482 



Garden and Forest. 



[Number igo. 



have been if men, without reference to the needs or the 

 good of the public, had been able to build a hotel or a 

 trotting-track or a block of stores in the midst of it ? 



No ; there is but one way to proceed if the state of New- 

 York needs a great forest-park to preserve the flow of its 

 rivers and to afford its people for all time the opportunity 

 to enjoy the beauties and advantages which a communion 

 with nature always brings to the human race, and that is 

 to take the land. It is not easy to imagine a case where 

 the right of eminent domain could be more wisely enforced, 

 or where the individual suffering would be smaller in com- 

 parison with the benefits bestowed upon the public at 

 large by the taking. Bricks cannot be made without 

 straw. A public forest in this state, covering 2,000,000 

 acres, and 3,000,000 would be much better, would involve 

 a large immediate outlay, perhaps twenty millions of 

 dollars, probably more rather than less. It might have 

 been had ten years ago for half the money ; in ten years 

 from now it will cost twice as much, and the necessity of 

 the reservation will be incomparably greater. But even 

 a larger sum than twenty millions of dollars will be well 

 invested in securing such a reservation which can be made 

 to pay at once a fair return for the investment. A large 

 part of the land, once the fee is secured, can be leased to 

 the clubs and to the lumbermen on long leases, with proper 

 restrictions as to the cutting of timber. The hotel sites 

 and the sanitariums can be leased to the original owners 

 if they care to continue in the business. These rentals 

 and the sale of timber — for any sensible management of the 

 woods means the cutting of all ripe trees under some well- 

 considered system — the fishing and hunting rights and other 

 sources of income would, almost from the very beginning, 

 pay the interest on the cost of the investment, and in the 

 future, as forest-property becomes more valuable, the 

 operation should show a handsome profit. 



Money expended on a state reservation which the state 

 does not control is money thrown away, for it will not 

 accomplish any good results, but the money spent in 

 acquiring a fee to the land is money well spent, as it 

 will bring health and prosperity to the whole state. 

 There will be serious opposition to such a scheme on 

 the part of many interested men, but the people in the end 

 would favor it ; and there can be no doubt that in time 

 the measure can be successfully carried out if it is advo- 

 cated intelligently and persistently. 



New England Parks. 



THE LYNN WOODS. 



THE distinctive character of this stately park of sixteen hun- 

 dred broad acres is well indicated by its name. Here 

 are no smooth lawn expanses, no manufactured terraces, no 

 artfully artless shrubberies, no mall, no playgrounds of skill- 

 ful fashioning, but, in their stead, gigantic boulders, deep 

 ravines, and rocky summits, and everywhere the unending 

 forest, where one can dream of Sherwood and the merry out- 

 law Robin Hood. One is half-tempted to wind a bugle in 

 these wilds to see if the men in Lincoln green might not come 

 dashing through the bracken at the call, and behind the boles 

 of the great trees one fancies he may catch a glimpse of Little 

 John, or the burly figure of Friar Tuck. 



From the founding of the settlement in 1629 these woods of 

 Lynn were held as commons by its farmers, but only of late 

 years, thanks to the public spirit of some of her citizens, has 

 the property been legally acquired by the town, to be held per- 

 petually as a pleasure-ground for its people. 



When the plucky race that dared to settle Massachusetts first 

 took possession of this part of the country, they found a strip 

 of level fertile land, lying near the sea, which received the 

 wash of a line of wooded stony hills, a part of the picturesque 

 low range that extends along the shore, from Cape Ann to the 

 well-defined summits of the Blue Hills of Milton. Here were 

 good arable fields, and they accordingly selected it for their 

 homesteads, reserving the heights behind as a common pas- 

 ture for their animals. 



These commons the farmers divided by long walls, built by 

 their combined labor, and they still retain their ancient names. 

 The Cow-pasture was the part nearest the town, that the milky 



mothers of the herd might easily be reached for domestic pur- 

 poses. The more remote and hilly section was the Horse- 

 pasture, where the mares and colts, and horses not in use, could 

 pick up an inexpensive living; and a third division, across 

 the swamp which drained the hills, bears to this day the title 

 of Ox-pasture. 



