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WARYVARD UNIVERSITY
Schon) of Lamiscap: Architeciurs library

A LECTURE

ON THE

(MIDDLESEX FELLS.

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Prepared for the express purpose of aiding the movement for
the preservation of the FELLS, illustrated with one hundred stere-
opticon views, and delivered before the Mystic Camera Club
Medford, in Medford Town Hall, before the Appalachian Club in
Boston, in Stoneham, Winchester, Melrose, before the Melrose
Highland Club, and in Boston before the St. Botolph Club.

Published in response to numerous requests.

GEORGE EB eens
Medford, Mass.

MEDFORD, MASS.
Press oF THE MeEprorD City News.
1893,

The favor bestowed upon this lecture whenever it was de-
livered, and the frequently expressed desire for its publication

ve hag led me to have it printed in its present form.

There now seems to be no longer a doubt of the preservation
of at least the greater part of the Fells. The passage of the Act
of June 1893, Chapter 407, and the appointment of Metropolitan
Park Commissioners favorable to the project renders this almost
certain. It is, however, much to be regretted that the Act should
have been so amended in the Senate as to prevent the wild ter-
ritory south of the great Turkey Swamp reservier from being
taken by right of eminent domain, although it may still be pos-
sible to secure it by purchase, if not by gift.

Now the greater part of that territory, if not the whole Or it;
is so essentially a part of the great Fells that it will be a most
deplorable mistake, if indeed it be not a crime against posterity,
not to have it included in the reservation.

MEDFORD DOES NOT NEED IT, SHE HAS AMPLE TERRITORY,
SUFFICIENT FOR ALL POSSIELE GROWTH, WITHOUT IT, AND CAN
SPARE IT JUST AS WELL AS NOT FOR SHE WOULD STILL HAVE
REMAINING A LARGER AREA OF AVAILABLE BUILDING LAND THAN
MALDEN NOW HAS.

Every foot of territory north of the old Bower, running east-
ward to Pine Hill, and westward to the Winchester Heights,
embracing within its limits Meeting-house brook ravine with its
elevations and depressions, should go into the reservation.

Nature herself has here fixed the boundary lines and they can-
not be changed without doing violence to her foresight. If now
after all these years of earnest endeavor to secure this magnifi-
cent reservation for the pleasure and happiness of future genera-
tions, so much of Medford’s portion of it is to be left out it will be
an everlasting shame without any possible compensation.

My thanks are due to Mr. Rosewell B. Lawrence, for the use
of his excellent map of the Fells.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN:

During the past two winter seasons, the
Mystic Camera Club has shown upon the screen, a series of in-
teresting views from distant and widely separated localities, illus-
trating many phases of natural scenery.

This evening we propose showing to you some views nearer
home, and while we cannot expect to show scenes of such im-
posing grandeur and sublimity as are found in the mountainous
regions of New Hampshire, California, North Carolina and the
Yellowstone, we do hope that we will be able to demonstrate the
existance of loveliness enough, immediately surrounding us Here,
to furnish material for an evening’s entertainment.

A young friend who passed several years abroad in the pur-
suit of his artistic studies. recently told me that nowhere had he
seen more charming landscape views, than could be found in and
around Medford; but, he added, ‘‘I did not so fully appreciate
this fact before | went away.”

So it is. We are apt to look upon our immediate surroundings
as commonplace, and seek elsewhere for that which may exist
near at hand if we would only learn to use our senses in the
right way.

The traveler who goes abroad for pleasure or study, finds
everywhere marvelous creations in nature appealing to his senses,
but he returns from a contemplation of them all to find that after
all, ‘‘there is no place like home.’’

Absence, and the educating influences of the scenes through
which he has passed, have broadened and enriched his mind,
quickened his perceptions of the beautiful in nature, taught him
how to discover beauty where before he may have thought none
existed, and led him to find a restful satisfaction and enjoyment
in the charms which make his native place ‘‘ The dearest spot

on earth.’’

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Nature is everywhere beautiful. Why should she not be?
The touch of the Divine Master is over and upon all her places,
however grand or humble. The blending of His colors have no
uncertain value but harmonious relations always. The surpas-
sing loveliness of His valleys and streams, with their exquisite
tones of light and shade; the delicious atmosphere pervading His
tropical landscapes; the luxurience of His impressive forests; the
magnificence of His marvelous seas; the grandeur of. His moun-
tain forms, and, above all, the splendor of His glorious skies
appeal to the devout mind and soul with a force which culminates
in an enduring and reverent love tor the Supreme Spirit pervad-
ing all.

“The men whom Nature’s works can charm,
With God himself hold converse; grow familiar
Day by day with his conceptions; act upon his plan,
And form to his the relish of their souls.”

It is doubtful if anywhere else can be found in such close
proximity to a great city, a more attractive region than that which
surrounds the city of Boston, stretching in the form of a crescent
from the Blue Hills of Quincy and Milton, to the hills and woods
of Saugusand Lynn. The extreme points of this territory reach
out on either side to Nantasket and Nahant, with an opening sea-
ward through which the white sails go out to the great ocean be-
yond.

In the basin-like enclosure, between the hills and the water,
sits the Queen City, with her bays and tributaries, and outlying
annexes, resplendent in her beauty and glorious in her deeds and
fame.

The great basin-like depression back of the city, which gives
so sharply defined an outline to the hilly country beyond, is
believed to be the result of volcanic action, and this belief is
strengthened by the fact that evidences of a submerged forest
have been found underneath the marshes at Revere, a fact which
goes far towards explaining the presence in that wonderful
natural botanic garden, Oak Island, of plants known to grow
only in higher regions further away from the sea.

In the central portion of the outlying belt of hilly country, lies
the special tract of wild uncultivated land, now known as the
Middlesex Fells.

This tract of country has long attracted lovers of natural scen-
ery, on account of its wildness and wonderfully picturesque love-

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5

liness. Way back in the early fifties the ‘‘Boston Traveller ”’
published an interesting article on the Cascade, and the drive
through Wyoming, and around Spot Pond, with a glowing de-
scription of its beauties, and declared that if it were a hundred
miles or more away, it would become the ‘‘Mecca’’ of summer
resorts.

