Favorite drives around Gardner

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BETTY SPRING ROAD.

Favorite Drives

Hround$ Gardner

BY

CHAREES DBD: BGOKKAGE

[LLUSTRATED FROM ORIGINAL PHOTOGRAPHS.

FROM PAPERS READ BEFORE THE MONDAY

CLUB AND GARDNER INSTITUTE.

Press OF THE GARDNER News

Company,

Copyright, 1896,
By Charles D. oe

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List of Wllustrations.

Page.

Betty Spring Road, Frontispiece.
Initial—Sedge, (Drawing ) I
Betty Spring Road, 2
Tomb of Rev. Jonathan @srood: 2
Crystal Lake, zB
Betty’s Spring, . c ; 4
Moneses, Pyrola and Pip-

sissewa, 5
Buckbean, 5
Pale Laurel, 6
Labrador Tea, 7
Oldest Cellar-hole, 8
Bed of Indian Pipe, 9
Worthington Park, 10
Azalea, II
Columbine, 12
Pogonia, 13
Calopogon, 13
Home of the Anes 14
Moccasin Flower, . : . 15
Wild Calla, 16
Andalusite Crystals, 16
Chapel Place, : 17
Purple-fringed Orchis, 18
The Woods near Crystal Lake,

(Drawing), 20
Pitcher Plant, 21
Great Green Orchis, 21
Ragged-fringed Orchis, 21
Meadow Lily, 22
Snowy Owl, 23
Old Stump Corawine)S. 24
The Kneeland Place, 25
The Bed of the Brook, (The

Cardinal Flower), 26

Page.

33. Near the Kneeland Place, 27
34. Rhodora, : 28
35. Bickford-Travers Mill- adie 29
36. Jackson House, 30
37. Twin Flower, 31
38. In the Woods by Cry sta Dake,

(Drawing), 5 Be
39-40 The Old Railroad Cee. 33
41. The Coolidge Place, . 34
42. Redemption Rock, 35
43. Redemption Rock—the

Inscription, . 36
44. Crystal Lake, (The eieen pen 5 OG)
45. Crystal Lake, (The ees

Cove), : : 38
46. Fringed Gentians, . 39
47. Closed Gentians, 4o
48. An Orchis, 4o
49. Cardinal Flower, 4o
50. The Coolidge Place, . 4I
51. Many-flowered Indian Pipe, 41
52. Skull, (Drawing), . 42
53. The Whispering Pines, A3
54. Bailey Brook, 44
55. Lake Denison, 45
56. Blueberry Blossoms, 46
57. Beryl Mine, 47
58. Lake Denison, 48
59. Ladies’ Tresses, 49
60. White-fringed Orchis, 50
61. Tomahawk, (Tail-piece), . 51
62. Map of Roads of Gardner,
63. Map of Early Settlers,

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Favorite Drives Hround Gardner.

‘‘T have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour .
Of thoughtless youth.”
— Wordsworth.

)

everlasting out of nature.’
— Thomas Starr King.

SV UR hill-town of Gardner, situated on the highest
\ part of the backbone of the state, on the crest
of the ridge between Wachusett and Monad-
nock, is 1200 feet above the sea, and in sum-
mer all the breezes of New England fan her
brow. ‘The waters flow away in every direc-
tion; to the west by Otter River, to the north by Miller’s River, to the
east by the Nashua, and to the south by a branch of the Ware River.
The roof-tree of more than one house in Gardner divides the rain drops
as they fall, to send part to the Connecticut and the Sound, and part to
the ocean above Cape Ann. No wonder she can boast the best record
in the Commonwealth for the smallest percentage of deaths from con-
sumption. Built on the tops of her seven hills, whichever way we go
is ‘‘down-hill.’’ Winchendon lies 200 feet below to the north and 400
feet to the west; Templeton from 400 feet below at Baldwinville to only

2

100 feet at the Centre, on the brow of Dolbier hill; Hubbardston and
Westminster, 200 feet below, and Ashburnham on the east, where the

“The birds sing in the branches.”

famous in New England.

villages are, 200 feet below, while Fitch-
burg, twelve miles away, lies 700 feet below.

Gardner has many pleasant drives
through the woods within and beyond her
borders, and the stranger may safely take
any road, confident that he will find beauties
on every side; dark woods inviting him to
their cool recesses ; silvery streams reflect-
ing the enchantments of the sylvan shades
on their banks; flowers in profusion on
either hand, in all the colors of the rain-
bow; and from every hill-top views rivall-
ing in magnificence the choicest and most
For not even from famous Round Hill,

in Northampton, looking down upon the wide Connecticut meadows,
with the ribbon of the river winding through them, nor from the Berk-
shire Hills around the Lenox bowl, nor from the Blue Hills of Milton,
half lost in soft haze from the ocean, are there afforded such glorious
and extensive views of hills, woods, lakes and mountains—the peculiar
charm of the New England landscape—as those from our own Gard-

ner hills.

‘ach drive has its special charm, however ;

ticular view, another because the haunt of a rare
wild flower that grows nowhere else, and others
because of the stories of the deserted ‘‘ cellar-
holes’’ by the way, marking the sites of ancient
homesteads.

