lTbrary of coimgress7I Shelf :(2_71 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. BY THE SAME AUTHOR. A HOLIDAY TOUR IN EUROPE. Described in a Series of Letters written for the "Public Ledger." 12mo. 310 pages. Fine cloth. $1.00. Paper cover. 75 cents. OPINIONS OF THE PKESS. "Thoroughly used to newspaper work, and experienced in this par- ticular species by long connection as American correspondent of the London Times, Mr. Cook seemed to grasp with peculiar aptitude the salient points of such matters as would naturally attract the attention of a stranger, and his letters were marked with a vigor and freshness most rare, and thoroughly unlike the usual paraphrase of the shilling guide- book imposed upon newspaper readers." — North American. "A series of letters which were widely read and greatly enjoyed; for he is not only a keen observer, but an excellent writer, and he had the tact to write fresh and lively accounts of scenes and places that had been written about by thousands before him." — Philadelphia Evening Bulletin. " One of the most instructive and best written books of travel that has of late been published in this country. . . . It is a book that states- men and tourists may read with profit." — Forney's Philadelphia Progress, For sale hy Booksellers generally, or will he sent, postpaid, on receipt of price hy the puhlishers, J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 715 and 717 Market St,, Philadelphia. BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES NEAR PHILADELPHIA. V DESCRIBED IN A SERIES OF LETTERS WRITTEN FOR THE PUBLIC LEDGER DURING THE SUMMER OF 1881. BY JOEL COOK. ''J. O." PHILADELPHIA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO 18 82. V Copyright, 1881, by J. B. Lippincott & Co. ^ .077 INTEODTJOTIOK". Looking back over the files of the Ledger from the middle of June of this year to the end of August, em- bracing these " Brief Summer Rambles" as first presented to the public, it is easy to understand why so many letters have been received suggesting their publication in book form. The motive that prompted the sketches pervades the whole series. This was to remind our people how many pleasant places, how much picturesque scenery, how many delightful jaunts, how great a body of interesting annals and tradition and instructive history there are within a few hours' ride from the city by rail or river. This pervading idea is carried out consistently, completely, and with full success. With the exception of one short route, every railway and steamboat route radiating from Philadelphia is covered ; every one of the " Rambles" is within one day's ride from Philadelphia, most of them are within a few hours, and in many instances the pleasure-seeker can take his ramble and return home by evening to occupy his own room and bed, which is something to be taken into consideration. The sketches follow the usual routes of travel between the places embraced in the " Rambles," taking in the Delaware from the Water Gap to the sea, and every prominent sea- shore resort from Cape May to Coney Island ; every principal line of travel northeast, north, west, and south, from above West Point on the Hudson, southwest to Baltimore, along 4 INTRODUCTION. the Lehigh Yalley, and west through Harrisburg to Pitts- burg. It is no longer necessary to say to the reading public that Mr. Cook, the writer of the sketches, has quick perception of what is attractive and interesting in the scenes and places through which he passes, and along which he carries his readers, and that he has a " faculty" for that kind of descrip- tive writing. His first book made many thousands acquainted with these talents. In this series he has done a rare good thing in the endeavor to make the public acquainted with the pleasures and information within their reach in short summer trips near home. W. Y. McKean, Editor ill Cliief. PcBLic Ledger Office, Philadelphia, October 24, 18S1. CONTENTS. PAGB I. Fairmount Park . . 7 II. Laurel Hill 12 III. The Wissahickon 17 IV. Up the Delaware River to Trenton .... 22 V. Atlantic City 31 VI. Cape May 39 VII. Down the Delaware River to the Lazaretto ... 44 VIII. Down the Delaware River — Chester to the Bay . . 61 IX. The Pennsylvania Railroad — Philadelphia to New York 66 X. Long Branch 69 XI. Long Branch's Neighbors — Monmouth Beach and Sea- bright — Asbury Park and Ocean Grove ... 78 XII. New York Harbor — A Journey to Coney Island . .85 XIII. Coney Island 92 XIV. The Hudson River— New York to Stony Point . . 102 XV. The Hudson River Highlands— Peekskill to Newburg . 113 XVI. The Pennsylvania Railroad — Philadelphia to Baltimore 123 XVII. Baltimore 131 XVIII. The Reading Railroad— Philadelphia to New York- Trinity Church 140 XIX. New York City— Broadway and Fifth Avenue . . 146 XX. New York City— Central Park 153 XXI. Brooklyn — The East River Bridge — Greenwood Ceme- tery — Prospect Park 158 XXII. The Pennsylvania Railroad — Philadelphia to Lancaster 166 XXIII. The Pennsylvania Railroad — Lancaster to Harrisburg 174 XXIV. The Reading Railroad — Harrisburg to Philadelphia — Lebanon Valley— Schuylkill Valley . . . .178 XXV. The Pennsylvania Railroad — Along the Susquehanna — A Railway Retrospect 185 • XXVI. The Pennsylvania Railroad— The Juniata . . .193 XXVII. The Pennsylvania Railroad— Altoona . . . .202 XXVIII. The Bell's Gap Railroad 212 1* 5 CONTENTS. PAGE XXIX. The Pennsylvania Eailroad — Altoona to Cresson — Crossing the Alleglienies 218 XXX. The Pennsylvania Eailroad — Cresson Springs — The Portage Road 223 XXXI. The Pennsylvania Railroad — Cresson to Pittsburg . 230 XXXII. The Reading Railroad— Philadelphia to Bethlehem . 238 XXXIII. The Lehigh Valley Railroad— Mauch Chunk . . 