In 1856, that charming writer on rural subjects, Wilson Flagg’
published an article in Hovey’s Magazine, entitled, ‘‘A Forest
Preserve, a Proposition to State and City Governments,’’ in
which he advocated the setting apart of the wild region extend-
ing from Stoneham to Salem, for the purpose of one or more
Morelos, 7

In 1869, Elizur Wright published a pamphlet in which he
urged the setting apart of ‘‘The Five Mile Wood,’’ by which
name the Fells was then known, as a public park, under the
name of “‘Mt. Andrew Park,’’ with a system of ‘Schools for
the study of Natural History.”

Again, in 1872, Wilson Flagg renewed his suggestions, and In
those delightful essays on the ‘‘ Woods and Byways of New Eng-
land’”’ urged anew the selection of ‘‘The Five Mile Wood’? for a
‘Forest Conservatory. ”’

Then came some unsuccessful efforts to secure favorable legis-
lative action, followed by a long period of discouragement until,
in 1879, Sylvester Baxter, of Malden, published in the ‘‘ Boston
Herald,’’ an article on ‘‘Spot Pond and its vicinity,’’ which at-
tracted wide spread attention, and revived once more the waning
interest in the movement to secure that region for the purpose of
a public park.

In this article Mr. Baxter brought forward for the first time in
this country, the old Saxon word, “Fells,’’? which had long been
in use in England to designate just such wild hilly country as
that he was describing, and suggested its application to the ter-
ritory he so vividly portrayed.

The appropriateness of the name was so apparent, that it was
at once accepted, and at the first regular meeting of the Middle-
sex Institute, of which Mr. Baxter was a member, held there-
after, it was formerly voted that all of that portion of the Middle-
sex Hills surrounding Spot Pond, and lying within the limits of
Malden, Melrose, Stoneham, Winchester and Medford, be called
», The Middlesex Fells. ”’

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Thus was consummated Mr. Baxter’s happy thought, and the
good old Saxon word, ‘‘Fells,’”’ transplanted from old to New
England soil to take root deep down in the grand hills of Middle-
Sex

The outcome of all this, was the organization of the ‘‘ Fells
Association’’ with Elizur Wright for president and Wilson Flagg
for secretary, with the avowed purpose of securing the preserva-
tion of the ‘‘Fells’’ fora great natural park, or forest conserva-
tory.

Steps were at once taken to accurately define the boundaries
of the Fells, by the publication of a map, and every possible
effort made to arouse a public sentiment in favor of the move-
ment. He

The growing interest in Forestry, the peculair fitness of the
Fells, for one of a series of state conservatories, devoted to the
cultivation and preservation of forest trees, and the vigorous pro-
tests everywhere being made against the wholesale and wanton
destruction of woodlands, going on in various parts of the country,
combined to make the time seem an auspicious one, and encour-
aged the friends of the movement to look for a successful con-
summation of their efforts in its behalf.

I will not take up your time with the details of succeeding
events. The untiring energy and boundless enthusiasm with
which Elizur Wright gave himself up to this great work is well
known, and I need not dwell upon it here.

The more retiring and sensitive nature of Wilson Flagg, shrank
from too close a contact with public action, and the active work
devolved upon Elizur Wright, who continued to brave every dis-
couragement long after the death of his gifted compeer had left
him to struggle on almost alone, but hopeful to the last. One
day he called to invite me to attend a meeting of some friends of
the Fells’ movement, and when next I heard from him he had
gone to ‘Join the innumerable caravan, that moves to the pale
realms of shade,’’ and struck his ‘‘ White tent for the morning
march, upward and onward to the eternal hills.’’

Associated with Elizur Wright at this time, was the veteran
naturalist, John Owen, who did good service in behalf of a move-
ment which deserved only success.

With the death of Elizur Wright the gradual dissolution of the
Fells Association followed, and the movement for the preserva-

7,

tion of the Fells relapsed once more into an almost hopeless con-
dition of abandonment.

Happily, however, a fortunate combination of circumstances
has since brought about the permanent preservation of a large
part of the territory described by Mr, Baxter, through the inex-
orable force of the very necessity long foreseen and pointed out,
and which has compelled Medford, Malden, and Melrose to take
possession of the territory around Spot Pond, in order to protect
its water shed, and keep its supply of water pure.

Besides this, Medford, to her honor, has purchased for the
same purpose, and set apart for permanent preservation the en-
tire territory, situated between Forest street, Elm street, Wood-
land road and Spot Pond.

Stoneham, has, also, to her credit, secured and set apart for
preservation Bear Hill, and much of the territory surrounding it,
so that, with some reservations also made, nearly one half of the
Fells’ territory as defined by the Fells Association, has been se-
cured for preservation.

If now, it should come about, as seems not unlikely, that in
the carrying out of the comprehensive plans of the Trustees of
Public Reservations, and the Park Commissioners; the entire
Fells should be secured and set apart, as a distinct park by itself,
or as one of a great chain or series of parks, surrounding greater
Boston, then it would be a most fitting thing to commemorate in
some way the pioneer workers and perpetuate their memories
by the dedication of suitable portions to bear their names,

All honor to them. Theirs is no uncertain immortality. They
live in all the woodland scence they loved so well. Their Spirits
haunt the hills, the forests and the streams. Every leaf and
rock, and flower, voices their praise. olian airs breathe for
them loving benedictions, and just so long as the human soul
responds to the influences of woodland scenery, so long will their
names be wreathed with Memory’s immortelles.

The total area of the Fells comprises some 4,000 acres of di-
versified land, which has been literally described by a local town
orator as consisting of ‘‘one third swamp and two thirds rock. ”’

Such a description, however, although almost literally accurate,
would fail to convey to many minds anything like an adequate
conception of the real character of this interesting and singularly
attractive region, its wonderfully picturesque loveliness, and the

8

innumerable charms which constantly beset one on every hand
in passing through it, tempting the tireless feet hither and thither
through an ever changing succession of delightful scenes, until
hours seem as moments, and the rambler wanders on heedless
of time, now climbing some rugged hill to gaze afar on the ex-
pansive landscape, now basking in the quiet enjoyment of some
pleasant nook, or following out the devious windings of some
charming flower strewn wood path, that lures him on, and ever
on through swamp, and dell, and scented ways, until: lost to
every reminder of the great busy world without, as completely
as if hundreds of miles afar off in the most impenetrable wilder-
ness of Maine.

