been granted access to M. Margry's MS. copy, made extracts, which were printed in English in 1874. These were only a small portion of the AbbÉ's valuable record. The Ontario Historical Society has for some time contemplated the translation and publication of the complete Journal—a work which students of the early history of the lake region will hope soon to see accomplished. Montreal, 24th March, 1782. Before Colonel Johnson arrived at Niagara in 1779 the Six Nations lived in their original possession the nearest of which was about 100 and the farthest about 300 miles from that post. Their warriors were called upon as the service required parties, which in 1776 amounted to about 70 men, and the expenses attending them and a few occasional meetings ought to have been and he presumes were a mere Trifle when compared with what must attend their situation when all [were] driven to Niagara, exposed to every want, to every temptation and with every claim which their distinguished sacrifices and the tenor of Soloman [solemn] Treaties had entitled them to from Government. The years 1777 & 1778 exhibited only a larger number occasionally employed and for their fidelity and attachment to Government they were invaded in 1779 by a rebel army reported to be from 5 to 600 men with a train of Artillery who forced them to retire to Niagara leaving behind them very fine plantations of corn and vegetables, with their cloathing, arms, silver works, Wampum Kettles and Implements of Husbandry, the collection of ages of which were distroyed in a deliberate manner and march of the rebels. Two villages only escaped that were out of their route. The Indians having always apprehended that their distinguished Loyalty might draw some such calamity towards them had stipulated that under such circumstances they effected [expected] to have their losses made up as well as a liberal continuation of favors and to be supported at the expence of Government till they could be reinstated in their former possessions. They were accordingly advised to form camps around Niagara which they were beginning to do at the time of Colonel Johnson's arrival who found them much chagrined and prepared to reconcile them to their disaster which he foresaw would be a work of time requiring great judgement and address in effecting which he was afterwards successful beyond his most sanguine expectations, and this was the state of the Indians at Colonel Johnson's arrival. As to the state and regulation of Colonel Johnson's offices and department at that period he found the duties performed by 2 or three persons the rest little acquainted with them and considered as less capable of learning them, and the whole number inadequate to that of the Indians, and the then requisite calls of the service, and that it was necessary after refusing the present wants of the Indians to keep their minds occupied by constant military employment, all which he laid before the Commander in Chief who frequently honoured his conduct with particular approbation. By His Instructions he was to apply to Lieut. Colonel Bolton, more especially regarding the modes of this place and the public accounts &c from whom he received no further information, than that they were kept, and made up by the established house at that post, and consider of goods, orders and all contingencies and disbursements for Indians, ranging parties, Prisoners, &c. That they were generally arranged half yearly as well as the nature of them and of the changeable people they had to deal with would permit; that he believed many demands were therefore outstanding and that he was glad to have done with passing [i. e., granting of passes] as it was impossible for him or any person that had other duties to discharge to give them much attention. At which Colonel Johnson expressed his concern but was told that the house was established in the business and thro' the impossibility of having proper circulating cash in another channell they advanced all monies and settled all accounts and that that mode had been found most eligable. Colonel Johnson thereupon issued the best orders he could devise for the preventing abuses and the better regulation of matters relating to goods payment of expenses, and proceeding to the discharge of the principal objects of his duty, he, accordingly to a plan long since proposed, formed the Indians into Companies and by degrees taught them to feel the convenience of having officers set apart to each, which they were soon not only reconciled to but highly pleased with, by which means he gave some degree of method and form to the most Independent race of the Indians, greatly facilitated all business with them and by a prudent arrangement of his officers those who were before uninformed became in a little time some of the most approved and usefull persons in his department, being constantly quartered at such places or sent on some services as tended most to their improvement and the public advantage, whilst by spiriting up and employing the Indians with constant party's along the frontiers from Fort Stanwix to Fort Pitt he so harrassed the back settlements, as finally to drive numbers of them from their plantation destroying their