244 XXXIV. The Switchback 251 XXXV. The Pennsylvania Railroad— Philadelphia to the Del- aware Water Gap 260 XXXVI. The Delaware Water Gap— From Sunset Hill— From the River 268 XXXVII. The Delaware Water Gap— The Foot-Paths . . 274 XXXVIII. The Delaware Water Gap— Eureka Glen— The Cherry Valley — Stroudsburg — Reminiscences . . . 283 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. I. FAIRMOUNT PAEK. A TOUR NEAR HOME. The summer beat is upon us, and where shall we go to keep cool ? Only a little while back people who could afford it were fleeing to Florida or Cuba in search of warm weather ; and now that they have got it at home they meditate another migration to find a lower temperature. Some hie to Europe, others to the Pacific coast, others to the lakes and mountains ; but the great majority cannot take such long journeys, and in fact have to confine their relaxation to short visits near home, occupying but a day or two, and costing comparatively little money. To these, though they may not always believe it, the short excursion generally gives more genuine enjoyment than the more pretentious and lengthened tour. A protracted period of sight-seeing often palls upon the tourist, but the brief jaunt freshens and exhilarates him. It is not necessary to go long journeys to find grand scenery and seek relaxation, for both can be cheaply got at our own doors. How many who praise Hyde Park and the Bois de Bou- logne have ever thoroughly explored Fairmount Park, or know that it has many more glories than either? Take a day to look at it, and see if this tour near home in the most extensive pleasure-ground in our country will not give the keenest enjoyment, even though it may only cost a few pen- nies for car and steamboat rides, and a trifle for refreshment. To thoroughly enjoy the Park tour only needs the conviction that something can be found there worth looking at. Let us start from one of the Fairmount entrances, and go along past 7^ 8 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. the Art Gallery, where crowds are usually waiting their turns to see the Pompeiian views, up along the road to where it forks at the Lincoln Monument. On the left hand are the greensward and the river, and on the right the sloping hills, down which troops of children are nearly always rolling. Fountains plash on either side, while in front rises Lemon Hill, its base bordered with flower-beds. We enter the road along the river, with its stately rows of linden-trees and crowds of promenaders, its pretty boat-houses on the river- bank, and its hills and summer-house on the right-hand side. The water is rippled by the cool breeze, so different from the parched air just left behind us, and, as we round the rocky point at the river bend, a view is opened of the stately bridges in front of the Zoological Garden across the stream. Pass- ing through the tunnel and under the bridges, the sunshine on the bright roof of the Horticultural Building dazzles the eye as it traces out the majestic sweep of the western river bank at Sweetbrier and above. We leave the sparkling water, and, as the trains rush by on the two great railways of Philadelphia, one in front and the other almost over our heads, mount the hill and enter a pretty bit of woodland, with rhododendrons bordering the road. Soon we reach the reservoir and the region known as " Pipetown." Here, if so inclined, the art of " How not to do it" in pipe-laying may be studied, for these great pipes have lain here many-a-year, rusting away and serving as an occasional lodging-house for tramps. The unfinished reservoir rises beyond like a great fortress, to remind us how city debts can be piled up. But there is no use moralizing, and instead we will go along over the beautiful green west of the reservoir, and out to the river again at Mount Pleasant, to see the old house where Benedict Arnold once lived, and while getting a drink of milk join the curious crowd who are studying the mysteries of the " Dairy." Most of these people know that cows pro- duce milk, but they are in doubt as to how it is got out of the animal, some having an idea that a tail may be given a cow, not only to switch flies, but also to serve as a pump- handle. THE SCENE AT EDGELT. We are only two miles from Fairmount, but it is a para- dise apparently far away from any city, and as we go farther FAIRMOUNT PARK. 9 on past Rockland and Ormiston the rural beauties increase. Crossing the pretty ravine and mounting the hill to Kdgely, little lunch- and picnic-parties are passed, camped out under the trees in cosey nooks, while the children run over the green grass and enjoy themselves. A short walk brings us to the brink of the river on top of the bluff at Edgely, and at an elevation of perhaps a hundred feet gives one of the most glorious views to be found near Philadelphia, — a gentle scene, that will please as well as the bolder scenery of more loudly-praised localities. The Schuylkill, as we look up- stream, curves around towards the left, with green hill-sides on either hand. Little boats dot the water, and an occa- sional steamer passes far beneath us laden with pleasure- seekers. Far off in the distance is the Falls village, with its railroad bridge, the arches making complete circles as they are reflected in the water, while above, the white steam puffs from what looks like a little toy locomotive, it is so far away. In the foreground the Park drive climbs Strawberry Hill, and beyond are the white tombs of Laurel Hill, embosomed in foliage. Serenely quiet, excepting where the silence is broken by the roar of a passing train, here is a lovely spot to rest and feed upon the glorious view. Across, on the opposite