And, so while rock and swamp are pleasureless words to some,
not understood, to those who are akin with Nature, and have
studied her luminous pages with understanding they convey a
wealth of meaning that leads to rich mines of enjoyment.

For here we have a succession of well clad rocky hills, rising
and falling like the billows of a great sea, within whose hollow
troughs lie. hidden pleasant vales, ponds, cascades, ferny brooks,
sylvan retreats, wild swamps and fragrant groves.

In the early colonial time, the whole region was covered with
a dense forest inhabited by wild beasts. Wolfs, bears and wild-
cats were the terror of the early settlers, who had more real
reason to fear them than they had the Indians who were: never
troublesome when treated justly.

The geological formation of the Fells is Secale and interest-
ing. - The rocks are almost entirely composed of feldsparpor-
phyry and sienitic granite, with occasional seams of quartz.

The soil on the hills, is for the most part, thin but rich from
long accumulations of vegetable mould and sustains an exten-
sively varied flora. In the intervales it is deeper, often rich and
strong, sustaining trees of great size.

One rambling carelessly through the Fells, will frequently
come across evidences to show that many of the early settlers
took up their abodes well in among the hills, cultivating the up-
land pastures and intervales.

Old orchards, ruins of old cellars; clumps of old familiar gar-
den flowers lingering lovingly around old mossy crumbling walls,
and other tokens of places once occupied, now deserted, are to
be met with.

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‘qooy [[eley.Ig ‘JuawWINUOW S,9InYg Surpnyour ‘smorA Zurpunolins yUM puog 30dg jo smoaia dIuIeIOUeg

9

Such, in brief outline is the general history and character of
the Middlesex Fells, a great tract of wild land, unfit for the gen-
eral purposes of cultivation, but pre-eminently fitted for a great
natural park, for which purpose it ought to be set apart forever.

But come with me now and let me take you through what I
think is the most attractive portion of the Fells, and show you
some bits of its scenery.

Here is our train well on its way over the Mystic river, with
fair skies overhead and the promise of a pleasant day. From
our car window we catch a glimpse of a scene that reminds us of
Medford’s former glory, when her ships were world-wide famous.

The river is a fine one, and the view up through the valley is
beautiful.

Wonderful skies, and glorious sunsets are seen from time to
time over the distant hills blending with the horizon.

We are on the main track of the Boston & Maine. Through
the Wellington farms, Edgeworth, and Malden, past Oak Grove,
and here is the Fells Station where we get off.

We continue our way on foot to the road passing the new
Rubber Works, where we pause a moment to look about us.

Westward rise two noble elevations, the twin sentinels, which
guard, Athos and Pcrthos like, the entrance to the Fells.

You can see even now how defiantly they bear their rugged
breasts against the sky, as if they would hurl back the barbaric
hordes of civilization, who have over-run the valley below, and
threaten to invade even their sacred domain.

Long may they stand, impregnable alike to the assaults of
time and every foe.

The view on the screen was taken before the ‘‘barbarians’”’
had over-run the valley with their so-called improvements.

There was no Fells station then, nor Rubber Works, nor mod-
ern houses; only the old Lynde farm, stretching through the val-
ley from end to end.

In the foreground is the old Lynde meadow, at that time inter-
sected with running streams bordered with Nature’s shrubbery,
and, in their season, great masses of goldenrods and starry asters.
Here, too, was the fringed gentian, flower of Heaven, and in the
meadow east of the railroad, shy farnassia half concealed his
loveliness in the blades of grass. What splendid clumps of the
purple sarracenia, with the wonderful pitchers half filled with the

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intoxicating fluid which lured the captive insects to their doom,
grew in the swamps below, where fair Arethusa displayed her
peerless charms, and a host of floral treasures rewarded the bota-
nist who searched for them.

Midway between the Twin Sentinels, are the Cascade rocks,
over which the descending streams from the hills fall in a series
of beautiful cascades; and beyond lies the great wilderness to-
wards which we are wending our way.

As we reach the road which winds by the hills, we halt
between two inclinations, that of ascending Black Rock, as the
southern elevation is called, and that of visiting the cascades.

How hard it is to resist the first inclination. Who has not
noticed with what eagerness the majority of almost any number
of persons visiting the neighborhood of a high eminence for the
first time, hasten to gain the highest point on its summit before
exploring the woods around its base.

I have known those who would rush by the most charming
things, trampling under foot the loveliest flowers and ferns in
their haste to accomplish such a purpose.

To what else can this feeling be referred than to the intuitive
heavenward aspirations of the human soul. Mark how the
s Thra¢her seeks the highest branches of tall trees when pouring
forth his morning and evening devotions; if perchance, he alights
on some lower branch and begins his song, how uneasy at once
he becomes, as if under the restraining influence of some power
that prevents him from giving full utterance to his feelings.
Thrashing his wings impatiently he rises higher and still higher,
increasing the vehemence of his out-pourings with increasing
altitude, until the highest spray is reached, when with wide
distended throat and quivering frame he pours forth all his soul
in exultation and joy.

So it is with the human soul; overshadowed by the depressing
influences of daily life, its aspirations become fettered and kept
down; but when on some day ot relaxation. we go out into the
grand temples of Nature, and stand in the presence of her sacred
altars, the divine sense of freedom comes over us and our buoy-
ant spirits turn our feet into wings as we ascend with our soul’s
offerings to the Great Creator.

II

«These are thy glorious works, Parent of good;
Almighty. Thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair—Thyself how wondrous then
Unspeakable, who sittest above these heavens,
To us invisible, or dimly seen,
In these thy lowest works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought and power divine.”

Happily here we may combine both of our inclinations in one,
and ascend Black Rock by way of thc Cascades. Our path
winds along the base of Black Rock and through Pierrepoints
Grove, the old camping ground of the Spiritualists.

Remembering this, as we get well into the woods, a weird
influence comes over us. We feel the presence of other forms
than our own. The realistic spirit of the age has sought in vain
to banish from the woodlands all the old mythology with its
rural deities, and they seem to rise up and surround us as we
invade their domain.

As we go on higher up and come under the shadows of the
great ledges, another influence comes over us, inspiring feelings
of awe, and deeper thoughts.

Here was formerly one of Nature’s flower gardens, and might
be again if the Fells could be preserved and Nature encouraged
to re-assert herself.