The drives around Gardner are beautiful
because they are through a country still left to
nature, where the brush by the roadside screens
the fields, and the woods have not seen the
woodman’s axe fora generation. Every year
sees some great tract of woodland despoiled of
its royal crown, but every year also sees old
sprout lots become full-grown woods, that hide
the heavens from us as we eagerly seek their
depths. Even before the trees grow large enough
to choke to death the berry bushes they invited

one because of a par-

Tomb of Rev. Jonathan Osgood,
The First Settled Minister.

in their struggling youth, we rejoice with them in their coming glory.

CRYSTAL LAKE.

BETTY’S SPRING.

5

The Betty Spring Road.
When

‘“The south wind wanders from field to forest,

And softly whispers, ‘ The Spring is here,”’
we first of all turn our horse’s head eastward, passing from the busy
town streets at once into the shade of the overhanging and ‘‘ venerable
woods’’ at Betty’s Spring, the choicest spot in Gardner, where the
_ birds sing in the branches, and, at
fevening, the plaintive cry of the
| whip-poor-will echoes the shrill call
fof the quail. In the early part of
ithe present century, two Indians,

Moneses. Pyrola. Pipsissewa.

Betty and her husband Jonas, last of
their tribe, lived on the side-hill
above the spring since called by her
name, in the cottage built by one of
the early settlers, John Miles. Only
the cellar now remains. Before this
they lived a few rods beyond the
railroad crossing on the right, on
the Beech Hill road, where faint

traces of the cellar may still be

Buckbean.

found in the woods. Afterwards,
with a nephew named Jodorus, they moved to the Temple place on
Green street, and died there. In the shadow of the woods by Betty’s

Spring, beneath the great trees,
‘Huge trunks and each particular trunk a growth
Of intertwisted fibres serpentine
Upceurling and inveterately convolved,”’

6

benjamins ( 777//ium erectum ) abound, and the painted trillium ( 77z/-
lium erythrocarpum ) with its white face. Here we find the mayflower
(Epigwa repens) nestling in its bed of snow, and Jack-in-the-pulpit
( Arisea triphyllum) preaching to hundreds of his brothers. A
little later the whole hillside under the century-old trees blossoms
out, for the foam flower ( 7Yarella cordifolia) and the Canada May-
flower ( Jatanthemum Canadense) hide the many violets as they
change from yellow to white and to purple, and the glad yellow of the
Clintonia borealis grows richer in the moss. Here, in summer, the

Pale Laurel.

wax-like members of the heath family tempt us by their profusion, for
the shin-leaf, or lily-of-the-valley ( Pyrola elliptica ) grows in beds by
the side of the shining-leaved Princes’ pine, or Pipsissewa (Chzmeophila
umbellata ), near the beautiful, one-flowered pyrola ( Joneses grandt-
flora), and their degenerate cousin, the parasitic Indian pipe ( J/ono-
tropa uniflora ), the ghost-flower, or corpse plant, hides its pure white
stalks in the depths of the woods among the dead leaves. The brook
at the edge of the woods runs murmuring through the meadow and
loses itself beneath the heavy growth beyond. On the hillside huge
boulders lie strewn about in picturesque abandon, as if just from the

hands of giants wearied in play. From the woods little streams come
trickling to the meadow, making nooks and dells and glens, where the
ferns, undisturbed, speak in every delicate frond, of the sanctity of

Labrador Tea.

nature inviolate, and the harsh noises from the town’s pushing,

hustling

g, money-inaking factories sink into softness, recalling man’s

universal kinship. These rough, worn hill-sides, scarred and seamed

8

by storms, and covered with the growths of a century, with their grassy
knolls and beds of flowers, inviting retreats and shady nooks, appeal to
the desire for rest and peace instinctive in us all, a longing becoming
pathetic in its intensity in such a busy, hard-working town as Gardner.

“These shades
Are still the abodes of gladness; the thick roof
Of green and stirring branches is alive
And musical with birds, that sing and sport
In wantonness of spirit.”

a!
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The Uldest Cellar-Hole.

On the left from Pearl street, half a mile from the road, almost
hidden by the bushes growing around it, is the oldest cellar-hole in
Gardner, and the only one whose history is lost. The eighteen-inch
stump of a pine tree that grew in its centre indicates an abandonment
lone before the settlement of the town. A few narrow, hand-made
brick of ancient pattern and the iron crane that once hung in the stone
chimney, attest the presence of a white man, as does the deep cellar
itself ; but all else is gone forever.

In these woods a favored maiden once found the rare white ladies’
slipper ( Cypripedium candidum ), perhaps the only one ever found in
Worcester County.

“ddild NVIGON! 3O G38 V

Io

Just beyond the town ‘‘dump’’ on Pearl street, on the knoll, is
a cellar hole once occupied by the house of Bezaleel Hill, who left town
in 1812. He was a famous inventor, an original of Darius Green, as
he invented a flying machine and, with great wings on his arms, leaped
from his second-story window. ‘The story runs that he said the flying
was all right, but it was the stopping that hurt.

Slowly we leave these woods

‘““Where, when the sunshine struck a yellow shade
The rugged trunks, to inward peeping sight
Thronged in dark pillars up the gold green light,”’

to drive straight on to Westminster, all the way a delight.

Worthington Park.

The delicate wild geranium ( Geranium maculatum ) and, in sum-
mer, the wood lily ( Leltum Philadelphicum ) and clover head polygala
( Polygala sanguinea ) brighten the roadside with their beds of color.
Or we may turn through Temple street and go under the railroad to
climb Barber hill, and then by little-used roads past Tophet swamp to
the village of Westminster, returning through the woods and swamps
on the ‘‘turnpike’’ to South Gardner, picking the white swamp honey-
suckle ( Rhododendron viscosum) blooming in the very midst of the

193

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AZALEA,.

