The Bay State Monthly. Volume 2, No. 1, October, 1884

In a hilly country such as this is, springs and brooks of course abound. The height of land upon which Princeton is situated is a watershed between the Connecticut and Merrimack Rivers, and of the three beautiful brooks having their source in the township, one, Wachusett Brook, runs into Ware River, and thence to the Connecticut, while the other two, East Wachusett and Keyes Brooks, get to the Merrimack by Still River and the Nashua.

Mention has been made of Wachusett Lake. Properly speaking, this cannot perhaps be considered as being in Princeton, inasmuch as about four fifths of its surface lie in the adjoining township of Westminster. Besides Wachusett Lake there is another called Quinnepoxet, which lies in the southwestern part of the township, a small portion of it being in Holden. It is smaller than its northern neighbor, covering only about seventy acres, but it is a very charming sheet of water.

A brief account of the geology of this region may perhaps prove interesting. In the eastern portion of Princeton the underlying rock is a kind of micaceous schist, and in the western is granitic gneiss. The gneiss abounds in sulphuret of iron, and for this reason is peculiarly liable to undergo disintegration; hence the excellent character of the soil in this portion of Worcester County where naked rock is seldom seen in place, except in case of the summits of the hills scattered here and there; and these summits are rounded, and show the effects of weathering. As we go westerly upon this gneiss range, and get into the limits of Franklin and Hampshire Counties, a larger amount of naked rock appears, the hills are more craggy and precipitous, and in general the soil is poorer. The three principal elevations in Princeton are mainly composed of gneiss. This variety of rock is identical with granite in its composition, the distinctive point between the two being that gneiss has lines of stratification while granite has none. The rock of which Wachusett is mainly composed has rather obscure stratification, and hence may be called granitic gneiss. What stratification there is does not show the irregularity that one would suppose would result from the elevation of the mountain to so great a height above the surrounding country; on the other hand the rock does not differ essentially in hardness from that in the regions below, and hence the theory that all the adjacent land was once as high as the summit of the mountain, and was subsequently worn away by the action of water and weather, is hardly tenable. The gneiss of this region is not especially rich in other mineral contents. Some fine specimens of mica have however been obtained from the summit of Wachusett. The only other extraneous mineral found there to any great extent is the sulphuret of iron before mentioned. The common name of this mineral is iron pyrites, and being of a yellow color has in many localities in New England, in times past, caused a vast waste of time and money in a vain search for gold. It does not appear that the inhabitants of Princeton were ever thus deceived, though Whitney wrote in 1793: "Perhaps its bowels may contain very valuable hid treasure, which in some future period may be descried." In describing the summit of the mountain he speaks of it as "a flat rock, or ledge of rocks for some rods round; and there is a small pond of water generally upon the top of it, of two or three rods square; and where there is any earth it is covered with blueberry bushes for acres round." The small pond and blueberry bushes are visible at present, or were a year or two ago at any rate, but the area of bare rock has increased somewhat as time went on, though the top is not as bare as is that of its New Hampshire brother, Monadnock, nor are its sides so craggy and precipitous.

The people of Princeton have always kept abreast of the times. From the first they were ardent supporters of the measures of the Revolution, and foremost among them in patriotic spirit was the Honorable Moses Gill, previously mentioned in this paper, who, on account of his devotion to the good cause, was called by Samuel Adams "The Duke of Princeton." Their strong adherence to the "state rights" principle led the people of the town to vote against the adoption of the Constitution of the United States; but when it was adopted they abided by it, and when the Union was menaced in the recent Rebellion they nobly responded to the call of the nation with one hundred and twenty-seven men and nearly twenty thousand dollars in money—exceeding in both items the demand made upon them. Nor is their record in the pursuits of peace less honorable, for in dairy products and in the rearing of fine cattle they have earned an enviable and well-deserved reputation. As a community it is cultured and industrious, and has ever been in full sympathy with progress in education, religion, and social relations.

But few towns in Massachusetts offer to summer visitors as many attractions as does Princeton. The air is clear and bracing, the landscape charming, and the pleasant, shady woodroads afford opportunities for drives through most picturesque scenery. Near at hand is the lake, and above it towers Wachusett. It has been proposed to run a railroad up to and around the mountain, but thus far, fortunately, nothing has come of it. A fine road of easy ascent winds up the mountain, and on the summit is a good hotel which is annually patronized by thousands of transient visitors.