It was here that | first saw the blue-eyed hepatica and felt
something of the rapture which filled the soul of the great Lin-
naeus, when, on beholding this beautiful flower for the first time,
he fell on his knees and thanked God for so much loveliness,

There were flowers and ferns, ferns and flowers in abundance
on every side. The learned naturalist who thought that the
brake and the sweet fern were the only two ferns in the known
world, might have gathered here twenty species within the
radius of a stone’s throw.

But now the melody of falling water salutes us and as we
turn a bend in our path, we come into full view of the Cascades,

The principal fall here has a perpendicular desent of about
thirty feet. Above this fall the ledge over which it is precipi-
tated recedes several feet forming a broad flat flooring from which
rises a succession of rocky steps down which the water from
above comes bounding at times with great force and beauty.

Above these steps there is a long rise to another series of
smaller falls, the extreme altitude of which is 200 feet, aneroid
measurement.

12

The Cascades are only seen to advantage during the early
spring and late autumn months, or during mild intevals in winter,
when melting snow and heavy rains have filled all the ponds and
streams among the hills to over-flowing.

They are sometimes indescribably beautiful, and never more
so than during mild seasons in March, when the combined action
of sun and frost makes weird pictures of wonderful loveliness,
breaking their icy shields into grotto-like openings through which
the imprisoned water is seen reflecting back all the hues of the
rainbow, and. the over-hanging sheets of ice, fringed with the
gleaming icicles, forming tassellted curtains etched with the ex-
quisite tracery of frost work and crystalized vegetation.

But one must visit the Cascades early in spring to witness
such effects. Later on, as the snow disappears from the wood-
lands, other attractions allure the lover of Nature. The cheery
notes of the blithe song-sparrow heralding the coming in of the
vernal season, and the jovial call of the blue bird greet us. The
buds are unfolding and preparing to open out to the April breezes
the delicate blossoms and leaves that have been hidden away so
long. Great masses of snowy saxifrage replace the snows of
winter, and in the crevices of the rocks the columbines are get-
ting ready to bring forth their splendid great gold and crimson
chalices filled with nectar to welcome the coming of charming
May.

From the top of the Cascade rocks, we have a fine view of
Black Rock toward which we are now hastening. What lovely
mosses are here; what luxuriant lichens all about us on rock and
tree, as we go on and up ‘the path, or push our way through
thick brush, or climb rock after rock, until we reach the highest
point where we rest and feast our eyes on the surrounding land-
scape.

Below us lies the pleasant valley, and gazing northward we
can see the beautiful town of Melrose, beyond which the valley
stretches away, until lost among the disiant hills.

On the opposite side of the valley is Boston Rock, and Prcs-
pect Hill, with the Pine Banks between, and the beautiful Pratt
woods stretching away in the distance, with the light playing
over and among the hills and pines, with wonderful effects. Here
are studies in light and shade to make an artist envious of Nature
and despair of his art.

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‘IIOAISSOY YON Jasayourp, ‘yOoIg epeoses ‘puog [njeloq

13

Eastward are seen the hills of Everett, Chelsea and Revere,
Washington Mount and Powder Horn Hill, Nahant, Egg Rock,
and a belt of blue ocean dotted with white sails that “90 down
to the sea’’ disappearing in the far horizon that melts into the
sky.

Along the southern course of the valley, the eye wanders over
the tall spires and chimneys of Malden to the Mystic, beyond
which is Bunker Hill and Boston with its gold dome gleaming
sunlike in the distance.

Nearer, and almost at our feet, is Glen Rock, with the ob-
servatories, and between us and Glen Rock are many wild
places, abrupt ledges, ravines, groves, swamps and streams.

Turning westward, now how great is the transformation. In
place of the spires and domes erected by the hand of man over
the marts and homes of busy communities, a vast wilderness lies
out-spread before us as far as the eye can reach.

‘We seem now to be standing as it were, in the presence of
two civilizations, and as our present outlook begins to impress us
with a sense of the magnitude of the Fells, our minds revert to
the time when the entire region was known only to the red man,
who held divided sway with the wild beasts that roamed through
its dense forests.

We are overlooking the Malden Highlands, the most charac-
teristic portion of the Fells, and the one to which, more than to
any other, the name Fells is particularly applicable. Here are
the highest elevations, with the single exception of Bear Hill to
the north, and the most rugged. Over-looking this section from
the top of any of these elevations, it presents the appearance, so
aptly described by Mr. Baxter, of a ‘great sea of stone with
waves eternally motionless. ”’

It is hard to realize that such a wilderness could exist in such
close proximity to a great city; but being here, the wonder is
that Boston has not long since secured it for one of her outlying
series of parks, or that Malden, in whose lap it lies, has not been
wise enough to secure it for the permanent use of her own people
as a great natural park. :

Lord Macauley, when describing the grandeur of the Highlands
of Scotland, In one of his brilliant essays, expresses the opinion
that the measure of ones enjoyment of such scenes depended on
the measure of safety with which one might be able to view

14

them. Happily for us, we may wander through the Fells with-
out any apprehensions for our personal safety, and abandon our-
selves to the fullest enjoyment of the many attractive scenes
which Nature here will unfold to us. The wild beasts that
formerly invested the woodlands, are no longer here. The fierce
Pequots, and the warlike Tarratines have gone, and we may
penetrate the deepest recesses of the wildest sections without
fear of savage beasts or savage men.

Let us then enter into this wilderness, yea, into its very heart,
where the Great Architect has reared His solemn temple, whose
foundation stone is the solid centre of the earth, whose pillared
aisles are the eternal hills and_yales, whose spires are the lofty
pines, whose choral anthems are the chanting winds, and the
joyous out-pourings of animated Nature, and whose incense is
the wafted perfume of the floral hosts.

«« Shake from thy feet the dust of peopled way,d
Ere thou wouldst tread these corridors. Forget
Thy worldier lot, and lift thy soul in praise,”

Over the hill and downward, and almost in an instant we are
shut out from all sight and sound of the great busy world. How
sweet is the morning air. How redolent with the aroma of the
fresh inflorescence. How melodious with the varied songs of
the birds. The very ground on which we tread, is resonant with
music and our footsteps resound with earth’s melodious pulsa-
tions as we pass along. Our path is lined and all the hollows
filled with white birches, poplars and oaks, with willows and
pines here and there intermingled.

As we follow the path onward and upward to higher ground,
we pass a long range of steep cliffs, and the observatory hills
from whose summits we obtain fine views of the teeming vaileys
of the Mystic and the Blue Hills of Milton.

