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.