Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 June 1884 — NIAGARA AND ITS WILD FLOWERS. [ARTICLE]

NIAGARA AND ITS WILD FLOWERS.

A lovely afternoon! We are sitting near the top of the hill close above the great Horseshoe Falls at Niagara, and the wealth and loveliness of the wild flowers, forming one of Nature’s most exquisite wild gardens, lying stretched out at our feet, make us think how many of our gardening friends would find a deep enjoyment could they be here, and see what we are now seeing, and what I will try to describe, faint and feeble though my description must necessarily be in comparison with the glorious reality. The great cataract itself is in unusual magnificence; the early autumn rains have brought a large body of water into the lake, and the torrent of liquid emerald pouring over the jagged rocks is deep and massive, and its thunder has an unwonted tone of grandeur and solemnity. Far away in the distance lie the quiet waters of the great lake, placid and unstirred as yet, and the white sail of a far-off boat is seen as it gets an occasional gleam of sun while passing from one shore of the lake to the other. Nearer at hand, for the space of a mile or so before reaching their doom, the waters, placid no longer, foam and whirl, hurrying madly along* Every dancing wave crest is turned into molten silver in the rays of the westering sun; every rock lying in the channel seizes a passing wave and whirls it upward in masses of glittering spray, till at last, when on the brink of the great chasm, there comes to the rushing waters a sudden gathering up of irresistible strength, and they, whose only object hitherto seems to have been to dash themselves past all obstacles with reckless and ever-increasing speed, become all at once possessed with a sense of their awful power as they suddenly, swiftly, silently, drop over the perpendicular rock into the fearsome turmoil below, great green jewels, wide and deep, in a setting of frosted silver. And this solemn magnificence and grandeur has the exquisite contrast of so lovely and peaceful a foreground. The hillside down which we are looking, and which stretches to the edge of the water, is aglow with vivid color—huge golden masses of Solidago of many kinds, great clumps many yards wide of big, deep, purple, primroseeyed Asters alternate with those of a pale shimmering lilac, and with others small-flowered but profuse in bloom, while throughout the undergrowth is a bright blue gleam, as though some spangles had fallen from the sky—the gift of a flower the name of which is unknown to me. Then from out the grass shine everywhere small bright flowers of manj colors, • among them a delicate Gentian-like bloom bravely lifting its head up on a slender stalk. And there are so many lovely flowers besides—a bush covered with apricotcolored blossoms in shape like a Mimulus, a glowing mass of red Lythrum, and a delicately lovely Aster, in which the lilac is replaced by a sheeny greypink. The feathery blossoms of Spiraea and some white Daisies shine here and there among their more richly colored sisters. It is indeed a garden unapproachable in its own beauty, and with its tender loveliness made more impressive by its wonderful surroundings. Just where we are sitting we have taken advantage of masses of tall shrubs and the stems of forest tress, to shut out from view all buildings and roads, and have left ourselves with the Falls and the garden as they might have been seen long, long ago. There is hardly a breath of wind; the great misty columns of spray rise high into the sky from the base of the falling water, and it is only at rare intervals that a wandering spirit of air takes one of the lighter spray clouds and bends it over toward ns, when its soft and dewlike mist is shed over the thirsty flowers, making their vivid colors glow with intenser beauty in the rays of the setting sun. As the gentle breeze passes by they bow their heads in gratitude for the welcome moisture, and a rustling murmur runs from top to bottom of the hill as they raise themselves up again in thankful praise.

And ever the voices of the waters are circling around us, now seeming to raise a threatening warning of their irresistible power, now chanting a solemn death song as they are hurled over the precipice to be broken to the very last drop into foam, and spray, and mist on the rocks below, and ever through the voices, now loud, now low, with unceasing iteration, seems to vibrate a note of praise to the great Creator of all for the use He has made of them in the formation of one of the wonderful sights He has given on earth for our enjoyment. And now, with sudden dip, the sun is lost behind the hill; the air strikes chill, and the flowers began folding themselves away to sleep, but the beauty of the scene entrances us yet. In front of the now dark and sunless foreground sweeps the brood horse-shoe of foaming and struggling water; the great emerald is now changed into a myriadtinted opal; the wavelets that leap into the air all along the whirling rapids are dyed with a flush pink; while from far down in the gloom and depths of the Great Fall a rainbow rises into the misty mass of spray. Above, around, and through the spray gleam the floating clouds in the evening sky—now blushing o’er with rosy flame, nbw slowly changing to a lustrous gold, till all color slowly fading gleam by gleam away, the gray hush of the coming night falls over the wondrous scene. As we rise to begin our way down the hill, our first step seems to bring us back from a world of dreams, and we know afterward that the same thought was in both our minds and the same words were ringing in both our ears—those words in which God gives us a foreshadowing of His eternal mysteries: “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him.”— H. Stuart Worthy.