Beyond Observatory Hills, our path slopes downward through
a rough pass between high ledges, and a short distance from the
path, on the west side of the ledge to our right is Bear Den.

One very naturally expects to hear some thrilling bear story
associated with this den, supposed to have been at some time an
abiding place for illustrating bruin, but the only story that has
come to me, is one relating to a man who crawled inside of the
den and made a fire, the warmth from which brought out from
the crevices a few harmless snakes, which his terror magnified

15

into huge serpents causing him to beat a hasty retreat. His
subsequent account of his escape may be better imagined than
described.

The ledge of which Bear Den forms a part, is one of the most
extensive exposed to view in the Highlands. Its northern ex-
tremity has been christened ‘‘Boojum Rock.’”’ The story is that
on approaching this elevation, it suddenly disappears from view,
and then as suddenly re-appears, without any apparent reason
for so strange an action; but this is, of course, purely imaginary,
and dependent on the particular point of view from which one
approaches it. From the top of Boojum Rock, one gets the most
characteristic Fells views of any in the Highlands. In the south-
west is seen Highland Rock, a noble elevation of 300 feet alti-
tude, which overlooks the country in all directions.

It is situated in the fork of the two western branches of Bear
Den path, and may readily be reached by way of Highland ave-
nue which runs directly by its base. But alas for Highland Rock.
Since this paper was first written the sledge of the builder has
rent its grand visage into hideous scars that admojish us of the
fate destined to over-come these noble highlands, unless their
preservation is hastened by the Park Commissioners.

One of the most interesting features of the Fells, is the fre-
quent occurrence of huge boulders perched on high hills, or rest-
ing in the vales, where they were apparently deposited by the
great ice sea which swept over New England ages ago, and
where they now remain mute witnesses of the glacial period
when the tremendous forces of Nature were wrestling for su-
premacy over land and sea.

One of these enormous boulders, many tons in weight, restyon
top of an elevation west of Boojum Rock, and is known as
“‘Druidical,’’ or the Druid’s Rock. Just why so called I have
never been able to learn, but it is one ot the most picturesque of
all the boulders in the Fells, and the character of its surroundings
might well provoke the suggestion of its name.

Lying there late one afternoon, resting, after a long tramp, a
dreamful doze came over me, and all at once the fagots piled
near the rock seemed to flame up into a blazing pyre, around
which weird forms glided in mystical circles, muttering all the
while incoherent invocations. As I gazed upon this strange
scene, it seemed to change, and the cowled figures became trans-

m™ OS

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16

formed into painted warriors who danced wildly around the glow-
ing embers, brandishing their gleaming tomahawks and uttering
fearful warhoops, that drove all the blood in my veins back up-
on my heart; but starting up, I beheld the after-glow of the sun-
Set flooding all the skies and hills with its soft halo. That was
my blazing pyre; the dark outlines of the evergreens standing
out against the luminous sky, my druids; the flashes of light
radiating from the crimson streaks along the lustrous horizon, my
gleaming tomahawks and warriors red, and the thrilling war cries
resolved themselves into the screams of the iron courser as he
sped through the valley.

The hills in this section of the Fells, form a series of basins in
whose hollows are many streams, pools and ponds. The most
beautiful of these ponds is Hemlock Pond, with its fine grove of
granite boulders at the upper end. Near by is a fine swamp of
white birches, and a short distance to the north is Shiner Pond,
where those astute historians, the boys, who are generally well
initiated into all the mysteries of the woodlands, within any rea-
sonable distance of their homes, say that they used to go fishing
for the little fish called ‘shiners. ”

Eastward from Shiner Pond on the summit of a conspicuous
elevation, is the conical collection of stones which is designated
on the Fells map, as the ‘Stone Monument,’’ but which the boy
historians declare was built by the Malden High School boys, and
by them called ‘‘The Cairn,”’ certainly a much more appropriate
name for it than the other.

The clear tones of some wheelman’s bugle comes borne to us
on the wind from over the hills, as we now descend once more

and make our way eastward, now along charming woodpaths,

through thicket and swamp, and now over spongy hummocks,
or rugged hills, until we reach a long ravine that leads us out on
to the road near the old Lynde house, one of the oldest houses
now standing in Melrose, and one of the oldest in New England.
Like the old Craddock House in Medford, it has outlived many
generations and make many interesting periods in our early his-
tory. What thrilling stories of peace and war, of love and sor-
row its old rafters could relate if they could only speak!

But we arenow approaching a region where evergreens largely,
and as'we turn into Ravine Road, almost entirely predominate.
Magnificent pines and hemlocks stretch their great branches

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across the road on either side, forming a delightfully cool and
pleasant roadway; and yet so favorably exposed to the pene-
trating rays of the genial sunlight, that, on almost any bright
“sunny day in winter, when snow is on the ground, one can se-
lect bits here and there in which the loveliness of all seasons
blend in one charming composition.

A few years ago Ravine Road was the grandest roadway any-
where in the vicinity of Boston. Nowhere could be found such
noble pines and hemlocks. All the hillsides were covered with
beautiful evergreen groves, through whose spreading branches
the winds make music as sweet as the softest cadences of Eolian
harps.

In the deep ravine beyond the hill south of the road, grew the
grandest hemlocks in the state.

One gazed upon them with a feeling that they might be sur-
vivors of the ‘‘forest primeval,’’ veritable titians, whose awe in-
spiring grandeur lifted ones soul heavenward in prayful gratitude
to the Supreme Power who alone can create such wonderful pro-
ductions. But'alas’for those noble trees. The irreverent mam-
mon-worshiping spirit which tears down the pillars of our sacred
fanes, and seeks to quench the holy fires of our soul’s altars,
marked them for its own, and acres of unsightly stumps show
the devastating pathway of this Atilla of our civilization.

Before this destruction began, | was fortunate in securing two
photographs of Ravine Road at its junction with the Red Mill
Road, one having been taken in the spring and the other in the
winter time.

From Ravine Road there are several charming wood-paths
strewn with wintergreen, partridge berries, ladies’ slippers,
anemones and star flowers, leading to the ravine, where in a
deep gorge, is the old red mill, once the centre of a thriving col-
ony, but now the mecca for amateur photographers.