bank, the carriages, looking like insects, can be seen slowly creeping up the slope towards Chamounix. For per- fect rural beauty, with wood and water scenery, this cannot be excelled in its own character of subdued landscape any- where ; yet here it is, with its fame unsung, at our own doors. Reluctantly leaving this beautiful place let us go down Strawberry Hill to the road along the river-bank, where the fast trotters dart swiftly by us and the policemen have their hands full to prevent horse-racing. It is sultry usually along this low-lying road, for the hills keep off the breeze, and the perspiring visitor mournfully recalls last winter's ice gorge, when the great ice-cakes brought down by the freshet covered over most of this road and broke to pieces much of its pretty rustic fence. Above the precipitous rocks and hollowed out within them are the tombs of Laurel Hill, while young people romantically inclined seek jutting crags to sit upon, as a pretty young lady did whose blood-red umbrella almost dazzled me in the sunlight, as she sat far above, at the foot 10 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. of a tree. We go along by the " willows" over a beautiful section of roadway, and under the arch of the railway bridge, past the regions of " catfish and waflSes," and the rocks in the river that once made the " Falls," but are now chiefly available as seats for the youths with fish-lines who wait patiently for "bites" they seldom get. Turning into the open wooden bridge we cross the river and study the delib- erate character of canal navigation, as viewed on the opposite shore, where the patient mules coax the boat-loads of coal down-stream to a market. In front a little brook comes down the hill and rushes over a cascade of rocks into the river. We mount the hill, passing through the woods and alongside the curved dam that is thrown across the brook, making a higher waterfall, and on top of the hill discover another glorious view. CHAMOUNIX AND GEORGE's HILL. Standing on this eminence the Reading Railroad, with its passing trains, is almost beneath our feet, and its coal-dust- marked roadway can be traced out in black lines far ofi" in both directions. Beyond is the river, with its bridges, and opposite is the thriving village of the Falls, — a city in minia- ture, looking like a lot of little models of houses, set up in rows on the hill-side, so that if one toppled over it would knock down the whole town like so many rows of bricks. To the right is Laurel Hill, a forest of snow-white monu- ments extending down the river until shut out by the edge of the picture. To the left, the Schuylkill stretches far away northward, past the densely-wooded ravine of the Wis- sahickon and its high bridge, while the tall chimneys of the Manayunk mills are shut in by a background of hazy hills in the distance. Fields, woods, and an occasional ornate villa make up the border to this pretty scene. This is Chamounix, — modest, it is true, when compared with its Swiss namesake, and much warmer in summer weather, for there is no snow on the peaks around, but its old house is in a picturesque spot. We are told that one of its owners, when forced to leave this beautiful place, died of a broken heart. Turning towards the city we pass along the hill-tops, Girard College being seen far away across the river, and also the brown sides of the reservoir, with Lemon Hill Observatory FAIRMOVNT PARK. 11 apparently mounting guard as it stands out against the sky. Going over the farm-land, as yet unimproved, and past the little water-tanks, where the road-sprinklers get their supplies, a steady panorama of pretty views is unfolded on the Schuyl- kill. We skirt along the dilapidated fences bearing the signs that say " Horses taken to pasture," and coming out by Christ Church Hospital go to George's Hill. Here is a garden-spot, the shrubbery and flower-beds forming a proper frame for the beautiful view from the top of the Concourse. This hill gives the most extended scene in the Park, marred only by the absence of water scenery. Looking over the stately Total Abstinence Fountain in the foreground, and be- yond the Centennial Buildings, there is spread out the great city, with its subdued hum of industry, its myriad smokes from factory chimneys, and its distant border made by the hazy land of Jersey. On the green fields and mazy footwalks people are scattered like so many ants, creeping slowly about, singly or in twos and threes, while the swift- rushing locomo- tive and slow-moving horse-car, off to the right, indicate the different kinds of land navigation. Within the past ten years, the houses of the town have been steadily encroaching upon this grand view, and before long they will completely encircle George's Hill. BELMONT AND SWEETBRIER. Now let us descend the hill past St. George's House, Eng- land's Centennial gift to Philadelphia, and proceed towards the river again, reaching it at Belmont. Here, in the olden time. Judge Peters entertained the most famous men of his day, and, as they sat on his porch at Belmont Mansion and looked down the beautiful Schuylkill at the distant city, they thought it the most superb of views. Gradually the city came to- wards his farm, first throwing Columbia bridge across the river at his feet, then capturing his home for a pleasure- ground, and afterwards building the two bridges at Girard Avenue, which look so pretty in the distance, as the sheet of placid water spreads towards them, and the Cathedral dome, the new City Hall, and the Masonic Hall tower all rise above. Away off, over the town, the observer who is on a sufficient elevation can occasionally detect the white sails of vessels moving on the