The view from here is magnificent on a clear day. The misty blue of the Atlantic, the silver thread of the Connecticut, Mounts Tom and Holyoke, and cloud-clapped Monadnock, the cities of Worcester and Fitchburg—all these and many other beautiful objects are spread out before the spectator. But it cannot be described—it must be seen to be appreciated; and the throngs of visitors that flit through the town every summer afford abundant evidence that the love of the beautiful and grand in nature still lives in the hearts of the people.

Brief is the sketch of this beautiful mountain town, which is neither large nor possessed of very eventful history: but in its quiet seclusion dwell peace and prosperity, and its worthy inhabitants are most deeply attached to the beautiful heritage handed down to them by their ancestors.

WASHINGTON AND THE FLAG

By Henry B. Carrington

"Strike, strike! O Liberty, thy silver strings!"

NOTE—On a pavement slab in Brighton Chapel, Northamptonshire, England, the Washington coat-of-arms appears: a bird rising from nest (coronet), upon azure field with five-pointed stars, and parallel red-and-white bands on field below; suggesting origin of the national escutcheon.

IStrike, strike! O Liberty, thy silver strings;And fill with melody the clear blue sky!Give swell to chorus full,—to gladness wings,And let swift heralds with the tidings fly!Faint not, nor tire, but glorify the recordWhich honors him who gave the nation life;Fill up the story, and with one accordOur people hush their conflicts—end their strife!IITell me, ye people, why doth this appealGo forth in measure swift as it has force,To quicken souls, and make the nation's wealAdvance, unfettered, in its onward course,Unless that they who live in these our timesMay grasp the grand, o'erwhelming thought,That he who led our troops in battle-lines,But our best interests ever sought!IIIWhat is this story, thus redolent of praise?Why challenge Liberty herself to lend her voice?Why must ye hallelujah anthems raise,And bid the world in plaudits loud rejoice?Why lift the banner with its star-lit folds,And give it honors, grandest and the best,Unless its blood-stripes and its stars of goldBring ransom to the toilers—to the weary rest?IVO yes, there's a secret in the stars and stripes:It was the emblem of our nation's sire;And from the record of his father's stripes,He gathered zeal which did his youth inspire.Fearless and keen in the border battle,Careless of risk while dealing blow for blow,What did he care for yell or rifle-rattleIf he in peril only duty e'er could know!VAs thus in youth he measured well his work,And filled that measure ever full and true,So then to him to lead the nation looked,When all to arms in holy frenzy flew.Great faith was that, to inspire our sires,And honor him, so true, with chief command,And fervid be our joy, while beacon-firesDo honor to this hero through the land.VIStrike, strike! O Liberty, thy silver strings!Bid nations many in the contest try!Tell them, O, tell, of all thy mercy bringsFor all that languish, be it far or nigh!For all oppressed the time shall surely come,When, stripped of fear, and hushed each plaintive cry,All, all, will find in WashingtonThe model guide, for now—for aye, for aye.

A SUMMER ON THE GREAT LAKES

By Fred. Myron Colby

Where shall we go this year? is the annual recurring question as the summer heats draw near. We must go somewhere, for it will be no less unwholesome than unfashionable to remain in town. The body needs rest; the brain, no less wearied, unites in the demand for change, for recreation. A relief from the wear and tear of professional life is a necessity. The seaside? Cape May and York Beach are among our first remembrances. We believe in change. The mountains? Their inexhaustible variety will never pall, but then we have "done" the White Mountains, explored the Catskills, and encamped among the Adirondacks in years gone by. Saratoga? We have never been there, but we have an abhorrence for a great fashionable crowd. To say the truth, we are heartily sick of "summer resorts," with their gambling, smoking, and drinking. The great watering-places hold no charms for us. "The world, the flesh, and the devil" there hold undisputed sway: we desire a gentler rule.

"What do you say to a trip on the Great Lakes?" suggests my friend, Ralph Vincent, with indefatigable patience.

"I—I don't know," I answered, thoughtfully.