12

waters, and the snake’s head ( Chelone glabra ) showing white in the
edge of the woods.

The old County road did not run through these swamps, but bore
off to the south, passing over the hill above the Baptist church, past
Wright's mill and on the side hill just below the original Jonathan
Greenwood house, a route long ago discontinued and now almost oblit-
erated.

Near the old cellar-hole on the top of Wright’s hill, where the
first house (burned in 1808) built by Joseph Wright stood, is the

Columbine.

ancient well, and by its side a large stone with a circular hollow in its
top that the family used for many years as a wash basin. It was possi-

bly in use before their. time by the Indians as a mortar for grinding
corn.

The Old Quag.

A visit, one day in early spring, to the ‘‘old quag’’ by the railroad,
near East street, a favorite resort of the village boys for generations,
rewarded us with the purple blossoms of the pitcher-plant (Sarracenia
purpurea ); the fresh and attractive white stalks of the buckbean
(Menyanthes trifoliata), a rare flower in Worcester County, at first
sight suggesting an orchid; the slender and delicate white Sydlacina
trifolia, which almost unconsciously is called Lily-of-the-valley ; from

13

the fringe of bushes at the land’s edge, the woolly-leaved Labrador tea
(Ledum latifolium ), a rare and radiant shrub found in few towns in the
county, and the bell blossoms of the low-bush blueberry ( Vaccintum
vacillans ). Here, beside
the brilliant blossoms of the
rhodora (Rhododendron rho-
dora) that lighten the bleak
bareness of the bushes just
budding into leaf, in the
middle of the swamp, just
above the water we find,
also, an earlier and exceed-
ingly graceful sister of the
mountain laurel, the delt-
Cate tragcile pale laurel
( Aalmia glauca We. The
treacherous moss sinks deep
into the water as we cross
it, and the air-holes catch

us, drawing us into their

Pogonia.

depths until we fairly gasp
at the rush of cold waters, the thick, slimy ooze under the tangled
roots holding the feet with almost overpowering suction. But it is a
rich treasure house of flowers, a delight anda joy to remember forever
after—just such a bed as would attract the con
fairest and daintiest of New England’s ra ae ee]
jewels—the brightest colored and choicest : =

of the flowers.

Pearl street, itself, leads to Ashburn-
ham Centre and Meeting-house Hill, with | opal
its wonderful views. It is well worth climb- ae
ing the great hill to stand on the north
brow and look across the Naukeags with
their wooded islands, ‘‘when the gold of &%
evening meets the dusk of night;’’ a view
unsurpassed, save, perhaps, on Lake ime a

George. On the way home, in late sum-
mer, we find a rattlesnake orchis ( Good- ser We
vera pubescens ) by the roadside, and note the curious mark-
ings of the leaves. We may drive straight on from Pearl street to the

very edge of the town, to Worthington 'Park, at the end of the road,

14

THE HOME OF THE AZALEA.

15

and looking at the fire-scorched ruins, reflect upon the transitory mna-
ture of all earthly plans. Between the high cellar-walls the fireweed
( Epilobium augustifolium ) glows with brilliant color, contrasting with
the blackened trunks of the ancient trees.

Then to the right, down the steep hill, we ride for an hour or
more, on winding roads, through thicket and brush,

‘““A land of trees, which reaching round about,
In shady blessing stretched their old arms out,

With spots of sunny openings,”’

Moccasin Flower.

in the shade of maple, pine and oak woods, silent, cool, and filled with

beauties, where
‘The pines are whispering in the breeze
Whispering—then hushing, half in awe—

Their legends of primeval seas,”’

emerging finally upon the broad highway in the middle of Ashburn-
ham, to return through the long village street at the Junction.

16

Chapel Street.

Or, we may take the Beech Hill road to Westminster, and, on the
right, enter an abandoned road that plunges at once into brush and
brier, where the tall grass reaches to the carriage. Ona low rise of
land fronting the shining rails of the railroad, are the cellar-holes of
several buildings, with fruit trees run wild around them. Cherries
hang ripe and red on the
trees ; lilac bushes, luxuri-
ant in their abandonment,
flaunt their colors on either
side above the cellar, where
the decaying timbers are
overrun with raspberries,
the fruit large, rich and
tempting. But when we
learn the story ofthe place,
we remember with regret.
Many years ago this was
a thriving New England
farm, with sons and daugh-
ters around the hearthstone
looking forward to life’s

Siac: blessings. ‘To this house-

hold disease suddenly came
—a foul and loathsome disease that struck down one after another, and
drove in horror every friend and neighbor from them. ‘The father,
taken ill, died of small-pox, and was hastily buried on the farm itself.
The house became as if accursed. Provisions were brought only to
the wall down the road. Inn-
agine, if you can, the last sad
scene of this pitiful history,
when the mother, alone with

her sick, in her sorrow and
almost broken by the strain of Andalusite Crystals.
her weeks of watching, stood OG ey Takes)

all one night by the bedside of her dying child. ‘Then she went away
forever. So the buildings were left to decay, with a horror attached,
that for years has kept all human kind away from them, leaving the

lonely graves to grow each passing year more lonely, —

17

‘““Where roses blossomed, branches now o’erspread ;
The mournful ruins bid the spirit weep,
The broken fragments stay the passing tread.”’