Above the dam, over which the over-flowage from Spot Pond
used to fall in a very lively cataract, the ravine comes down
through the fine woodland, just donated to the ‘Trustees of
Public Reservation,’’ under the name of ‘‘The Virginia Wood,”
a name given by the donor in honor of his daughter. The pre-
servation of this charming bit of woodland is something to rejoice
over, and the Appalachian Mountain Club is entitled to our last-
ing gratitude for its generous contribution towards securing the
sum necessary for its maintenance.

18

Following out the upward course of the ravine, we pass out of
Virginia Wood on to Woodland Road, and turning to the right
we continue on our way until we reach the north-easterly cor-
ner of Spot Pond, where we obtain a partial view of the pond
and Pond street.

But as one of our party has already climbed the hill on the
right, we follow him to the top, and from that point behold a
scene which more than repays us for our long morning tramp.

Before us in all of its unsurpassed loveliness, lies the gem of
eastern Massachusetts, the most picturesque of all her ponds, and,
while we are resting on this hill, I will point out to you some of
its most attractive features.

The large island near the centre is called Great Island. It con-
tains about an acre of land nearly covered with a fine grove of
evergreen and beech trees, and has always been a favorite re-
sort for pleasure parties.

Some thirty-five years ago, there was a colony of old country
people near the old Red Mill, who, in keeping up their old home
custom, were in the habit of visiting Great Island to have wrest-
ling matches, and among them was a famous wrestler by the
name of Shute, whom no one had been able to throw; but one
day when under the influence of too much ‘‘’alf and ’alf’’ he was
overthrown and his companions subsequently erected over the
spot a granite slab bearing the inscription, ‘‘Here Shute fell.’’
When the ex-champion next visited the island, and saw this re-
minder of his disgrace, he lost his temper and hurrying away
never afterwards visited the place; but the monument still re-
mains, with the inscription badly defaced by time and has given
rise to many legends and conjectures as to its meaning, some
fanciful and amusing and some historical and probable.

Spot Pond is surrounded on all sides by charming woodlands,
while the gracefully curving lines of its shores make a succession
of lovely bays, every turn of which reveals a new combination
ot beauty.

I have been with those who were unable to discover any com-
position here fit for a picture, but I consoled myself with the re-
flection that there were some who if they were permitted to catch
a glimpse of Heaven, would criticize it adversely and declare that
it was not so very beautiful after all.

For myself, every rock and tree is a thing of beauty, full of

19

the revelation of Divine Power and goodness, and I have never
yet visited Spot Pond without discovering some new and unex-
pected phase of loveliness to admire.

On its southern border is the old picnic grove with its pictur-
esque bay and overhanging willows.

Near the centre of the southern shore is Pickerell Rock and
bay, the loveliest bay of all, though sadly disfigured now by the
ruthless destruction of the picturesque old tree which over-hung
the water’s edge, and the stunted old cedar on top of the pro-
jecting rock.

Pickerell Rock is the finest of all the Spot Pond boulders. It
commands some fine views over the pond, and its surroundings,
and has been the scene of many piscatorial triumphs; black bass,
pickerel and perch rewarding the angler’s skill.

From every point of view charming scenes surround this lovely
lake pond, and an appreciative lover of Nature’s beauties, finds
constant delight in its ever-changing moods, whether of calm or
storm, from the time when the tender greens first touch the
young foliage until the splendors of autumn transforms the whole
lake into a vision of loveliness more beautiful thana poet’sdream.

In midsummer when the moon is near the full, wonderful ef-
fects are to be seen here at night, weird glimpses of the pond
through the trees, or through the different openings along the
road, and what could be more beautiful than to glide over the
surface of this beautiful sheetof water in the witchery of a moon-
light evening, when the lunar goddess is sublimely soaring
through ethereal space and shedding her soft halo over the lumin-
ous water.

The temptation to linger here is strong but we must hasten on.

Descending the hill and continuing on our way along Pond
street we pass in succession the ice houses, the old wind pump,
the grand old willow on our left, and Doleful Pond, and then
through South street until we reach the old Andover Turnpike,
now Main street, Stoneham, nearly opposite Bear Hill.

Ascending Bear Hill, by way of the cart path, through the
rocky meadow we are soon standing on the historic ‘‘Cheese
Rock’? where Gov. Winthrop and party rested and lunched over
260 years ago. How changed is the scene from what it must
have been at that time. The ‘‘Goodly Plain’’ mentioned in his
diary, is now covered by the thriving town of Stoneham, and the

20

good governor would not be able to recognize it in its present
garb.

The unpoetical name which the hill bears originated with one
of the early settlers, who had an unpleasant meeting with a bear
on the hill when looking for his cow.

Bear Hill is the highest elevation in the Fells, registering with
an aneroid barometer, in my possession at the time, 425 feet at
two points, and commands the most extensive views.

Through the line of cedars on its western brow, a long range
of mountains is seen in the far distance; Waghuset and Monad-
nock being the most prominent.

Its southern declivity is the most rugged, and is well shaded
with fine evergreens and great rocks well covered with lovely
mosses and beautiful ferns.

On the south side the hill slopes gradually with a delightfully
sunny exposure, and half way down there is a spring of the
purest water around which there have been many memorable
gatherings. From the top of the large rock on the summit, the
eye ranges over the most extensive tract of woodlands in the
Fells, a dense wilderness in a wild state of Nature stretching
away to the Pine Hill in Medford, with the heights of Arlington
in the distance.

This region is rich in attractions of every kind. Here are
some of the wildest scenes, the grandest and most pleasing.
Groves where Diana might have held her court; crystal streams
for her fair nymphs to bathe in; hillsides for elfs to gamble over,
and temples where the high priests of Nature hold their sacred
worship, and where the soul of man risejinto communion with
his Creator.

Over and through this region, the lover of Nature may roam
for days with ever increasing delight, while a worker in any
branch of natural science will find here ample fields for investi-
gation and study. So while those who resort to the Fells for the
enjoyment ot their aesthetic tastes alone, find plenty of attrac-
tions to minister to their sense of the beautiful, the naturalist
studying the various manifestations of Nature, as seen in her
multiform productions, finds here allurements to repay him in a
thousand ways unknown to others.

But it is now high noon, and emulating the illustrious example
of our great predecessor, we spread our own lunch and prepare

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21

to rest awhile before beginning our afternoon’s tramp homeward.