"Don't know!" cried "the Historian"—(we called Hugh Warren by that title from his ability to always give information on any mooted point). He was a walking encyclopaedia of historical lore. "Don't know! Yes, you do. It is just what we want. It will be a delightful voyage, with scenes of beauty at every sunset and every sunrise. The Sault de Ste. Marie with its fairy isles, the waters of Lake Huron so darkly, deeply, beautifully green, and the storied waves of Superior with their memories of the martyr missionaries, of old French broils and the musical flow of Hiawatha. The very thought is enough to make one enthusiastic. How came you to think of it, Vincent?"

"I never think: I scorn the imputation," repled Vincent, with a look of assumed disdain. "It was a inspiration."

"And you have inspired us to a glorious undertaking. The Crusades were nothing to it. Say, Montague," to me, "you are agreed?"

"Yes, I am agreed," I assented. "We will spend our summer on the Great Lakes. It will be novel, it will be refreshing, it will be classical."

So it was concluded. A week from that time found us at Oswego. Our proposed route was an elaborate one. It was to start at Oswego, take a beeline across Lake Ontario to Toronto, hence up the lake and through the Welland Canal into Lake Erie, along the shores of that historical inland sea, touching at Erie, Cleveland, Sandusky, and Toledo, up Detroit River, through the Lake and River of St. Clair, then gliding over the waters of Lake Huron, dash down along the shores of Lake Michigan to Chicago, and back past Milwaukee, through the Straits of Mackinaw and the ship-canal into the placid waves of Superior, making Duluth the terminus of our journey. Our return would be leisurely, stopping here and there, at out-of-the-way places, camping-out whenever the fancy seized us and the opportunity offered, to hunt, to fish, to rest, being for the time knight-errants of pleasure, or, as the Historian dubbed us, peripatetic philosophers, in search, not of the touchstone to make gold, but the touchstone to make health. Our trip was to occupy two months.

It was well toward the latter part of June in 1881, on one of the brightest of summer mornings, that our steamer, belonging to the regular daily line to Toronto, steamed slowly out from the harbor of Oswego. So we were at last on the "beautiful water," for that is the meaning of Ontario in the Indian tongue. Here, two hundred years before us, the war-canoes of De Champlain and his Huron allies had spurned the foaming tide. Here, a hundred years later the batteaux of that great soldier, Montcalm, had swept round the bluff to win the fortress on its height, then in English hands. Historic memories haunted it. The very waves sparkling in the morning sunshine whispered of romantic tales.

Seated at the stern of the boat we looked back upon the fading city. Hugh Warren was smoking, and his slow-moving blue eyes were fixed dreamily upon the shore. He did not seem to be gazing at anything, and yet we knew he saw more than any of us.

"A centime for your thoughts, Hugh!" cried Vincent, rising and stretching his limbs.

"I was thinking," said the Historian, "of that Frenchman, Montcalm, who one summer day came down on the English at Oswego unawares with his gunboats and Indians and gendarmes. Of the twenty-five thousand people in yonder city I don't suppose there are a dozen who know what his plans were. They were grand ones. In no country on the face of the globe has nature traced outlines of internal navigation on so grand a scale as upon our American continent. Entering the mouth of the St. Lawrence we are carried by that river through the Great Lakes to the head of Lake Superior, a distance of more than two thousand miles. On the south we find the Mississippi pouring its waters into the Gulf of Mexico, within a few degrees of the tropics after a course of three thousand miles. 'The Great Water,' as its name signifies, and its numerous branches drain the surface of about one million one hundred thousand square miles, or an area twenty times greater than England and Wales. The tributaries of the Mississippi equal the largest rivers of Europe. The course of the Missouri is probably not less than twenty-five hundred miles. The Ohio winds above a thousand miles through fertile countries. The tributaries of these tributaries are great rivers. The Wabash, a feeder of the Ohio, has a course of above five hundred miles, four hundred of which are navigable. If the contemplated canal is ever completed which will unite Lake Michigan with the head of navigation on the Illinois River, it will be possible to proceed by lines of inland navigation from Quebec to New Orleans. There is space within the regions enjoying these advantages of water communication, and already peopled by the Anglo-Saxon race, for four hundred millions of the human race, or more than double the population of Europe at the present time. Imagination cannot conceive the new influences which will be exercised on the affairs of the world when the great valley of the Mississippi, and the continent from Lake Superior to New Orleans, is thronged with population. In the valley of the Mississippi alone there is abundant room for a population of a hundred million.