On the left is where a soldier in the French and Indian wars set-
tled, Chapel, for whom the street was named. He died in 1820, at the
age of one hundred and three years, the oldest person who has died in
Gardner.

The swamp across the railroad entices us with its promises of hid-
den treasures, for here from the sphagnum moss in the water, among

Saba EL AO

‘““Where Roses Blossomed.”’

the white blossoms of the cranberry ( Vaccin?um macrocarpon ), spring
one of the prettiest of the orchis family, the pink flower of the beauti-
ful beard ( Pogonia ophioglossiodes,. And its beautiful sister, the In-
dian pink ( Calopogon pulchellus ) is near, its rich purple blossoms con-
trasting strangely delicate beside the cat-tails. Careless of everything,
save the delight of communing with Nature in her home, we wade far
out into the treacherous waters to find the wild calla ( Cala palustris )
hiding its pure white petals in the very heart of the swamp, reserving
its beauties for those who love it and seek it in its retreat. In early
spring the flower masses of white almost cover the waters—a beautiful
picture.

18

We may goon over Beech hill to enjoy the views, or turn sharply
to the right to cross the country to the Betty Spring road near West-
minster, returning laden with flowers, and listening to

‘The breeze murmuring in the musical woods

Where the embowering trees recede, and leave
A little space of green expanse.”’

The Worth Roads.

From the Windsor House as a starting point, we drive north ex-
pectantly, for the woods run together for miles and the houses are few.
We may go to the right over Matthews’ hill, with berries in abundance

The Purple Fringed Orchis at Home.

on either side, and keep on through the swamp, past ancient home-
steads indicated by abandoned cellar-holes, to Pearl street; or go north
to the end of the road at the Nashua reservoir, enjoying every rod of
the wooded drive.

But when the day is young and we want a long drive, we go on
past the great elm at Page’s (the largest in Gardner ) through woods

that seldom see a carriage, where
‘* * * fantastic aisles
Wind from the sight in brightness and are lost
Among the crowded pillars,’’

19

over a brush-grown road that leads for miles without a house, through

the swamps, where, in June,
“The Atlantic June,

Whose calendar of perfect days is kept
By daily blossoming of some new flower.”’
the azalea ( Rhododendron nudiflorum ) blooms on acres and acres of
bushes, where the moccasin flower, or lady’s slipper ( Cypripedium
acaule), another of the orchis family, boasts its careless wealth of
color, and where the columbine ( Aguzleg7a Canadensis ), daintiest and
most graceful of flowers, welcomes us to her home on the fern-covered
bank. Every little while we passa deserted ‘‘ cellar-hole’’ and tell
again the varying life histories of their former owners ; some sad, some
tragic, all pathetic. All the way we delight inthe profusion of flowers,
for the pyrola and its white sisters lie in beds about us, the Indian-pipe
is under almost every bush and by every log, while the one-flowered
pyrola, the exquisite star of the M/oneses grandiflora, forces an excla-
mation of genuine pleasure from us, when we see a great bed of its
pure white, waxy petals under the spreading branches of a pine.
Abundant in this vicinity, it is unknown elsewhere in the county. The
swamps in the woods fairly glow with the beautiful blossoms of the
purple-fringed orchis ( Habenarta fimbriata ), most precious and most
sought-for of all the season’s flowers. How the heart thrills at the
first sight of the delicate, fragile blossoms gleaming white against the
dark background of the woods. Here in the dense woods, where the
sun never shines,
‘‘In the deep glen, or the close shade of pines,”’

we find the great green orchis ( Habenaria orbiculata ), whose large,
full-orbed leaves add to its royal dignity.

At the four corners we can go west to force a narrow way through
brush that sadly scratches the carriage to the little red schoolhouse on
the main Winchendon road; and once we used to go east to the Junc-
tion, but now the road is discontinued. Here in the swamps, the curt-
ous fly-trap, or pitcher plants ( Savracenia purpurea ), grow in hundreds
and we watch them

‘« How at the dawn they wake, and open wide
Their little petal windows ”’
safe here from all intrusion by man, and

‘“The passion they express all day
In burning color, steals forth with the dew

All night in odor.’
and the ragged fringed-orchis ( Habenaria lacera) keeps them com-
pany. Sowe keep straight on to leave the woods at last at the Astor

20

‘‘Leafless are the trees; their purple branches
Spread themselves abroad, like reefs of coral rising silent
In the Red Sea of the winter sunset.”’

21

House, the old tavern on the turnpike at Burrageville, in North Ash-
burnham, the home of the yellow meadow or Canada lily, the fairies’
or witches’ cap (Lilium Canadense), whose branched stems and
graceful drooping bells remind us of candelabra in some ancient
cathedral. The meadows and even the roadside are rich to prodigality
with the golden bells, and the delicate, smaller purple fringed-orchis
(Habenaria psycodes) growing
‘* Beside a brook in mossy forest dell”’

hardly lessens our admiration by the glory of its richer beauty. By the
bridge we once picked a
meadow-rue ( 7halictrum

large cluster of purple
purpurascens), more
sister. We return by
the little red school-

delicate than its graceful
the great mill-dam and
house, where the roads
side, ina little way, corner
eight different roads at
its own peculiar and
is the old toll-road, bring-

corner, and on either
in fours again, making
our service, each with
inviting charms. One
ing us out near the
climbs the great hill,
under

Town Farm; another
and passing for miles

Pitcher Plant. Ragged Fringed Orchis.