Delaware. But we must hasten on towards 12 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. the city, loitering a few minutes to see the Horticultural Building, with its tropical foliage and plants inside, and its pretty flower-gardens outside ; past the " Lovers' Eetreat" and "Lansdowne Ravine," with their shady footpaths, under the thick foliage, and the river view from the Lansdowne bridge. Still we hasten towards town, across the "Sweet- brier Yale," where the road winds down the hill on one side and up on the other, and where the children are supposed, from the sign, to have their playground, but where full-grown children are usually playing croquet. Over the bridge at Girard Avenue we go into the city with crowds of pedes- trians, heavily-laden cars, and quickly-moving carriages, and in along the Park road past the ''Mineral Spring," whose water is mildly suggestive of rusty nails and disused tomato- cans, but still is better-tasted, if not so famous, as the waters of Saratoga or Baden. We pass the little goat-wagons and flying-horses and swings, around which admiring children cluster, and the large beer-breweries beyond the Park boun- dary that attract the older folk, and, reaching the starting- point at Fairmount, the day's tour is over. Do not suppose that this exhausts the attractions of the Park. Weeks can be profitably occupied in its exploration on foot or horseback or in carriage. It constantly develops new beauties to him who searches them out, while for him who cannot spare the time or money for more extended rec- reation it presents an unfailing field for summer rambles near home. IL LAUEEL HILL. TO FAIR310TJNT AND BEYOND. There is a mournful yet pleasant attraction in a burial- ground for a large part of human kind. They seek its solace and solitude to meditate, to deck the graves of loved ones with flowers, and to commune with spirits that have gone be- fore. Every large city has its favorite burial-place, but none LAUREL HILL, 13 a more famous one than Laurel Hill. Let us take to-day's ramble there. Thirty years ago a popular guide-book told the public how to get to Laurel Hill in these words : " The Third and Coates Street line of omnibuses leaves the Ex- change every eight minutes for Fairmount, where it connects immediately on Coates Street with Bender and Wright's Schuylkill boats for Mount Pleasant, Laurel Hill Cemetery, and Manayunk." Those omnibuses and those boats are no more. The horse-cars have superseded the one, and the Fairmount Steamboat Company's fine line of Schuylkill steamers the other. Then the Wire Bridge and the Fair- mount Water-Works were the two wonders of Phihidelphia, but both have been eclipsed by later bridges and improved pumping machinery. Then there was no Fairmount Park, and the Schuylkill flowed between banks that were the coun- try homes of opulent citizens. At Lemon Hill was Pratt's Garden, and the Zoological Garden was "Sohtude," once the country home of John Penn. The inclined plane, where the steam-cars from the west end of Columbia bridge were hauled up the hill by machinery to the Columbia Bailroad, was then in full operation. On the western shore, above Columbia bridge, and opposite Peters' Island, and now dwarfed by the Park offices near by, is the little stone cottage, with the over- hanging roof, where tradition says the poet Tom Moore lived when in Philadelphia. Tom Moore was here for ten days in the summer of 1804, and his ballad — " I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curled Above the green elms, that a cottage was near, And I said, 'If there's peace to be found in the world, A heart that was humble might hope for it here' " — is said to have been written at and about this cottage. His letters show that while he generally disliked most of our country as seen on his journey, he found an oasis of kind- ness in Philadelphia, and was delighted with Quaker City hospitality. He composed an ode to the Schuylkill, its nat- ural beauties having greatly impressed him, from which I quote the following : "Alone by the Schuylkill a wanderer roved, And bright were its flowery banks to his eye; But far, very far, were the friends that he loved, And he gazed on its flowery banks with a sigh ! 2 14 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. " The stranger is gone, — but he will not forget, When at home he shall talk of the toil he has known, To tell with a sigh what endearments he met, As he stray'd by the wave of the Schuylkill alone \" THE CITY OF THE DEAD. The steamer stops just above, on the eastern bank, at Laurel Hill. Let us enter and walk about among its tombs and statues and monuments, the white marble, as the sun shines upon it, contrasting beautifully with the green grass and foliage. As in sympathy with the place we recall the history of the past, the memory goes back to the foundation of this cemetery forty-five years ago, and the ten years of struggling against ill fortune that were necessary to establish it. Before 1836, excepting in Ronaldson's Cemetery, the burials of our people were mainly in church-yards. Laurel Hill was the name of the estate at Edgely, on the Schuylkill, in the Park, a mile below, and this cemetery site was the country-seat of a prominent merchant in the olden time, Joseph Sims. His home was bought; the name of the estate at Edgely was given it; and this, in 1836, was the foundation of Laurel Hill Cemetery, now extended till it covers nearly a hundred acres. As we proceed through the cemetery there are seen the most beautiful views along the Schuylkill ; the winding walks and terraced slopes and ra- vines giving constantly-changing landscapes. Few burial- places in the world can compare with this ; and Greenwood, at Brooklyn, is its only superior. The Necropolis, at Glas- gow, built upon the hill-side, resembles Laurel Hill somewhat, but lacks the beauty of our clear atmosphere and the Schuyl- kill water views. Pere La Chaise, at Paris, the most famous of cemeteries, cannot compare with Laurel Hill in beauty, while the French system of interment is so difi'erent from ours, that its vaults, and little houses, and tinsel ornaments are totally unlike our mounded graves, white stones, and floral tributes. After moving about among the tombs, and getting glimpses of views over the river through the trees, we cross the pretty little bridge spanning the lane dividing the cemetery, and pass the mausoleums built into the hill- sides or upon the rocks. Some of these and some of the lot enclosures have been made at immense cost, rivalling in ex- LAUREL HILL. 15 pensiveness, if not in ornamentation, the tombs of the Doges of Venice, that fill up so many of the churches in the Italian city. THE GRAVES AT LAUREL HILL. Here is the Disston Mausoleum, built on a jutting emi- nence, so that it can be seen miles away, and the placid river flows in front and far below, the green fields sloping up on the opposite bank in picturesque beauty. In front of this monument is one of those grand views along the Schuylkill, such as few public parks in other cities can present. The river curves around like a bow. To the southward and far off over the Columbia bridge are the Centennial Buildings, closing the scene in the hazy distance. To the northward are the pretty arches of the Falls bridge and the village be- yond. Many feet below us the carriages glide along the Park road on the edge of the water, and on the opposite bank a noisy railway train marks its flight by a long streak of black smoke. Far above the train, stands in solitude among the trees the lonely house on top of Chamounix hill. Continu- ing the walk a little farther up, the ponderous granite-work of lot enclosure is going on, occupying the labor of a de- tachment of stone-masons with derrick and catamaran, a task equal to building a house. The terraced walks here curve around like the rising banks of seats in a Roman amphi- theatre, the intermediate spaces filled with graves. Here, alongside of John Sergeant, is the modest tomb of General Meade. Away down by the river-bank, and in a plain un- marked sepulchre cut out of the solid rock, lies the Arctic explorer. Dr. Kane. A single shaft, on a little eminence near by, marks the grave of Charles Thomson, the Secretary of the Continental Congress. Just above this, a piece of rough rock bearing an urn and a stringless lyre tells on a little shield that there lies beneath all that remains of Joseph C. Neal, the " Charcoal Sketcher," one of the brightest journalists of a former generation. Walking farther north- ward the view along the river, above the Falls, opens, and here, in bronze, sits Cresson, the artist, who, though the in- scription says he was " a lover of art," could not have got- ten a better resting-place in which to study the beauties of nature. 16 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. The cemetery is full of the graves of fiimous men of a former generation. Near the entrance a plain shaft marks the resting-place of Thomas Grodfrey, the inventor of the mariner's quadrant. Not far away is the tribute to Commo- dore Hull, whose Roman altar tomb is surmounted by the eagle which defends the American flag, with every expression of beak and talons. Hull commanded the " Constitution" and startled the world by her capture of the British frigate " Guerriere," in 1812. Adjacent a flat slab covers Chief Justice Thomas McKean. O^eneral Hugh Mercer is buried on the open space fronting the chapel, his remains having been removed here from Christ Church-yard, with unusual pomp, in 181:0, while the St. Andrew's Society erected the monument over the hero who fell at Princeton. Julius Friedlander, the founder of the Institution for the Blind, is interred beneath a plain monument. The graves of Fred- erick Graefi", the designer of the Fairmount Water-Works ; of Major Twiggs, who fell in the Mexican War; of Thomas Buchanan Read, the poet-artist ; and of William Bradford, are also in Laurel Hill, while near the latter the genial Louis A. Godey is entombed in a stately mausoleum. But of the thousands of well-known Philadelphians whose last homes are about us, there is not room in this hasty sketch to write. Loving hands deck their graves and keep their memories green. As we proceed there is ample chance to study the changes that a half-century has made in our system of grave decoration, and how the plain slab and tombstone have grad- ually developed into the magnificent mausoleums and monu- ments of to-day. The walk finally brings us to the northern limit of the cemetery, overlooking the Falls village, and one cannot help thinking of how many are lying in this beautiful place who, even while living, came here to select a favorite spot wherein to rest when dead. OLD MORTALITY. Turning to go out, we pause near the entrance, and find facing the gate Thom's " Old Mortality" group, under an or- namental temple. Here is the quaint old Scotchman reclin- ing on a gravestone and chipping out the half-eifiiced letters of the inscription, while the little pony patiently waits along- side him, for his master and Sir Walter Scott, who sits on THE WISSAHICKON. I7 another tomb, to finish their discourse. Sir Walter and the pony are carved from American stone quarried near New- ark, while the old pilgrim on the grave came from Scotland. The group is an appropriate decoration, and were it in Edin- burgh how the Scots would treasure it ! Not