The next morning found us with the southern shore of Lake Erie in sight - a
long line of woods, with here and there a cluster of habitations on the
shore. "That village where you see the light-house," said one of the
passengers, who came from the hills of Maine, "is Grand River, and from
that place to Cleveland, which is thirty miles distant, you have the most
beautiful country under the sun - perfectly beautiful, sir; not a hill the
whole way, and the finest farms that were ever seen; you can buy a good
farm there for two thousand dollars." In two or three hours afterward we
were at Cleveland, and I hastened on shore.
It is situated beyond a steep bank of the lake, nearly as elevated as the
shore at Brooklyn, which we call Brooklyn Heights. As I stood on the edge
of this bank and looked over the broad lake below me, stretching beyond
the sight and quivering in the summer wind, I was reminded of the lines of
Southey:
- "Along the bending line of shore
Such hue is thrown as when the peacock's neck
Assumes its proudest tint of amethyst,
Embathed in emerald glory."
But it was not only along the line of the shore that these hues
prevailed; the whole lake glowed with soft amethystine and emerald tinges,
in irregular masses, like the shades of watered silk.