Great Green Orchis.

‘“green-robed senators of mighty woods,
Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars

”

becomes Stone street, in Gardner, one of the prettiest drives in town;
and by another we go to old Winchendon to enjoy a particularly fine
view of Monadnock on the way.

All through these woods we catch glimpsés of the brown rabbit
hopping along in front of us, and every little while the whir-r-r of the
partridge startles us from our reveries. Once we drove into the midst

22

of a young family, and instantly the mother-bird fluttered by the
carriage, apparently hurt unto death, causing eager pursuit through
the bushes until she had led us a safe distance; then, recovering, she
flew far away; we almost fancied we heard a laugh as she left us. Her
little, brown-backed children hid themselves under the brush, keeping
absolutely quiet while we stood over them watching their nervous

heart throbbings.

Meadow Lily.

The long, bushy tail of the fox is sometimes seen disappearing

9

through the bushes ahead, indicating ‘‘ good hunting’’ here, and the
dust in summer and the snow in winter bear the imprint of the raccoon
in almost perfect imitation of a baby’s foot.

The red squirrel abounds, for nuts are plenty, and, with the wood-
pecker for company, an occasional chipmunk or rare gray squirrel fill
the woods with life.

iS)
WwW

SNOWY OWL,

24

Otters once frequented the river named from them, Otter River, and
are still found there; a wildcat was recently killed near the Nashua
reservoir, and a Snowy Owl, from Canada, in 1882 strayed to its death
on Glazier Hill. Ttwo or three deer have visited here in late years,
probably driven south by the severe winters.

The Kneeland ADaids.

Crime, sorrow, disease, the wrong of man to man, and man
to woman have not spared our peaceful town in the century of its
life, and the dense growth of its great woods, for miles seldom trodden
by man, hide many a dark mystery, the shame of many a crime.

As we drive through the West Village with its thronging homes,
we turn aside, near the curve in the railroad, to visit a gravel-knoll
half a mile from the road, secluded and covered with wood. On this

The Kneeland Place.

low hill, (debris of a moraine dating from the glacial epoch) a hunter,
a few years since, found in the shade of a tree a withered human body,
with a rope around the neck and a broken end hanging from a limb
overhead. He had lain there two or three years, unknown, unseen,
perhaps never missed. The mystery of the suicide remains to this day
unsolved, and, buried on the spot, the sleep of the faint-heart continues
unbroken under the tree he chose, in a lonely and soon-to-be-forgotten
grave.

We linger a moment near here, in the bed of the brook, to rejoice
in the wealth of flowers that greets us on every side, for the purple
monkey-face (A/imulus ringens) hides under the bushes, with the

26

skull-cap (Scutellaria galericulata) beside it; near by the dainty blue
and yellow of the ‘‘ruby grape of Proserpine,’’ the nightshade (.So/-
anum dulcamara) hangs close to to the golden blossoms of the jewel-
weed (/upatiens pallida); below us the pool is white with arrow head
( Saggttaria variabilis) ; from our feet rises a great club of thorough-

‘The red pennons of the cardinal
flowers

Hang motionless upon their upright
staves.”’
wort, or boneset ( Aupatorium perfoliatum ), while in the foreground
the brilliant cardinal-flower ( Lobelia cardinalis), High Priest of the
Tabernacle, stands stately, erect and magnificent in all the bright glory
of its coloring.

Then on through the valley, where the swamp flowers abound,
white lies he in the sun, and, late in the summer, great beds of purple
asters, harbingers of autumn, fill the roadside with their masses of star-
like blossoms. Turning to the right in East Templeton, we swing
rapidly down the long, exhilerating curves of the hill to Bailey brook,
through woods that the twin-flower ( Lzxn@a borealis) loves, and the

27

air is filled with its fragrance—one of the flowers that conduce to
thought, through which
“Ever the words of the gods resound ;
But the porches of man’s ear
Seldom, in this life’s low round,
Are unsealed, that he may hear.”
The twin-flower is no longer found in Worcester county outside of the
few northern towns, so the great beds in Gardner are especially inter-
esting.
As we return on the circuit, at the head of Parker’s pond and the
junction of Wilder and Kneeland brooks, almost within sound of the

Near the Kneeland Place.

busy life of Gardner, we find, by the foot of a tall tree, a faint cellar-
hole marking the site of the home of the Kneeland Maids. ‘They were
two aged sisters, daughters of Timothy Kneeland, one of the earliest
settlers in Gardner, found beaten to death in their beds in March, 1855.
The buildings were destroyed by fire the following May, and a crime
that filled the whole state with horror, and caused, to the timid, fear
and apprehension for many a long year thereafter—a crime that was as
brutal and cowardly as any in the history of the Commonwealth, went
unpunished by man, and after forty years leaves the ashes of a once
‘happy home its only reminder.

Or keep on through East ‘Templeton, turning to look at the great
blossoms on the tulip-tree ( Liviodendron tulipifera ) at the corner of the
Parkhurst house-lot, and as you climb the long Ladder hill, note an

28

RHODORA.