long ago the voritable " Old Mortality" of Laurel Hill was gathered unto his fathers. The venerable John Conway, who had been em- ployed there almost since the opening of the cemetery, and who had become an octogenarian in its service, passing his declining years in wandering about, scythe in hand, like Father Time, fixing up and improving the graves in this beautiful home of the dead, finally succumbed last May like all of us must. He is to-day laid among the thousands at whose funerals he had for nearly a half-century assisted. III. THE WISSAHICKON. A PLEASANT MORNING RIDE. Let us start on a bright morning and drive out Broad Street behind a pair of nimble white horses. North Broad Street looks like a reduced edition of the Paris Champs Ely- sees Avenue with its ornamental gardens and fine residences, and the borders of bright green trees. The house-servants, in true Philadelphia style, are splashing the water over the pavements and watching furtively for the policeman who may have a regard for the city ordinance that ought to stop the deluge at seven a.m., but sometimes don't. We go past Monu- ment Cemetery and turn westward on Park Avenue, which gives a good view, though at some distance, of the Washing- ton and Lafayette Monument. This street runs through a region that not long ago was almost entirely the domain of nomadic tribes of goats and geese, but is now to a great ex- tent built up with rows of comfortable houses. It is, however, very rough riding at present on Park Avenue. The relics of the wooden pavement are full of holes, here and there 6 2* 18 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. patched with stones, giving plenty of exercise which may be good for digestion, but is uncomfortable. Droves of lazy pigs are coming into town taking up the entire street and sidewalks, as these useful animals usually do, and cows ru- . minate among the ash-heaps on the vacant lots, endeavoring to find an excuse from the occasional patches of grass to give " pure country milk." We soon reach the regions of the dead, through which the effort is making to have Park Ave- nue opened, and, it is to be hoped, decently paved. We pass the Odd-Fellows' and Mechanics' Cemeteries, and, turning into Ridge Avenue, the Glenwood. This leads to a semi- rural region, where buildings are scattered about, with plenty of intervening space for more, and where the stone-cutters and florists — attracted by the cemeteries — are numerous. Leaving the East Park, with its pretty hedges of japoniea, we pass Laurel Hill and Mount Vernon Cemeteries, and go through the busy Falls village, devoted to carpet-weaving. A MINIATURE ALPINE GORGE. We are taking this ride to seek the Wissahickon, which has been not inaptly termed a section cut from Switzerland. This ravine lies between Leverington and Koxborough on the one hand, and Germantown, Mount Airy, and Chestnut Hill on the other. If this gorge were near Boston every New England poet would go wild over it, and, were it really located in Switzerland, Philadelphia pilgrims who never ven- ture near it now would feel in duty bound to take it in as part of the "grand tour." Leaving the Falls village, we turn in from the edge of the Schujdkill, alongside the attrac- tive picnic-ground at Riverside Park, and go under the un- couth railroad high bridge, elevated one hundred feet above us, with the extra sets of wooden trestles and stone buttresses, a construction of sometimes doubted strength, but always cer- tain ugliness, which it is gratifying to know is soon to be replaced by a substantial new stone bridge. Rounding a sharp rocky corner, we are at once amid the beauties of the Wissahickon ravine. Roads wind along on either side of the still waters, between high wooded hills, clad as nature made them. The first bend of the stream discloses a pretty view, with row-boats on the water, but the banks are almost deserted, for it is morning, and few carriages or pedestrians THE WISSAHICKON. 19 have yet come out. Halting at Maple Spring, a look is taken at the late Joseph Smith's strange museum. Mr. Smith, who died at the ripe old age of eighty-one, about two years ago, had a genius for fantastic carving. Out of the roots of the laurel, which produce such tortuous shapes, he has fashioned every imaginable strange figure and caricature of beast, bird, and reptile, and made a museum which is one of the curi- osities of the country. He had wonderful skill in taking a laurel-root, detecting a fantastic resemblance, and then, with very little change in its original shape, making it the repre- sentative of a living or imagined thing. This museum con- tains the most remarkable collection of devils thus made, in- cluding the representative devils of all countries. Mr. and Mrs. Beelzebub sit on either hand, and their son is riding a galloping horse. There are monkeys, birds, rats, snakes, ele- phants' heads and trunks, the heads of prominent men, and all of them are the original and scarcely-changed roots. The place is full of such fancies, some fashioned into picture-frames or flower-baskets, and to each of the curiosities this professor of "rootology" attached a quaint and amusing history. His museum at Maple Spring remains just as he left it, and is one of the attractions of the Park. Behind the house pours down, in steady stream, the pure spring-water that gives the place its name. THE HERMIT OF THE WISSAHICKON. Resuming the journey up the ravine, we come to the " Old Log Cabin Bridge," which, with its attendant wild scenery, has been for many years the subject of the artist's pencil. Near by a lane leads to the " Hermit's Pool," where the ec- centric "Hermit of the Wissahickon," John Kelpius, almost two