houses, mills, graneries, &c, frequently defeating their scouting parties killing and captivating many of their people amounting in the whole to near 900 and all this with few or no instances of savage cruelty exclusive of what they performed when assisted by His Majesty's Troops as will appear from his returns. By these means he presented [? preserved] the spirit of the Indians and kept their minds so occupied as to prevent their being disgusted at the want of Military aid, which had been long their Topic and which could then be afforded according to their requisitions; neither did he admit any point of negociation during this period of peculiar hurry, for knowing the importance the Oneidas &c., were off [of] to the rebels and the obstruction they gave to all means of intelligence from that quarter, he sent a private Belt and message on pretence of former Friendship for them, in consequence of which he was shortly joined by 430 of them of [whom] 130 were men who have since on all occasions peculiarly distinguished themselves, and after defeating the rebel Invitation to the Indians he by the renewal of the great covenant chain and war Belt which he sent thro' all the nations animation to the most western Indians. Soon after with intention to reduce the vast consumption of provisions, he with much difficulty prevailed on part of the Indians to begin some new plantation, that they might supply themselves with grain, &c; but this being an object of the most serious and National concern, and urged in the strongest terms by the commander-in-chief, Col. Johnson, during the winter 1780, took indefatigable pains to persuade the whole to remove and settle the ensuing season on advantageous terms. He had himself visited for that purpose but finding that their treaties with and expectations from Government, combined with their natural Indulgence to render it a matter of infinite difficulty which would encrease by delay and probably become unsurmountable he procured some grain from Detroit and liberally rewarded the families of Influence at additional expence to sett the example to the rest and assisted their beginning to prevent a disappointment by which means he has enabled before the end of May last to settle the whole about 3500 souls exclusive of those who had joined the 2 farms that had not been distroyed by the rebels and thereby with a little future assistance, and good management to create a saving of £100,000 pr annum N. York currency at the rate of provision is worth there to Government, together with a reduction of rum and of all Indian Expenses, as will appear from the reduced accounts since these settlements were made. The peculiar circumstances above mentioned and the constant disappointment of goods from the Crown at the times they were most wanted will easily account for the occasional expence. The house which conducted the Business at Niagara was perpetually thronged by Indians and others. Lieut. Colonel Bolton often sent verbal orders for articles as did some other secretaries and sometimes necessity required it and often they were charged and others substituted of equal value with other irregularities, the consequence of a crew of Indians before unknown, of an encrease of duties, and the necessity for sending them to plant well satisfied. The number of prisoners thrown upon Colonel Johnson from time to time and of Indian Chiefs and their families about his quarters was attended with vast trouble and an Expense which it was impossible to ascertain with exactness and when he directed the moiety of certain articles of consumption to be placed to the account of the Crown, he soon found himself lower. The merchants have since been accused of fraud by a clerk who lived some time with them, the investigation of which he was called suddenly to attend and he now finds that many articles undoubtedly issued have been placed to his account instead of their [the] Crown, and many false and malicious insinuations circulated to the prejudice of his character and his influence with the Indians which is rendered the more injurious by his abrupt departure from the shortness of the time, which did not permit his calling and explaining to the chiefs the reasons for his leaving them as [he] undoubtedly should have done, and therefore, and on every public account, his presence is not only effected [expected], but is become more necessary among them than ever. This brief summary is candidly prepared and is capable of sufficient proof and Illustration. "To the first proposition which I had in charge to make," he wrote to Washington, Aug. 23, 1783 ["Correspondence of the Revolution," IV., 41, 42], "Gen. Haldimand replied that he had not received any orders for making the least arrangement for the evacuation of a single post; that he had only received orders to cease hostilities; those he had strictly complied with, not only by restraining the British troops, but also the savages, from committing the least hostile act; but that, until he should receive positive orders for that purpose, he would not evacuate an inch of ground. I informed him that I was not instructed to insist on an immediate evacuation of the posts in question, but that I was