29

especially attractive view—Gardner and its multitude of houses framed
in by the walls of earth. All roads that are before you are invit-
ing, but if you have the time, go down into and across the Ware River
valley, through the Four Corners, and swing home through Phillipston
Centre and Goulding Village, across the Great Meadows, where pout
and pickerel thrive. On such a trip, if in late July, one may find, ina
hollow between the Phillipston hills, a great cluster of purple loose-
strife ( Lythrum salicaria ) crowning the marsh, standing as brilliantly
erect as in its native land in the days of Ophelia.

Bickford-Travers Mill-Dam.

“There is a willow grows aslant a brook
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream,
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow flowers, nettles, daisies and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them.”

To get far away fromthe noise of the town, turn south from East
Templeton to Hubbardston, over Mine hill. The road terraces the
steep hillside, with precipitous depths beneath in the shadows of the
woods; the curves under the hill reminding us of the famous Geyser

30

grade. Here the railing is for actual use, and we can almost level with
our eyes the top of the tall hemlock that grows just below the road.
‘“Steep is the side * * * shaggy and wild

With mossy trees and pinnacles of flint
And many a hanging crag.”’

It makes little difference whether you return by the way of Ragged
hill and through the long woods below the Pail Factory, where the
Mayflower ( /:figwa repens ) first blooms every spring, and ‘‘the green
vistas arch like the hollows of mighty waves of some crystalline sea ;”’
or go on through Hubbardston in a wilderness of drives; a glorious
prospect, with woods and ponds alternating in an unending pageant of
pleasure. The wild calla ( Calla palustris) haunts the swamps, and
we pick several varieties of tick-trefoil as we drive along. ‘The morn*
ing-glory ( Convolvulus Americanus ) bells cover the walls and rock-
piles, and the wild bean ( Apios tuberosa) barricades the banks. Re-
turning from Hubbardston with a bunch of brilliant red Oswego tea-
heads ( A7onarda didyma ) we drive slowly by the old mill-dam of the
Bickford mill, the first built in town, destroved by fire August 20, 1895.
On Kendali hill, behind the station, where the old turnpike crossed the
brow of the hill, a few elms still stand sentinel over the site of the
Jackson house, the first house built in Gardner. Here the ‘ bright
chalices’’ of the painted-cup ( Castilleta coccinea ) glow

“Tnithe green like flakes of fire,’’

its scarlet tufts
“Tinted thus to hold the dew for fairies.’’

From photo by F. H. Brown,

Jackson House.
Built 1764"

On Gla3ter Hill.

One of the earliest settlers had the courage (and love of nature )
to build his house on the top of Glazier hill, where the reservoir now
is. He sold in 1772, to John Glazier, from whom the hill takes its
present name. The house now stands on Morrill street, and is the
oldest in town. In it was held the first town meeting in Gardner. As
we climb the hill, the winding road brings us fresh surprises at every
turn, for we are on a great pyramid with all the Commonwealth spread
out before us, and

* * ® « * “The mountains that infold

In their wide sweep, the colored landscape round,
Seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold,
That guard the enchanted ground.”’

Twin Flower.

From the first blush of morning, mantling the face of Wachusett,
standing huge and solitary in the plain, twelve miles away to the south,
to the last red arrow shot by the setting sun against the dark blue mass
of Monadnock, watchman of the Northern hills, one of the

‘“Mountain columns with which earth props heaven;”’

from the faint gray
‘‘The pure mist—the pity of the sea
Coming as a soft white hand,”’
to curtain the beds of the flowers in the swamps in early morning, to
the drawing of the fog-covers over the rivers, reflecting golden glories

co)

32

of the sky at sunset; we watch the wonderful transformations, as the
sun lights up the woodlands, shadows the long lines of hills, and turns
the

‘Waters resting in the embrace of the wide forest,”’

into quivering glowing quicksilver, instinct with life, and color and

beauty
‘“A hundred hills their dusky backs upheaved

All over this still ocean; and beyond
Far, far beyond, the solid vapour stretched
In headlands, tongues and promontory shapes,’’
and all the fair land at our feet reminds us of the gardens of Armidas
of which Tasso sings,
‘*Still lakes of silver, streams that murm’ring crept,
Hills, on whose sloping brows the sunbeams slept ;
Luxuriant trees, that various forms displayed,
And valleys, grateful with refreshing shade ;
Herbs, flow’rets, gay with many a gaudy dye,
And wood, and arching grottos meet the eye.”’

Last of Its Race.

33

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34

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Redemption Rock.

An eight-mile drive takes us through Westminster by the left side
of Wachusett Lake, near the foot of Wachusett Mountain, to the
broad-topped Redemption rock, just by the roadside; its further side
twenty feet above the grass. The inscription on its face tells its story.

From Photo. Redemption Rock.

