Open Road — Guides — Railroads — Canals — Bridges 



West! The banks on either side above and on either hand, on 1829 

 the American shore, were high, rocky and precipitous; and the Slone 

 river itself is confined by its massive barriers, to a narrower space 

 than I had supposed. The current is rapid, and it boils and 

 whirls, and in some places breaks into a surf, as though not yet 

 restored to tranquility after its angry leap over the great cata- 

 ract seven miles above. None but a small row-boat was plying 

 upon the ferry, in which we should, as strangers, scarcely have 

 ventured, had we not seen it safely rowed across the river by a 

 single hand, for our accommodation. We passed over the dark 

 and troubled current, however, speedily, and in safety; and for 

 the first time I found myself in a foreign country, and under the 

 power of one who " a kingly crown has on." I am as decidedly 

 a Republican in principle, as any man. But I am no Jacobin — 

 no democrat. I hate the mob : and I have such an utter loathing of 

 the character of Jackson — such a thorough and hearty detesta- 

 tion of his scurvy administration, that it was a relief to me to 

 get beyond his jurisdiction. I seemed to breathe a purer air; 

 and although I love my own country best, and its institutions, yet 

 I regretted that my circumstances were such as to compel me to 

 return within the United States, until the people shall have 

 returned to their senses, and this disgraceful state of things ter- 

 minated. At the tavern, near the ferry, I was detained nearly 

 an hour, for the want of a carriage, to take us over to the 

 falls. . . . 



The village of Queenston stands at the foot of the heights, 

 and is not a town of much consequence, though rendered mem- 

 orable during the last war with England, by the brilliant, though 

 in the end unfortunate, expedition of Gen. Van Rensselaer, in 

 1812. I gazed for some time upon the heights, and upon the 

 steep ascent up which the gallant Solomon Van Rensselaer led 

 his troops, cutting his way through a line of British troops, with 

 his sabre, as he fell covered with wounds. I gazed also, but 

 with feelings of mingled shame and indignation upon the oppo- 

 site shore, where our own recreant militia stood, refusing to pass 



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