ordered to demand a safe conduct to, and a liberty of visiting the posts on our frontiers, and now occupied by the British, that I might judge of the arrangements necessary to be made for securing the interests of the United States. To this he answered that the precaution was premature; that the peace was not yet signed; that he was only authorized to cease hostilities; and that, in this point of view, he could not permit that I should visit a single post occupied by the British. Neither would he agree that any kind of negotiation should take place between the United States and the Indians, if in his power to prevent it, and that the door of communication should, on his part, be shut, until he received positive orders from his court to open it. My last proposal was that he should enter into an agreement to advise Congress of the evacuation of the posts, three months previous to their abandonment. This, for the reason before mentioned, he refused, declaring that until the definite treaty should be signed, he would not enter into any kind of agreement or negotiation whatever." To this the Senate made answer: "The circumstances of our western posts excite our anxiety. We shall make no comment on the conduct of the British officer in Canada as explained by your Excellency's communication. It would be in vain. Convinced that our frontier settlements, slowly emerging from the utter ruin with which they were so lately overwhelmed, and our fur trade which constitutes a valuable branch in our remittances, will be protected by these posts, we shall adopt the best measures in our power for their reËstablishment." "Circumstances have arisen, which will probably, for a time, delay the evacuation of the Upper Posts, among which some relating to the interests of the Indians do not appear the least important. By the 8th article of the treaty entered into the 3d August last, between Mr. Wayne and them, it is stipulated that no person shall be allowed to reside among or to trade with these Indian tribes, unless they be furnished with a license from the Government of the United States, and that every person so trading shall be delivered up by the Indians to an American Superintendent, to be dealt with according to law, which is inconsistent with the third article of the Treaty of Amity, Commerce and Navigation, previously concluded between His Majesty and the United States by which it is agreed that 'it shall at all times be free to His Majesty's subjects and to the citizens of the United States and also to the Indians, dwelling on either side of the Boundary Line, freely to pass and repass, by land or inland navigation, into the respective territories and countries of the two parties on the Continent of America (the country within the limits of the Hudson Bay Co. only excepted), and to navigate the lakes, rivers and waters thereof, and freely to carry on trade and commerce with each other.' "Previously therefore to the actual execution of the treaty on our part, it is requisite that we should be convinced that the stipulations entered into by the United States will also be fulfilled by them; and on a point so interesting to His Majesty's subjects and more especially to the Indians, it is indispensably necessary that all doubts and misconceptions should be removed. His Majesty's Minister at Philadelphia is accordingly instructed to require an explanation on this subject. Till therefore the same shall be satisfactorily terminated I shall delay the surrender of the Posts. These matters you will be pleased to explain to the Indians, pointing out to them at the same time the benevolent care and regard always manifested towards them by the King their Father, and particularly the attention that has been shown to their interests on the present occasion." "To stop too fearful and too faint to go" is attributed to him. Thus near does the mighty Johnson, the "Great Cham of Literature," come to legitimate inclusion among the poets of Niagara! "You are mistaken in thinking that my present views of politics are a change from those I formerly entertained. They are but a return to those of my school & college days—to principles, of which I may say what Propertius said of his mistress: Cynthia prima fuit, Cynthia finis erit. The only thing that has ever made them librate in their orbit was that foolish disgust I took at what I thought the consequences of democratic principles in America—but I judged by the abuse, not the use—and the little information I took the trouble of seeking came to me through twisted and tainted channels—and, in short, I was a rash boy & made a fool of myself. But, thank Heaven, I soon righted again, and I trust it was the only deviation from the path of pure public feeling I ever shall have to reproach myself with. I mean to take some opportunity (most probably in the Life of Sheridan I am preparing) of telling the few to whom my opinions can be of any importance, how much I regret & how sincerely I retract every syllable, injurious to the great cause of Liberty, which my hasty view of America & her society provoked me into uttering.... "Always faithfully & cordially Yours, "THOMAS MOORE." |
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