We may everywhere find flowers, rare and beautiful, but we have
a choice as to where to go at different seasons. On Lynde hill, in the
very heart of the town, the hepaticas ( Hefatica striloba ) grow

‘“When spring unlocks the flowers to paint
the laughing soil; ”’
Checkerberries, or wintergreen, ( Gaultheria procumbens ) redden Bick-
ford’s or Parker’s hill, with their abundance; and in summer the
smaller orchid, ladies’ tresses (.SAzvanthes gracilis) twists through the
dying grasses on Glazier hill. By Crystal Lake the white laurel ( Aa/-
mia latifolia) and the lamb-kill, or sheep laurel (Aa/mia augustifolia )
relieve the darkness of the woods ; the American brooklime ( Veronzca

36

Americana) shields itself from prying eyes; and in the fields on the
hillsides rising from its waters, we find the pimpernel (Axagallis
arvensis) and the corn cockle (Lychnis githago). ‘The fringed polygala
(Polygala paucifolia) grows abundantly on Greenwood Hill. The
maiden hair fern is no longer found in Gardner, but still flourishes in
some favored spots in Templeton. The wood anemone (Anemone
nemorosa), the ‘‘wind-flower,’’ grows in great abundance in the low
land near the pail factory; the European hawkweed (//eractum auran-
tiacum), ‘‘the devil’s paint-brush,’’ may be found on the roads to the
east, and the rhodora (Rhododendron rhodora), brilliantly beautiful in
its purple brightness, may be found on every hill and in every swamp.
On one road to the north is a quarter-acre lot that is fairly covered with
these bushes, every one a mass of color, in the spring. The beautiful
white fringed orchis (//abenaria blephariglottis) lines the edge of one
swamp on East street, and is found in several others. Beech-drops, a
curious parasite ( Lpiphegus Virginiana ) are abundant in the woods
by Crystal Lake.

From Photo. The Inscription.
Redemption Rock.

Oy

« NMVG 3SHL AO AVYD SHI NI isnr,,

‘uad-dasys ayy

Upper Cove.

‘Take of the hills, where cool and

sweet,
Thy sunset waters lie.’’

Around Crystal Lake.

For a varied and interesting drive start from Monument Square
and go past the green lawns on the hill, past the smooth, rich fields of
the Heywood Farm, and turn to the left. Crystal Lake lies before us
as a brilliant jewel, with its setting of green; to the north, Monadnock,

Fringed Gentian.

— =

black and forbidding, bars the view. By
the lakeside, in September, we chance
upon the latest, and almost the fairest of
the season’s flowers—the wary, fringed
gentian (Gentiana crinita)

“colored with heaven’s own blue,’

the flower of which the poet sings,

“Four plumes from the bluebird’s wing, as fast
to the south he flew

The Angel of Flowers caught them up as they
fell in the autumn dew,

And shaped with a twirl of her fingers this spire
of feathery blue.’’

By its side is the slender-twisted white
orchis, ladies’ tresses (Spzvanthes cernua.)
Harlier in the year, the strange sundew
(Drosera rotundifolia), with carniverous
leaves feeding on insects attracted by the
sweet ‘‘dew’’ that glistens like a tiny web
of diamond dust, raises its drooping head
in the meadow farther north, and a great
bed of wood-sorrel (Oxvalis acetosella) lights
up the roadside at the archway under the
trees. The rose-like blossoms of the purple

flowering raspberry (Rebus odoratus), a plant somewhat uncommon in
Worcester County, attracts us to its home under some great oaks
and chestnuts, where its abundance gives it unusual dignity; while
over our heads, the golden woodpecker and oriole fly back and forth.
From our windows in the winter we look out on the snow depths after

40

a severe ‘‘cold spell’’ to watch the little brown Labrador birds hopping
in the branches, for they only come in the coldest. of mid-winter, from
their far northern home. From the edge of the woods we gather a
large bunch of closed gentians ( Gentiana Andrewsii ), the

Closed Gentians.

‘Flower all elusive, guarding alike from the
rain and the sun
The mystical heart of thyself,”
to brighten the rooms at home for
**Seven threads of light
Morning’s gold and evenings’ red,
Braided with the starry night,”’

week after week, sometimes keep-
ing fresh and bright with undimmed
color for fiveor six weeks. In sum-
mer we follow the road through

fields fragrant with flowers and ber-

An Orchis.

ries. The bushes are blue with
high bush blueberries ; great clusters of blackberries Cardinal Flower.
hang coyly under the leaves, and

41

‘“ Along the roadside, like the flowers of gold
That tawny Incas for their gardens wrought,
Heavy with sunshine droops the goldenrod,”’
the flower most typical of sturdy American energy and independence,
throwing to the breeze its graceful richness of delicacy and color
branch of brilliant maple leaves, rival-

4 ling the sunset in hue, waves gently
‘to and fro, a warning of the chill of
+ winter soon to come. ‘Two great elms,
| guarding a deserted homestead at
the end of the road, indicate the long
battle with fortune fought by one of
/the early settlers of Gardner. The
grass under the great trees, dried by
the fierce August heats, invites us to
its soft embrace,

«ce * * * bright clouds,
Motionless pillars of the brazen heaven,—
Their bases on the mountains—their white
tops
Shining in the far ether,—fire the air
With a reflected radiance,’’

Bs and we rejoice in all the glorious

* wealth of display and generous pro-

i fusion of the waning of a New Eng-
land summer.

In the darkest corner of the dark
woods we seek and find another of
the ghost flower family, the many-
flowered Indian pipe ( J/onotropa hy-
popitys ).

Beautiful as the location is, the
desolation of the fine old homestead
strikes us to the heart, and the sense
of loneliness grows within us when we
learn that. a few years since, there
was found under the bushes by the

road, where it had been hidden for
more than sixty years, a skeleton, otis
with a bullet-hole through the grin- Indian Pipe.
ning skull. The careful concealment ( Many-flowered.)

