Abbot [pp. 687-699]

1.0bbot: or, " The IHermit of the Falls."
sons who have visited the falls within a few years
must know, is no fictitious one. But whether all
the incidents connected with the history of the
hero are true, I cannot vouch. They are doubtless
much colored, but bear about them the marks of
truth; but as the individual endeavored to wrap
himself in secrecy, and had about him so much of
mystery, Time alone will perhaps be able to discover his history and remove the veil which now
covers it, and stamp the following sketch either
as truth or falsehood.
Who that has visited this stupendous and sublime sport of nature within five years, has not heard
of the "Hermit of the Falls." After your guide
has conducted you along the beautiful island which
divides the torrent e'er it dashes into the abyss below, to " Hog Back" (as it is poetically called,)
and then descended with you to the'Cave of
T lEolus,' who with a monarch's daring has selected
his abode half way down the rock under the tumbli n g waters, where he is continuously regaled with
its unceasing thunder and wrapt up in the spray and
winds which whirl up from the depths below in the
wildest fury-after he has led you to "Terrapin
Rock," over which you hung, clinging with a fixed
grasp, and gazed into the awful depth, and then
turned away ready to exclaim
Thou lov'st th e rocking wave,
The blossom border'd stream;
Thou'rt wisely fitted to thy lot,
Whatever thou may'st deem.
I love the lonely cliff,
The lightning shiver'd pine;
'o hover round the gate of Heaven
And drink-the day is mine.
"How fearful
And dizzy'tis to cast one's eyes below!
I'll look no more,
Lest my brain tuirn and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong;"
OR, "THE HERMIT OF THE FALLS."
Niagara! Name knitted with the grandest and
loftiest thoughts of nature; associated with every
thing that strikes the mind with terror and with
beauty in the scenery of earth! Who that has seen
thee-who that has heard thy tempest-voice, can
ever forget thee! unrivalled as thou art in thy sublimity. Unrivalled! Ay, the lofty peaks of the
Andes may tower and pile their icy tops with the
Alps-the Classic Mounts of Pindus and Parnassus claim but sisterhood in beauty with Holyoke
and Table Mount of my own Carolina. The Vale
of Tempe invites not more temptingly than that of
Shenandoah. Leman and Como, mirror not more
loveliness than Lomond or Lake George. The
Connecticut surpasses the yellow flow of the Tiber;
and the Hudson, the beauty of the Modern Rhine.
-Yes, mountain rivals mountain; ocean, ocean;
river, river. Every other work of Nature has its
counterpart which shares its beauty, save thee!
Alone in thy grandeur-the only thing in nature
which rejects contrast. Mighty, stupendous, evermoving, irresistible as Fate-image of thy Maker!
But pardon me, Mr. Messenger; I did not intend,
when I dipped my quill in ink, to waste it in such declamation; especially as the theme has been under
the pencil of the painter, the imagination of the poet,
and the graphic pens of so many masters in description. I happened, in turning over the leaves of my
port feuille, to come across thle outlines of a tale
which awakened much interest in my mind during
my last visit to the North. The subject, as all per
1840.]
6S7
Thou hast no (!ause of grief,
Fair empress of the flood;
The green earth vields abundantly
Thy pastime, and thy food.
I scorn the treasul-'d earth,
And soar toward Heaven in vain;
No rest beyond my stick-built nest
My wing could ever gain.
Oh, Envy! vain and blind Still aiming at the great;
Thou canst not see the writhing heart The home all desolate.
The mightiest wing that soars
With eagle flight toward Heaven,
May shield an agonizing breast A breast by tempests riven.
ABBOT:
he will return with you by a charming path around
the island. You will not go far before he will
point out to you three beautiful little islets-"The
Three Sisters,"-around which the river plunges
and bolls as thouo-h it would root them from their
foundations, but where they repose in calm beauty,
heedless of the race which lashes them. At the
brink of the river between these isles is a ledge of
rocks which form a cascade, and you are, told that
this is the bathing place of the Hermit! And who
is the Hermit! Ali, your guide says, he was a
poor fellow that came here a few years ago, from
nobody knows where, and who, charmed with the,
beauty of the place, formed the foolish notion of
takino- up his residence upon the island. He spent
his time alone, confinin(y himself nearly all day, and
at night, especially when the moon, that goddess of
insanzty and love, was bright, roving about apparently lost in the magnificence and beauty of the
scene. He had no fellowship with any who were
around him-but, says the guide, interrupting
himself and pointing to a little hut-let us go and
see the room in which he lived. He leads you to a
small tenement, which time with a slow finger is
pulling to pieces, and, splinter by splinter, he tells
you that if you wish to enter as the Hermit did, it
must be through the window, as he bad an aversion
'to entering in any other way. You find the room