This whole region, now, all but the last, included in the park, 

 is thickly wooded with good-sized trees, mostly Oaks, Maples 

 and Walnuts, interspersed with some Pines and Hemlocks of 

 great size. Black Birches and Ash-trees are also found, and 

 here and there some Beeches. The wide marshes that sepa- 

 rated Ox-pasture from the others have been transformed into 

 a chain of lakes, two miles in extent, along and across which 

 the parkways wind, while the water, now limpid and sweet, 

 serves to supply the growing city. 



The margins of these roads by the water-side, unnecessarily 

 stripped by the engineers of the water-works of all their trees 

 and shrubs on one side, are struggling to renew their growth, 

 and if the Park Commissioners will put in a few Willows here 

 and there for quick effect, bountiful nature will in a few years 

 repair the ravages of man, and restore the lovely green screen 

 between the road and the water, which is very essential to the 

 beauty of the drive. Picturesque glens border this parkway, 

 on the uncut side, with a charming undergrowth of shrubs and 

 ferns, and fine tall trees climbing the stony heights. 



Under the guidance of an enthusiastic lover of the forest, 

 who has done much for the park, we wandered through the 

 woods along a cart-path, outlined in soft green ferns close set 

 as turf, until in the heart of the woods we came upon a curious 

 reminiscence of the old settlers, the wolf-pits — two grave-like 

 excavations, lined with stone like a well, some six feet in length 

 by three feet wide, and originally more than nine feet deep. 

 These holes, covered carefully with brush and sprinkled with 

 bait, attracted the unwary wolf, who could be easily destroyed 

 by the trapper. Tradition tells of one of the forefathers com- 

 ing upon an unexpected find when he drew his traps of a morn- 

 ing, for there, in one corner of the deep pit, sat a cowering 

 squaw, glared at by a terrified wolf at the opposite end, each 

 too alarmed to approach the other. 



Within the park itself are curious formations of stone ; great 

 rocks with caverns beneath them, one of which is known as 

 Dungeon Rock. The name implies a tradition, but none has 

 survived to fit it with a legend. The nearest approach to one 

 is the story of the spiritualists, who here held their meetings 

 and performed uncanny rights, excavating the rocks under the 

 direction of their familiars, arid producing strange relics which 

 were supposed to be found beneath them. Here they built odd 

 circular dwellings of stone, miniature towers, that will, when 

 overgrown with Ivy, prove effective as ruins. One of their 

 leading prophets is buried here, at the foot of the rocks, in a 

 grave surrounded with a pointed battlement of stones, and on 

 the leaf-strewn earth within lay some fresh flowers, showing 

 the recent visit of some disciple to this lonely spot. 



Another picturesque feature of the woods is the ravines 

 hung with ferns and bushes, one of which is over two hundred 

 feet in depth ; but what pleased me best of all were the four 

 rocky hill-tops rising so high above the trees that the view over 

 the surrounding country is unobstructed. From one of these 

 the beholder receives an extraordinary impression of the ex- 

 tent of the woods which surround him. 



This park is the largest in the country except Fairmount 

 Park, Philadelphia, but even the knowledge of its numerous 

 acres does not prepare one for the effect of unbroken forest 

 he receives when he climbs this summit and looks off upon 

 the landscape bounded by the sea and the far-distant moun- 

 tains of New Hampshire. Ten miles away the glittering dome 

 of Boston catches the eye above its misty group of spires and 

 chimneys, and on the other side Marblehead Light can be 

 viewed, out on its rocky point in the north, Chicorua and Mo- 

 nadnock raise their giant heads above the low-lying clouds, 

 and hill upon hill bounds the horizon, but Lynn has disap- 

 peared. Trackless woods seem to encircle the spot. No 

 houses or spires are visible near at hand. What seem to be 

 miles of trees lie below in varying shades of green, over soft 

 undulations which tell of alternations of hill and dale, ravine 

 and boulder, but all that speaks of the busy town somewhere 

 near by has melted into the wilderness. Between Mount 

 Gilead and Shawmut are seen only the tree-tops and the gray 

 line of water where the coast curves. 



Such a sight, lacking the dome and spires, may have met the 

 eye of the early settler when he first climbed his way through 

 the forest to this bald hill-top. A far-away sympathy with that 

 lonely pioneer seizes you as you gaze. How desolate, how 

 unconquerable must have seemed that waste of woodland, 

 even to his dauntless spirit, strong to combat with virgin 