42

of the body forbids a charitible solution and couples the dreadful
bullet-hole with crime alone. The silence of sixty years grows into
the silence of eternity, and the white bones of the victim may rest
peacefully in a soon forgotten grave ; the momentary uncovering of the
tragedy excites only passing comment, and the curtain falls as the in-
cident sinks into oblivion.

HH,

43

“The whispering pines meet in converse.”

44

« WUdIaMJoq IpeYs UL po[[O4 IOATI oY,
‘Taas SeYSIA AMOT[IM YHnNOIY} “YIP y % x

Bailey Brook and Dake Denison.

But when the spirit moves you some bright day in early summer
when the sun’s heat hastens all vegetation forward, drive west through
“Little Canada,’’ by Crystal Lake, and see the floating hearts ( Lzm-
nanthemum lacunosum ) covering the surface, with the slender pipewort
(Lriocaulon septangulare) thrusting its white points beside them.

The White Beach, Lake Denison.

Go past Bailey brook, with its vistas of reflections and promises of
autumnal glories in the foliage on its banks, where
“Down bend the banks, the trees depending
grow,
And skies beneath with answering colours
glow,”’
past the meadows, yellow in spring with cowslip blossoms ( Ca/tha
palustris) and the golden ragwort ( Sexecio aureus), down the long hill
where the rhodora grows, its frail, naked blossoms hghting up the
whole bleak pasture, on down to the head of the Reservoir, where the
whispering pines meet in converse overhead, and form

i eed pilanedusiade
Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue,”’’

46

we find a rich treasury of flowers. Let the horse walk awhile, for the
yellow clover ( 77¢folium agrarium ) is sweet here, and earlier in the
year the brilliant red of the fringed polygala ( Polygala paucifolia )
catches the eye. An old stump, cut when the pond was first flowed,
has a tiny seedling pine starting from its top, delighting the children

when it is pointed out asa ‘‘curiosity.’’? From this pond great turtles

Blueberry Blossoms.

come, one huge fellow weighing over fifty pounds, with a shell over
two feet in diameter.

We stop here under the pines, and, looking across the waters of the
stumpy pond, see the Templeton hills in the distance; behind us the
road disappearing in a vista whose beauty lingers in our memory for
many a day thereafter. Here from the swampy, brush-grown recesses
of the woods, we pluck the purple fringed orchis (//abenaria jimbriata).
Here the ground is white with wax flowers, the pyrolas, pipsissewa and
moneses, the bunchberry ( Cornus Canadensis) and the delicate stars
of the Dalibarda repens.

47

We may go north through Winchendon, south through Templeton,
or go straight on through Mill Glen to Lake Denison, a famous ancient
resort of the Indians, and the home of the white water-hly (Vymphaca
odorata ), which grows here in thousands.

‘“God’s plans like lilies pure and white unfold,
We must not tear the close shut leaves apart,
Time will reveal the calyxes of gold.”’

The Beryl Mine.

Near the lake is the ford across Miller’s river, beside which Mrs. Row-
landson camped with the Indians on her return to Wachusett for ran-
som, the soldiers abandoning the pursuit on the farther shore. Beyond
the lake, a by-road follows the abandoned bed of the railroad, whose
course was changed to the other side of the river. It runs straight as
an arrow for nearly two miles, at one time high above the swamp on an
embankment, at another cutting through a rocky hill, where ledges
tower above our heads

‘“Huge pillars that in middle heaven uprear
Their weather-beaten capitals.”’

Overgrown with brush, uncared for, in the spring axle-deep in water

.peredsiyM pue paavm soysnd oY} ao
‘pa}VOY SolI]-19}VM 9} 919M ,,

49

at one end, a drive on such a road is an inspiration to the tired worker,

and
‘“The calm shade
Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze
That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm
To thy sick heart.’’

Whether you go on to the beryl-mine, or the granite quarry in Royal-
ston, or visit Doane’s or Forbes’ falls, or remain quietly at Lake Deni-

Ladies’ Tresses.

son to fish and pick lilies, and dig in the pure, white sand, makes
little difference, for

“« * * * All that is most beauteous is imaged there

In happier beauty; more pellucid streams,

An ampler ether, a diviner:air,
And fields invested with purpureal gleams.”’

The passing of the seasons is reflected in the flowers by the way-
side, and as the heart thrills at the sight of the first mayflower in the
spring, so it is chilled by the coming of the golden-rod in the early
autumn. The colors of the prevailing flowers change, too, as the sea-
sons wane, for the delicate white and yellow of the violet and Clintonia
borealis pass into the waxy-white and pink of the larger and more
ornate laurel; that in turn into thericher pink and purple of fleur-de-lis

50

WHITE-FRINGED ORCHIS.

Byis

and lily and trumpet-weed. The pure white of the daisy is succeeded
by the brilliant red of the fireweed and the yellow of the primrose and
golden-rod, and they again by the deep purples of the asters, until late
autumn crowns the whole with the gorgeous coloring of the changing
maple leaf; and the mantle of winter’s snow softly covers all the
flowers, to await in safety the certain resurrection of the spring.

For there is

‘‘A little drop of Heaven in each diamond of the shower,
A breath of the Eternal in the fragrance of each flower.”

‘“The Beauty which old Greece or Rome
Sung, painted, wrought, lies close at
home ;
We need but eyes and ear
In all our daily walks to trace
The outlines of incarnate grace,
The hymns of gods to hear!

Found m the Swamp.
( 1850.)

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