Henry Livingston, Jr.
Henry Livingston's Prose

For the New-York Magazine
View of the Mohawk River

That part of the Mohawk River which the Plate represents is very remarkable. The traveller sees many miles before him a huge mountain, which apparently frowns over the foaming current. Were it not that a well frequented road leads directly towards it, his faith must infallibly fail, and he would anxiously enquire for another avenue: but the footsteps of the multitude encourage him to proceed. When arrived to where he imagined the mountain meets the river, he discovers a path creeping round fragments of rocks. On one hand, lowrs a precipice too formidable for a catamount to attempt; and on the other, fifty feet directly beneath him, roars the Mohawk. To enhance the sublimity of the business, this xx highway is not passed in half a minute; but the pilgrim is kept most elegantly agitated while he journies at least two hundred yards. The mountain is called Anthony's Nose; and no one ever yet doubled its tremendous cape, and forgot it. Seriously -- it is a pity, that a road perhaps as much traveled as any in the state, and in general an exceedingly good one, should be suffered to remain thus dangerous, when fifty pounds would remove its terrors, and twice that sum render it perfectly smooth.

Perhaps no stream whatever, unnavigable by large vessels, exhibits a more interesting and pleasing scene than the Mohawk from Fort Stanwix to Albany. Its numerous islands, as well as its shores, are generally formed of the most prolific earths: and the gently swelling hills which bound the intervales, wave with magnificent forests, flourishing on a soil perhaps as friendly to human sustenance, as the occasinally inundated part of the country. Clogged with numberless obstructions, as this beautiful river is in its present unimproved state, yet the navigation upon it with open boats is very considerable: but, if the long desired Lock projection succeeds, of which there exists not a doubt, the business transacted on this elegant river of the west will be immense. Barges of pleasure will mix their concerts of harmony with the din of labour and application. The heart of sensibility will glow, at the view of a new world of gladness and exertion rising into being, where, but a few years past, nought was heard but the screams of the panther and hte wolf, or the yells of barbarians still more dismal and terrific.

New-York Magazine; or, Literary Repository
Mohawk River
Vol. IV No. III, p.130; Mar 1792; by R


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