Atlantic States -- Description and travel; Kemble, Fanny, 1809-1893; United States -- Social life and customs -- 1783-1865
The inn at which we alighted was large and comfortable: in the
drawing-room I found a very tolerable piano-forte, to which I instantly
betook myself. By the time we had seen our bed-rooms, and ordered
dinner, we found we should have leisure, before it was ready, to walk to
the falls of the Genesee (the river on which Rochester stands), which
have some celebrity for their beauty. A man from the hotel volunteered
to be our guide, and joined our party. We walked up the main street,
which was crowded and full of business. From this, presently turning
off, we followed a wider road, with houses and pretty flower gardens on
each side, and reached, after half a mile's walk, a meadow skirted by a
deep ravine, through which the river ran; from whence we looked
immediately upon the falls. They would be, and were, I doubt not, once
beautiful; for the barrier of rock, over which the river throws itself
into the valley below, is of considerable breadth and height; but, alas!
the waters have been turned off to turn mills, and a thin curtain, which
falls over the rocks like a vapoury sheet of blue smoke, is all that
remains of the Genesee falls; whilst, from a thousand dingy-looking
mills and manufactories, the poor little rivulets of labouring water
come rushing through narrow dirty channels, all stained and foaming and
hot from their work, to throw themselves into the thin bosom of their
parent stream. Truly, mills and steam-engines are wonderful things, and
I know that men must live; but I wish it were not expedient to destroy
what God has made so very beautiful, in order to make it useful. Our
guide perceiving our admiration was a good deal excited by the
picturesque beauty of the scene, fell into a species of rhapsody,
which terminated thus: "Yes, sir, when I see the waters thus falling
_from the bottom to the top_; I say, sir, when I look at the
water falling from _the bottom to the top_, I can compare it to
nothing--but--but--but--wool out of a cotton-mill!" This was an
unlooked-for climax, and gave us all a violent inclination to laugh in
the face of the orator; which, however, would have been exceedingly
wrong; for so sincere was the good man in his enthusiasm, that he was
not in the least aware of the miraculous proceeding which he twice, with
much emphasis, ascribed to the _upward falling_ water.[107]
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