Meanwhile, let me show to you some views illustrating the
central section of Spot Pond, between Woodland Rock and Ful-
ton street on the east, Forest street on the west, and Love Lane
on the south. It is nearly equally divided by Elm street which
connects Fulton and Forest streets near the old Copeland farm,
and the Saville estate recently purchased by Medford,

It may be reached most readily by way of Fulton from Salem
street, Medford, or by way of Forest street from Medford square.

The latter course would be best for any one going from Boston.
Forest street is one of the finest surburban avenues around Bos-
ton. From Medford to Stoneham it passes almost directly through
the heart of the Fells, dividing it into nearly equal sections on
either side. As we approach Pine Hill, we get some charming
views.

Leaving Forest street ata point nearly opposite Pine Hill, we
wend our way through that most charming of all our rural lanes,
Love Lane, and cross over on to Fulton Street over which we
pass through the heart of the central section which we are now
describing.

After passing Green Mountain Grove, the old picnic resort,
Fulton street becomes very picturesque in character, every turn
in the winding road yielding charming road views with undulat-
ing landscapes of hill and meadow outspread on either side,

To the right of Fulton street an attractive region of rocky and
wild swampy territory, extends through to Highland avenue, in-
cluding within its limits some fine bold eminences commanding
extensive views, and the old historic section known as ‘The
Rocks,’’ where we find the huge boulder which the children
call ‘“‘Molasses Rock. ’?

On the left of Fulton street through the grove, is a fine ravine,
which winds through many places to the Willows, where a very
Curious natural phenomena is to be seen in the joining together
of three old willows by means of connecting branches at the base.

On the uplands here, are beautiful clumps of ferns, and some
fine landscape scenery.

Crossing the ravine, ina northwesterly direction from below,
we come out on to Elm street, and reaching the high land on the
other side, we get a fine view of Medford’s reservation; that-por-
tion of the Fells between Elm street and Spot Pond, with Wright’s
Pond in the foreground.

22

Not far from Wright’s Pond, in a northerly direction, there is
an immense boulder, which was considered by Elizur Wright to
be the largest in the Fells.

From this point we may continue on to Spot Pond by way of
the foot paths, or go out on to Forest street and return homeward
past the old Toll House, or we may follow Forest street in a
northerly direction, until we come to Bear Hill, where we have
been resting.

In a hurried tramp through the Fells, like that which we are
now making, it is impossible to do more than glance at its most
characteristic features.

To become fully acquainted with and appreciate its innumer-
able attractions, one must make many and long visits, and of no
section is this more true than of that through which we are now
hurrying.

Descending Bear Hill on the south side, we make our way
through the woods in a southwesterly direction, until we reach
Taylor Mount, from the top of which we over-look the Win-
chester North Reservoir.

It is a peculiar characteristic of Fells scenery, that even when
over-looking the same scenes from different elevations, the com-
binations and play of light and shade are so different, that one
appears to be gazing upon entirely new scenes, and this is es-
pecially true of the views westward from Bear Hill and Taylor
Mount. The first, is the grandest, the latter the most pleasing.

From the south side of Taylor Mount a deep gorge opens down-
ward into the ravine and swamp, from which pleasant woodpaths
lead out on to Forest street; but we prefer to make our way
through the woodlands and foot paths to the great lake reservoirs
that Winchester has created out of the old Turkey Swamp where
we obtain some views of surpassing loveliness.

To one familiar with the character of Turkey Swamp, no longer
ago than 1890, its transformation into the picturesque and beau-
tiful lakes empowered among the hills and resting in the hollows
of the landscape like jewels in Nature’s regal diadem, is more
marvelous than anything ever wrought by old Merlin’s magic
arts, or the witchery of Aladdin’s lamp, and one is at a loss to
know which feeling predominates in the mind, admiration for the
energy and foresight displayed by Winchester in this provision
for her future water supply, or surprise at the tremendous folly

23

of Medford in parting with her rights in the old Turkey. Swamp,
with its splendid possibilities.

So complete has been this conversion of a great swamp into a
great lake, that a stranger viewing it for the first time, would
find it hard to realize that it was not Nature’s own production,
but the handiwork of man; that wonderful versatile creature
whose plastic hands mould the elements at will, and shape the
resources of Nature to suit all the various purposes of his exist-
ence.

In the old days Turkey Swamp was a favorite nesting place
for some of the rarest of our native birds, its deep recesses and
almost impenetrable thickets affording them ample protection,
and so, when I was making my way homeward along the bor-
ders of the new lake late one afternoon last spring and heard the
plaintive notes of a lone warbler from the spray of an over-hang-
ing bush near the water’s edge, uttering its low evening song,
it seemed to me to be the inexpressibly sad requim of a bereft
spirit bewailing the loss of its old haunts, and I could not help
wishing for the old swamp once more with all its old time attrac-
tions, when the songs of the birds were blithe and cheery.

During the summer of 1884, the bed of the old swamp con-
tained an immense number of typhas, (cat-o-nine-tails), stand-
ing so close together, that as the wind stirred their ripened plumes
in the noonday sun, the swamp looked like a vast sea of surging
billows reflecting rays of burnished silver. Merely as a matter
of speculation, | made an effort to approximate the probable num-
ber of seeds there, and estimated 528,000,000,000; but the pho-
tograph which I made of the swamp at that time will, in com-
parison with those of the reservoirs shown, give a very good idea
of the character of the great change which the place has under-
gone.

Below the great dam with its magnificent green slope, Meeting
House Brook, or as the boys at one time called it, on account of
the great number of smelts that used to ascend from the river to
spawn, Smelt Brook, runs through the valley clear to the Mystic
river. When the springs are over-flowing, and the streams are
running full and free, this is the most beautiful of all our brooks.

It flows through a delightfully diversified region, and, from
early spring, when the golden cowslips are gleaming in the
swamps, to late autumn, when a few belated goldenrods and

24

astors are lingering along its banks, its attractions are continually
inviting the lover of Nature to seek its charmed retreats.

Near its outflow, into the meadow below, are some fine old
willows, and not far from there is Marm Betts’ Pond, Pasture
Hill, and the noble grove of evergreens known as Hall’s wood.

Between Hall’s woods and the brook, is a fine old orchard, and
the “Bower’’ where may still be seen the remains of the old earth
dam and sluice way where years ago, the old mill stood.

