March 2, 1892.] 



Garden and Forest. 



99 



which end in a bristly point. The acorns are small, but 

 the cups pretty large." 



What other of our eastern species Marshall could have 

 had in hand than the common trilobed form of the Spanish 

 Oak is difficult to imagine, nor does it require a stretch of 

 imagination to suppose that the name and description ap- 

 ply to this Oak. If this be conceded, theQuercus falcataof 

 Michaux becomes Quercus digitata, Marshall. 



Dep't ol AKiicultur..-, Wasliirigtou. George B. SlldlVOlih. 



T 



New England Parks. 



THE MIDDLESEX FELLS. 



HOUGH the Middlesex Fells are only a park in prospect, 

 the hope is so confidently entertained that they will be ac- 

 quired by the state for public purposes, that I take the liberty 

 of classing that natural pleasure-ground among those which 

 already belong to the public by gift or purchase. 



Already a movement is on foot to acquire the four thousand 

 acres of rolling woodland which are included in this region, to 

 retain it as a breathing-place for that greater Boston which is 

 in time to surround the important peninsula, as Paris encircles 

 the island in the Seine, and as London surrounds "the City." 

 This great scheme of consolidation commends itself to the 

 imagination for its splendid possibilities, and as we see Boston 

 extending itself throughout its charming suburbs, with which 

 it keeps itself far more in touch than New York and Philadel- 

 phia do with theirs, the time seems not far away when the city 

 will include them entirely, and while a system of prefectures 

 shall provide for the local government of the outlying depart- 

 ments, the towns within a twelve-mile radius may come under 

 the wing of a central municipal government. Politically one 

 cannot wholly be reconciled to this fine scheme, but theo- 

 retically it has a picturesque splendor, and if it is ever achieved 

 the Middlesex Fells will be an important centre for the nu- 

 merous towns that border upon the region — Melrose, Med- 

 ford, Winchester and Maiden all abutting upon the open 

 spaces which will in time be so precious to the city-dweller. 



What are the Middlesex Fells ? is often asked, now that this 

 felicitous title, first applied to them some twelve years ago by 

 that true lover of nature, Mr. Sylvester Baxter, has passed into 

 such popular acceptance that they even have a local habitation 

 as well as a name, in a small railway-station known to the suc- 

 cinct Pathfinder as Fells. 



These fells are a series of low, well-wooded hills, the highest 

 of which is some 300 feet in altitude, which are easily accessi- 

 ble from the western division of the Boston and Maine Rail- 

 road, from either Maiden, Medford or Melrose. To visit them 

 extensively and thoroughly in a short time a carriage is neces- 

 sary, and by alighting at Melrose, where one can easily be pro- 

 cured near the station, a few hours will enable one to explore 

 them satisfactorily. To those who live near by they afford 

 charming possibilities for tramps and climbs, already discov- 

 ered by the Appalachian Club, and as good roads through 

 them abound, they can comfortably be explored on a bicycle, 

 with occasional digressions on foot from the beaten track. 



The first point of note in the Melrose section is Pine Bank, 

 the property of Mr. E. S. Converse, where, among other inter- 

 esting features, a curious glacial moraine, covered with fine 

 old conifers, is interesting to visit. This ridge of land, depos- 

 ited by some long-departed glacier, carpeted thickly and softly 

 with Pine-needles, slopes on either hand to ravines, also well 

 wooded with Pines and Hemlocks. The long, straight walk 

 under their sighing branches is very beautiful, and the forma- 

 tion of the moraine is full of interest and suggestion. 



The wildness of this part of Mr. Converse's estate, the pleas- 

 ing views from its elevafions, and the beauty of the trees, ren- 

 der it very attractive. I am told that should the Middlesex 

 Fells be acquired by the state, it is the purpose of Mr. Con- 

 verse to give a portion of this valuable property to the public ; 

 another instance of the noble generosity of the citizens of the 

 Commonwealth of Massachusetts. 



From this point a short drive brings one to the Cascades, 

 a fine natural feature. Leaving the high-road, a climb 

 through a grove of Oak-trees brings one to the foot of an emi- 

 nence, from the top of which a stream comes tumbling down 

 over a rocky cliff, dripping from ledge to ledge of the fern- 

 hung rocks mossy with the perpetual moisture, and rippling 

 noisily away in a stony brook below. This cataract, which 

 in spring, when swollen by the melting snows and frequent 

 rains, must be quite wonderful, was, when I saw it, so shrunken 

 by the long drought that it was but a Staubbach of a fall, and 



showed little more than a trickle down the face of the massive 

 rocks, picturesque with their drapery of Ferns and Lichens. 



