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 Maiden, 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 Perthes 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, shyTarnassia half concealed his 

 loveliness in the blades of grass. What splendid clumps of the 

 purple sarracenia, with the wonderful pitchers half filled with the 