centuries ago, dug his well and made his home ; preached to his disciples of the near approach of the Millennium ; and finally, casting his magical "wisdom-stone" into the stream, died in 1704, to the great relief of his Quaker neighbors, who did not relish such alchemy in close proximity to the city of Penn. The region is a weird spot, and the old hotel near the Log Cabin bridge, that was in former days the resort of such lively parties, has many a pleasant memory for its visitors. It has been swept away by the progress of Park improvements, but its frequenters will not soon forget the in- 20 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. genuity with which the landlord increased his trade by keep- ing a sheepish-looking bear chained to a tree, with a sign — " This bear drinks sarsaparilla." "N.B. — Sarsaparilla sold at the bar." That bear became the most expert cork-drawer of his time, but he must have succumbed as a martyr to too much drink. The stream winds between its rocky, wooded banks, the water rippling over the stones, and just above, the gorge makes a right-angled bend, the road going over a stone bridge, near which a couple of fishermen were waiting for a long- delayed nibble. The creek must, by this time, be almost fished out, yet there are rumors of an occasional gold-fish being caught. We cross the " Little Red Bridge," which is constructed much after the pattern of Noah's Ark, and con- tinue up the western bank. The view broadens somewhat as the top of the gorge widens, and but for the absence of snow-capped peaks you might almost imagine yourself in a Swiss valley, instead of a few miles out of Philadelphia. Long vistas open occasionally as the gorge bends, while the creek narrows as we ascend. The water ripples down the cascades and makes plenty of noise. Little streams fall in, and at intervals a break in the woods discloses a field with cattle pasturing on the hill-side. Were the Wissahickon in Europe it would be dignified with the name of a river, and it really brings down more water than many a famous river of the Old World. It is probably about the only stream of its size in the United States whose navigation improvement is not taken care ©f by Congress in the River and Harbor Bill. INDIAN ROCK AND GERMANTOWN. We ride under the pipe bridge that was thrown across the gorge about ten years ago to carry water from Roxborough to Germantown, and which, with its inverted arches, looks as if turned upside down, and see another red bridge, with only about two-thirds the usual allowance of roof, the wind hav- ing blown the rest away. Passing the Valley Green, where ducks paddle about under the trees, and a pretty single-arch stone bridge spans the stream, we go by the paper mills, the life of that manufacture being clear water. The gorge still lengthens out before us as we move on steadily up-hill and THE WISSAHICKON. 21 pass the Indian Rock. Here tradition tells of a romantic Indian maiden — name unknown — who jumped from away up on the side of the gorge — date not mentioned — and buried her sorrows in the water far below. I tell the harrowing tale as it was told to me, although unable to verify the story. Thus the gorge continues up to Chestnut Hill, beyond which the creek flows through meadow-land before it enters the ravine. The many springs and little streams that come out on the sides of the gorge give a plentiful supply for drinking- fountains and water-tanks. Below Indian llock, about thirty 3"ears ago, kind hands set up an attractive little fountain on the rocky roadside, and inscribed it " Pro Bono Publico," with the noble wish, expressed at its base, " Esto Perpetua." The moss-covered rocks and overhanginoj trees make this perpetual spring a cool resort in sweltering weather. Turning back and crossing the stone bridge, we toil labori- ously up the hill, out of the ravine. The road is rough and needs improvement. Wissahickon Avenue thus winds up through another pretty gorge, with a little stream rippling down alongside. This very bad thoroughfare brings us to Mount Airy, and we turn towards the city. The German- town Avenue paving is in this portion better cared for than it used to be, but is still imperfect. Going southeast past the ancient Mermaid Inn, we entered picturesque Germantown, with its charming villas interspersed with old-time houses. Heavy teams toil along the dusty road, showing that, in spite of railways, wagon traffic still supplies a large section of the northern suburbs. Striking the Belgian pavement in upper Germantown, the carriage rolls smoothly along the car-tracks, and it can be remarked how much this place looks like an English provincial town, with its stone and stucco houses, peaked roofs and gables, and the comparative scarcity of red brick buildings. The frequent trees beautify the avenue, and with the villas make it attractive. We pass various old and famous houses, not to forget the Chew mansion and the Germantoion Telegraph office, with Major Freas's fruit gar- den alongside ; the pretty little ivy-entwined church, and the public school, with the yardful of playing children, and ride down the hill towards Nicetown, where the Midvale Steel-Works, off to the right, are making a terrible smoke. Then, under the two open railway bridges, where locomotives 22 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. rush over us, and, for a moment, frighten the horses. Below Nicetown we turn into the very dusty race-track known as North Broad Street, on which the festive horsemen exercise their ponies, and the rest of the travellers bewail the want of water-sprinklers and good paving. Coming into town the morninij: ride is ended. IV. UP THE DELAWARE RIVER. A STEAMBOAT