Who does not love to go to picnics? Where is the man who will not rejoice if he is able to leave his work and the dust and turmoil of the city far behind, and roam at will in the picnic bush; to listen to the sweet songs of the birds in the trees; to watch the country maiden and her devoted swain gazing in open-mouthed ecstasy at all that is going on around; to see papa, mama and the little ones reclining at ease beneath the overhanging boughs of a stately beech, dining off cold chicken, ham sandwiches, cake, a soul-correcting apple pie and a mind-destroying bottle of ice cold milk? The Idle Spectator has been there and he likes it. All day Saturday he wandered around Bender’s grove, Niagara Falls, and watched the Grand Trunk Railway’s employees with their wives, sweethearts, sisters, and friends, picnicking and enjoying themselves to the heart’s content.
The Idle Spectator left Hamilton on the 8 o’clock train. It was crowded. He was unable to get a seat, and had to content himself with standing on the bottom step of a car platform. His companions in misery were a mild-eyed woman, a cynical-looking young man; a sweet young girl who amused herself on the way with pinning pieces of newspaper to his coat-tail; a negro; an Irishman who contentedly smoked a short clay pipe, and persisted in blowing smoke – a vile smoke it was too – right in the Idle Spectator’s face; a small boy with a basket and a woman with a crying baby. The passage down was marked with but one interruption. There was a hot box on one of the cars and fears were entertained that it would set fire to the train, but a couple of pails of water poured over it at Merritton put an effectual damper on it.
And this is Niagara Falls. A long, low, red brick station with a wide veranda in front. It is almost depopulated now but in a minute or two the platform is crowded with an anxious bustling throng, laden with shawls and baskets. On the other side of the depot is the town proper. A row of saloons, hotels, cigar shops and a news depot where the Police Gazette is not sold, front the railway station. The Thirteenth battalion band comes out now and starts for Bender’s grove. The crowd follows. So does the Idle Spectator. The road to the grove is a long, dusty one, winding along the beautiful blue Niagara’s bank and the Idle Spectator resolutely tramped every step of the way.
Here is the grove at last, thank goodness, and while the crowd disperses, the band makes straight for the stand, gets in position and proceeds to attack the programme. The Idle Spectator starts off on a tour of discovery and wanders around the Falls and suspension bridge for an hour or more. Here and there along the bridge, visitors left records of their presence in the shape of scribbled rhymes and names. Some person who has at one time or another read Max Adeler’s Out of the Hurly-Burly has written here a verse from that book. It was –
“The death angel smote Alexander McGlue,
And gave him protracted repose;
He wore a check shirt and a number nine shoe,
And he had a pink wart on his nose.”
Nothing is told though about the interview afterwards with Alexander’s widow. That estimable woman called on the editor of the veracious country weekly in which the obituary poem was printed and declared that he never wore check shirts that his boots were only number seven, and that he never had a pink wart, a blue wart, a red wart, a black wart or any other kind of wart on his nose, or on any other portion of his body. Then the poet said, Why hadn’t he? It’s not my fault if he hadn’t. I once knew a man named McGlue, who had a pink wart on his nose and I supposed all other McGlues would be the same. Am I responsible if this one hadn’t?”
It is very fascinating to stand on the bridge and look down at the deep blue waters, flicked with long streaks of foam, that roll rapidly underneath. The water seems to draw one to it, to seem anxious to welcome one in its cold embrace. The Idle Spectator was never so near committing suicide in his life as he was on Saturday, when he stood on the passengers’ suspension bridge and gazed at the mighty Niagara underneath. The inoffensive young man who prides himself on his talent for sarcasm is here expected to say it’s a pity he didn’t. It was 11:45 when he started back to the town, inspected the whirlpool where Capt. Webb was drowned, crossed over the bridge into Manchester and turned up at Hamfield’s dining rooms at the Grand Trunk depot at one o’clock for dinner. Mr. Chas. Stiff, Superintendent of the Grand Trunk railway, occupied the chair.
Among those present were….(extended list).
Before the eatables were attacked, Mr. Stiff read letters of regret from…. and said that as the hour was late and the games were now in progress, there would be no speech-making, and that immediately after dinner, the toast of the Queen would be proposed, and the party would then proceed to the picnic grounds. After dinner, then, the Queen was heartily honoured and Mr. Howard sang the National Anthem. Then a break was made for the grove. Here the games were in progress. They were started at 1 o’clock by a football match between two twelves of Grand Trunk employees, captained respectively by W. Hyndman and E. Sinclair. The game never came off. When the redoubtable kickers were about to wrestle with the inflatable leather, a dozen young men from the Falls turned up and declared it their intention of doing a kick act too. As there was every prospect of having a free fight over the affair, the game was declared a draw and the money was divided between the two Grand Trunk employees’ twelves. The competitions for the other prizes were then proceeded with and resulted as follows: …
The Thirteenth band played on the grounds all day and got away with a lengthy programme. A quadrille band had been engaged for dancing, and over on the platform, merry couples whirled away to the captivating strains, undeterred by the sweltering heat.
Altogether the affair was a great success. Mr F. Armstrong remarked to the Idle Spectator that the crowd was too large for a thoroughly enjoyable time to be had. But the people were all quiet and orderly, there was little or no bad conduct on the grounds. The general committee of management, of which…., deserve the greatest credit for the thorough manner in which they made the arrangements and the complete success with which those arrangements were carried out. There were between 5,000 and 6,000 people on the grounds in the afternoon. Four trains conveyed them thither and three of those trains were from Hamilton. It took 66 cars and eight engines to bring the crowd down, and the last train carried 2,600 people.
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