In a park, with proper treatment, these cascades would be 

 very effective, and paths might lead easily to the top of the 

 hill, which now can only be scaled by some rather rough 

 scrambling. 



Another charming object in the Fells is Spot Pond, a lovely 

 sheet of water bordered by woods, along which the road leads 

 in attractive windings that give varying views of distant 

 hills behind the blue water. In the neighborhood of the pond 

 is the Langwood Hotel, a spacious hostelry with large veran- 

 das enclosed in glass, which is open to visitors at all seasons 

 of the year. Here we dined comfortably at a table artistically 

 strewn with brown Chesnut-leaves, and had a chance to appre- 

 ciate the taste and skill which have presided over the appoint- 

 ments of this pleasant inn. 



But of all the many points of view in the Fells, with its nu- 

 merous drives and walks, affording constant variety of land- 

 scape, that which we obtained by climbing Bear Hill was the 

 most beautiful and striking. This is an elevation of some three 

 or four hundred feet, to which one climbs through thick 

 woods, up a steep slope, encountering fences and snags by 

 the way, but coming out at last upon a cleared summit from 

 which there is a famous outlook. 



Seen of a soft day in early November, with the distant hills 

 bathed and glorified in the purple haze of Indian summer, the 

 chimneys and towers of distant towns took on mysterious 

 meaning, while Tufts College, upon its eminence, might well 

 be mistaken for an imposing castle. Banks of hills rose one 

 behind the other in tender diaphanous ouUine, the Milton Hills 

 merely a hint against the sky, and the State-house dome a 

 glimmering spark of fire amid the forest of pale spires that 

 represented Boston. Translucent delectable mountains en- 

 circled the horizon, among which dim familiar peaks were 

 visible. Monadnuck and Wachusett were but mountain dreams 

 in this vision, where the tiers of opalescent highlands, bathed 

 in the low sunlight, were transfigured by the atmosphere of 

 the dying year. 



Near at hand gleamed the waters of Winchester reservoirs 

 and Spot Pond. The woods of Lynn stretched away like a 

 wilderness in the middle distance, while the neighboring sum- 

 mits of the Fells, crowned with trees and dwellings, clustered 

 in undulating surface of varying heights about Bear Hill, from 

 which the eastward scope of greater Boston could be clearly 

 discerned, while up its steep sides clambered the Pines and 

 Hemlocks, the Oaks and Maples that clothed it in a cloak of 

 russet, faced with green. The top of the hill was bare of trees, 

 but well furnished with masses of wild shrubs hung with fruit. 

 The Privet showed its dark berries ; the Berberries were gay 

 with ruddy clusters ; the Sumachs glowed with crimson leaf 

 and deep red spikes of fruitage ; mosses grew soft and green 

 under foot ; the Scrub Oaks clustered in brown groups, and 

 acorns lay scattered on the ground. The tints, all soft and 

 harmonious, ran through a scale of russet and copper-color to 

 the dullest red. Stiff little Junipers rose here and there in the 

 symmetry of early youth, some bluish and some of a deep 

 yellow-green. The hill-side was slippery with the fresh-fallen 

 leaves, which crackled under foot ; vistas opened through the 

 wood as we climbed and descended the hill that offered points 

 of view in different directions, each picturesque with a new 

 beauty. 



An autumn day in the woods is one of the delights of ex- 

 istence ; the cool fresh air renders exercise a pleasure ; the 

 transitory brightness makes each effect more precious, as if it 

 were to be the last. The beauty of our atmosphere at this 

 season is unrivaled even in Italy, where the same glamour is 

 seen at other seasons. Moisture and smoke are the secret of 

 the ineffable colorings of the Bay of Naples, for when a keen 

 clear wind drives away the puffings of Vesuvius the sharp 

 black volcanic outlines lose their beauty, and stand up in all 

 their barren harshness, cold and awful and forbidding. 



So when distant woods are burning and the air is humid and 

 chill, our austere New England puts on a Neapolitan robe of 

 azure and violet that rivals the hues of Capri and Amalfi. Her 

 granite hills are transformed to porphyry and jasper, her pro- 

 saic outlines grow soft with strange suggestiveness. A far-off 

 chimney becomes a campanile ; a factory is glorified into a 

 fortress ; an institution looms like a chateau. There is a joy 

 in the dim silhouette of distant roofs against the sky, an eleva- 

 tion in the curve of dome and upward lift of spire, a hint of 

 mountain-ranges in a row of misty hill-tops. 



What the imagination is to the mind, the atmosphere of 

 Indian summer is to a Massachusetts landscape. Unreal, you 

 say ; but who shall dare to question the truth of Nature 

 viewed, as she best loves to show her coquettish face, half- 