"In Montcalm's day all this territory belonged to France. It was that soldier's dream, and he was no less a statesman than a soldier, to make here a great nation. Toward that end a great chain of forts was to be built along the line from Ontario to New Orleans. Sandusky, Mackinaw, Detroit, Oswego, Du Quesne, were but a few links in the contemplated chain that was to bind the continent forever to French interests. It was for this he battled through all those bloody, brilliant campaigns of the old French war. But the English were too strong for him. Montcalm perished, and the power of France was at an end in the New World. But it almost overwhelms me at the thought of what a mighty empire was lost when the English huzza rose above the French clarion on the Plains of Abraham."

"Better for the continent and the world that England won," said Vincent.

"Perhaps so," allowed Hugh. "Though we cannot tell what might have been. But that does not concern this Ulysses and his crew. Onward, voyagers and voyageresses."

"Your simile is an unfortunate one. Ulysses was wrecked off Circe's island and at other places. Rather let us be the Argonauts in search of the Golden Fleece."

"Mercenary wretch!" exclaimed Hugh. "My taste is different. I am going in search of a dinner."

Hugh Warren's ability for discovering anything of that sort was proverbially good, so we, having the same disposition, followed him below to the dining-saloon.

We arrived at Toronto, one hundred and sixty miles from Oswego, a little before dusk. This city, the capital of the province of Ontario, is situated on an arm of the lake. Its bay is a beautiful inlet about four miles long and two miles wide, forming a capacious and well-protected harbor. The site of the town is low, but rises gently from the water's edge. The streets are regular and wide, crossing each other generally at right angles. There is an esplanade fronting the bay which extends for a distance of two miles. The population of the city has increased from twelve hundred in 1817 to nearly sixty thousand at present. In the morning we took a hurried survey of its chief buildings, visited Queen's Park in the centre of the city, and got round in season to take the afternoon steamer for Buffalo.

The district situated between Lake Ontario and Lake Erie, as it has been longest settled, so also is it the best-cultivated part of Western Canada. The vicinity to the two Great Lakes renders the climate more agreeable, by diminishing the severity of the winters and tempering the summers' heats. Fruits of various kind arrive at great perfection, cargoes of which are exported to Montreal, Quebec, and other places situated in the less genial parts of the eastern province. Mrs. Jameson speaks of this district as "superlatively beautiful." The only place approaching a town in size and the number of inhabitants, from the Falls along the shores of Lake Erie for a great distance, beyond even Grand River, is Chippewa, situated on the river Welland, or Chippewa, which empties itself into Niagara Strait, just where the rapids commence and navigation terminates. One or more steamers run between Chippewa and Buffalo. Chippewa is still but a small village, but, as it lies directly on the great route from the Western States of the Union to the Falls of Niagara and the Eastern States, it will probably rise into importance. Its greatest celebrity at present arises from the fact of there having been a great battle fought near by between the British and Americans in the war of 1812.

The line of navigation by the St. Lawrence did not extend beyond Lake Ontario until the Welland Canal was constructed. This important work is thirty-two miles long, and admits ships of one hundred and twenty-five guns, which is about the average tonnage of the trading-vessels on the lakes. The Niagara Strait is nearly parallel to the Welland Canal, and more than one third of it is not navigable. The canal, by opening this communication between Lake Ontario and Lake Erie, has conferred an immense benefit on all the districts west of Ontario. The great Erie Canal has been still more beneficial, by connecting the lakes with New York and the Atlantic by the Hudson River, which the canal joins after a course of three hundred and sixty miles. The effect of these two canals was quickly perceptible in the increased activity of commerce on Lake Erie, and the Erie Canal has rendered this lake the great line of transit from New York to the Western States.