A little further up the ravine, where the brook divides into two
branches, is an interesting swamp and a confused mass of large
boulders.

Still further up, we come to a basin-like depression where the
views in either direction are especially charming,

From this point, as we follow the footpath along the top of the
bank ina northerly direction, we come to the finest specimen of
an oak tree in the Fells,

Brook’s history of Medford mentions an oak near the Bower
which was noticeable on account of its great size, but I have
never been able to locate it satisfactorily, and my good friend
Mr. Hervey thinks that it was cut down thirty or more years
ago. It is to be hoped that this one will escape a like fate. |
imagine it was some magnificent tree as this that inspired Elizur
Wright’s admirable little brochure, ‘‘The voice of a Tree.’’

A short distance from the great oak tree, another woodpath
curves along the edge of the brook to the ‘“‘Forks,’? where we
find a party testing the truth of some of the smelt stories, which
they have heard, and in the woods on the hillside to the right is
a queer rock which from certain points of view resembles a huge
frog perched on its haunches.

Some of the other special features of this section, are the Silver
Mine, near which there is a spring of delicious water, Mt. Lincoln
and the ‘‘Fire Place.’’

The latter is situated in a rocky pass to the northwest, between
Brooks Lane and Forest street and is one of the most interesting
features of this section of the Fells.

From this pass we make our way, regardless of path, through
woodland and swamp, until we reach the ravine, which leads us
round to the great ledges that reach out from Pine Hill range,
and then into the Pine Hill woodlands, we go by way of Quarry
Path, which passes between two long lines of prominent ledges
in the direction of Pine Hill.

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In the Fells there are no woodlands more dear to me than the
Pine Hill woodlands, none more lovely or fuller of those attrac-
tions which lend a charm to the seclusion of Nature’s byways,
and fill the soul with restful satisfaction and enjoyment.

For more than 20 years they have been to .me an unfailing
source of delight, and many are the floral treasures that I have
gathered in their wild swamps and ravines, where grew the pur-

ple orchids and glowing cardinals, splendid in their regal magni-

ficence of scarlet glory.

Never have I visited these incomparable woodlands, without
finding some new and unexpected phase of loveliness to repay
me and I view with indescribable feelings of pain the great scars
made by the excavations in their hillsides.

How often | have wished that | was wealthy enough to pur-
chase the whole territory between Pine and Bear Hill, and dedi-
cate it forever to the lovers of Nature.

But I rejoice to know that all the territory immediately sur-
rounding the great Turkey Swamp Reservoir, has been secured
for preservation by Winchester, and that nearly 50 acres of the
best of Pine Hill woodlands and ledges are held in reserve by
Walter and Ellen Wright, who, with the noble spirit of generos-
ity inherited from their father, propose donating this reservation
free whenever the Fells are converted into one great natural park,
as there are many reasons now to hope will soon be the case.

Diverging from Quarry path, near the old Quarry, we make
our way upward along the ferny cliffs until we reach the top of
Pine Hill, where we overlook the entire region, through which
we have made our afternoon’s ramble.

Southward lies Medford, with Chelsea beyond, and in the dis-
tance the ‘‘wrinkled sea,’’ while in the fore-ground is Bellevue,
and the fine estate of Elizur Wright.

There is a lesson to be learned from the history of this noble
elevation, (Pine Hill) that it will be well to heed. In early times
it was covered with a dense forest growth. In 1775-76 the wood
was cut off to supply the army. Twenty years later it was
again covered with a thick wood, but in 1855 the whole hill was
again stripped, and, said the historian. Brooks, ‘“‘much of its poet-
ry lost,’’. adding the quaint remark that “the earth looks best
with its beard.’’ At the present time it is again well covered
with a fait growth. ;

|
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26

Now, if this one hill left only to the wonderful recuperative
powers of Nature, could undergo these changes within so short
a time, what may not the whole range of hills be made to yield
through the judicious management of a scientific forestry com-
mission?

The question of forestry is becoming a serious one in all parts
of the country. The vandals are at work everywhere subjecting
our woodlands and forests to the most barbarous and atrocious
treatment, and their reckless and indiscriminate work of destruc-
tion cannot be checked any too soon. The preservation of the .
Middlesex Fells therefore, may be made to serve not alone the
purposes of a great natural park, but as a school of instruction in
forest culture; while its reservation will guard and protect from
pollution the water supply of the surrounding communities.

But there is still another, and a most weighty consideration
involved in this question of preserving the Fells, one that should
not be overlooked, and it is this:

The Middlesex Hills are full of the purest springs of water, and
if they can be preserved and guarded in all of their integrity, it
it will then be possible to sink numerous artesian wells from
which the surrounding communities can be supplied in times of
need, and which can be made a source of revenue for maintain-
ing intact the whole reservation. Even those who are inclined
to consider such questions from a purely utilitarian point of view,
must acknowledge the force of this consideration, and a little
reflection will show to them the further value and benefit of such
a reservation to the surrounding communities, through the in-
creased valuation of the border lands and the greater facilities for
frequent and rapid transit necessary to accommodate the con-
stantly increasing amount of public travel.

But the shadows deepen over the hills; a ruddy glow in the
western horizon, toward which the sun is rapidly hastening, ad-
monishes us that the day is drawing to a close, and that our
excursion must come to an end.

Descending the hill by way of the footpath down its southern
slope, we are soon on our way out of the Fells, though not with-
out many lingering looks behind, and frequent loiterings by the

way.
The skies soften, and grow more mellow with the approaching

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twilight, the evening songs of the birds grow sweeter and sweeter
as one by one they die away into silence; the tremulous notes of
the veery linger among the copses, and the sun sinks into rest
behind the hills as we emerge from Bellevue and turn our foot-
steps toward home.

‘Adieu, fair shades and thrilling silences,
Ye blossoming thickets vocal with sweet song.
Ye cloisters where aerial cadences
Shed lethe o’er the thought of earthly wrong.
Farewell; To human care and pain returning,
The memory of your loveliness shall rise,
Like a pure flame within thy bosom burning.
And bless the tears that fall from loneliest eyes.
I leave your stately, sculptured calm unbroken,
Yet when the shadow of despair shall fall
Upon my struggling spirit, as a token
Of love divine, your voices still shall call;
And every wandering wind that sweeps your lyres,
Find echo in the heart your song inspires.”

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