Lake Erie is the most shallow of all the lakes, its average depth being only sixty or seventy feet. Owing to this shallowness the lake is readily disturbed by the wind; and for this reason, and for its paucity of good harbors, it has the reputation of being the most dangerous to navigate of any of the Great Lakes. Neither are its shores as picturesquely beautiful as those of Ontario, Huron, and Superior. Still it is a lovely and romantic body of water, and its historic memories are interesting and important. In this last respect all the Great Lakes are remarkable. Some of the most picturesque and interesting chapters of our colonial and military history have for their scenes the shores and the waters of these vast inland seas. A host of great names—Champlain, Frontenac, La Salle, Marquette, Perry, Tecumseh, and Harrison—has wreathed the lakes with glory. The scene of the stirring events in which Pontiac was the conspicuous figure is now marked on the map by such names as Detroit, Sandusky, Green Bay, and Mackinaw. The thunder of the battles of Lundy's Lane and the Thames was heard not far off, and the very waters of Lake Erie were once canopied with the sulphur smoke from the cannon of Perry's conquering fleet.

We spent two days in Buffalo, and they were days well spent. This city is the second in size of the five Great Lake ports, being outranked only by Chicago. Founded in 1801, it now boasts of a population of one hundred and sixty thousand souls. The site is a plain, which, from a point about two miles distant from the lake, slopes gently to the water's edge. The city has a water front of two and a half miles on the lake and of about the same extent on Niagara River. It has one of the finest harbors on the lake. The public buildings are costly and imposing edifices, and many of the private residences are elegant. The pride of the city is its public park of five hundred and thirty acres, laid out by Frederick Law Olmstead in 1870. It has the reputation of being the healthiest city of the United States.

Buffalo was the home of Millard Fillmore, the thirteenth President of the United States. Here the great man spent the larger part of his life. He went there a poor youth of twenty, with four dollars in his pocket. He died there more than fifty years afterward worth one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and after having filled the highest offices his country could bestow upon him. He owned a beautiful and elegant residence in the city, situated on one of the avenues, with a frontage toward the lake, of which a fine view is obtained. It is a modern mansion, three stories in height, with large stately rooms. It looks very little different externally from some of its neighbors, but the fact that it was for thirty years the home of one of our Presidents gives it importance and invests it with historic charm.

On board a steamer bound for Detroit we again plowed the waves. The day was a delightful one; the morning had been cloudy and some rain had fallen, but by ten o'clock the sky was clear, and the sunbeams went dancing over the laughing waters. Hugh was on his high-horse, and full of historic reminiscences.

"Do you know that this year is the two hundredth anniversary of a remarkable event for this lake?" he began. "Well, it is. It was in 1681, in the summer of the year, that the keel of the first vessel launched in Western waters was laid at a point six miles this side of the Niagara Falls. She was built by Count Frontenac who named her the Griffen. I should like to have sailed in it."

"Its speed could hardly equal that of the Detroit," observed Vincent, complacently.

"You hard, cold utilitarian!" exclaimed the Historian; "who cares anything about that? It is the romance of the thing that would charm me."

"And the romance consists in its being distant. We always talk of the good old times as though they were really any better than our own age! It is a beautiful delusion. Don't you know how in walking the shady places are always behind us?"

The Historian's only answer to this banter was to shrug his shoulders scornfully and to light a fresh cigar.

Lake Erie is about two hundred and forty miles in length and has a mean breadth of forty miles. Its surface is three hundred and thirty feet above Lake Ontario, and five hundred and sixty-five above the level of the sea. It receives the waters of the upper lakes by means of the Detroit River, and discharges them again by the Niagara into Lake Ontario. Lake Erie has a shallow depth, but Ontario, which is five hundred and two feet deep, is two hundred and thirty feet below the tide level of the ocean, or as low as most parts of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and the bottoms of Lakes Huron, Michigan, and Superior, although their surface is much higher, are all, from their vast depths, on a level with the bottom of Ontario. Now, as the discharge through Detroit River, after allowing all the probable portion carried off by evaporation, does not appear by any means equal to the quantity of water which the other three lakes receive, it has been conjectured that a subterranean river may run from Lake Ontario. This conjecture is not improbable, and accounts for the singular fact that salmon and herring are caught in all the lakes communicating with the St. Lawrence, but no others. As the Falls of Niagara must always have existed, it would puzzle the naturalists to say how those fish got into the upper lakes unless there is a subterranean river; moreover, any periodical obstruction of the river would furnish a not improbable solution of the mysterious flux and influx of the lakes.