JOURNEY. There is no summer recreation more pleasant than a ride on the river. It is healthful and invigorating, and the cool breezes of a trip over the water have been known to preserve life. Many a mother has saved her sick child by taking it a steamboat ride. The Delaware gives especial opportunity for this, and we will take our recreation to-day by a ride up the river. Several fine steamers are ready to carry us, — the " Co- lumbia," the " Twilight," the " Edwin Forrest," and others, and we will take the "Forrest," for it goes the farthest, all the way to Trenton, forty miles by water, though much less by land. The scenery of the Delaware, above Philadelphia, is attractive for every one who likes beautiful shores lined with villas, pretty woods, and cultivated fields, but the banks are usually low, scarcely rising into prominence excepting at Florence Heights. The frequent bends and coves and little towns give it many charms, and the river excursions are always popular. The steamboat " Edwin Forrest," at Arch Street wharf, after considerable commotion among the other steamers clustering around the wharf, and some piercing shrieks from steam- whistles, goes out into the stream and turns her prow north- ward. Captain Cone directs her movements in the pilot- house forward, on top of which stands Forrest himself, as the Indian chief Metamora, aiming his musket ahead of the steamboat. She glides swiftly along, past the vessels at the piers, the acres of lumber-yards in the neighborhood of- UP THE DELAWARE RIVER. 23 Poplar and Shackamaxon Streets, and the nest of iron-mills and ship-building yards at Kensington, where the clouds of black smoke give evidence of a big business. At Cramp's yard and above a dozen vessels are building and repairing, lor here is the Philadelphia hospital for sick steamers, while over on the Jersey shore, at Cooper's Point, they have a similar infirmary for disabled schooners. The river sweeps grandly around towards the northeast, as the boat runs be- tween Port Piichmond and Petty's Island, with the black coal-wharves and a forest of loading vessels' masts passing in review on the left hand, and the huge new grain elevator towering up above, a landmark for the whole river front. In midstream, dredges are deepening the channel so that large vessels can easier get in and out the Port llichmond docks, as an enormous trade is developing here. Farther on are the gas-works, with long trestles extending out to the water's edge for coal-landing, this being one of the institutions where favored local statesmen are employed at snug salaries and easy hours to " wheel out smoke." Over on the Jersey shore, nestling among the trees in the cove above Cooper's Point, is the Tammany Fish- House, where they make scien- tific investigations of the seductive liquid known as " Fish- Ilouse punch." The shores are low on either bank, and approaching Bridesburg we cross "Five- Mile Bar," where the shallow water impedes navigation and needs government attention. Bridesburg is low-lying, with its houses and arsenal half covered with trees, while above them tower Fitler's new cordage-mills, an immense structure, with an unfinished smoke-stack, looking not unlike some grand cathedral in the distant view. The attractive water-works building is near by on the river-bank. TACONY AND TORRESDALE. On the stream are long tows of coal-barges, bound to and from the canals at Bristol and Bordentown. At least a dozen will be dragged behind a sad-looking, slow-moving, but pow- erful towboat, while others cluster around the little tugs that puflF along in lively fashion. Occasionally a lazy sailing craft tacks across the channel, and makes the steamboat change her course to get out of the way. Bridesburg gradually dis- solves into Tacony, with the extensive improvements made 24 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. by the Disstons ; and here is seen the once busy but now almost idle wharf and station where formerly the New York passengers were transferred between boat and train. Next the huge House of Correction rises on the left hand, while on the opposite shore is the pretty town of Riverton, with its attractive villas on the river-bank. The House of Correc- tion farm extends for a mile along the shore, a series of well-kept lawns, gardens, and fields, with an occasional bit of woodland. Above this the boat approaches and stops at Torresdale. This is one of the most beautiful spots on the Delaware, villas lining the shore, with neat lawns under the trees, and the green bank abruptly sloping down to the water's edge, where nearly every place has its boat-house, some of them quite ornamental structures. Little boys are dabbling in the water, over the sides of little boats, and you feel like escaping from the boat by jumping in beside them and then creeping up the bank to lie under the trees. The lucky people who live there can look across at the Jersey shore, where the Eancocas comes in between its low mud-banks, and far up this creek can see the railway drawbridge, where once a train plunged through and killed a large part of its passengers. Above the Rancocas are Riverside and Delanco, and a succession of attractive country-seats line both shores. On the Pennsylvania side is Andalusia, with the Chestnut Grove excursion-ground back of the landing. BEVERLY, BURLINGTON, AND BRISTOL. Soon we come to one of the most popular Jersey towns on the river, Beverly, around which the Delaware winds beauti- fully, the wharf being on a point jutting out into the stream, while above is as perfect a cove as the eye can find, the villas and sloping green banks giving evidence of the wealth and taste of their owners. On the upper part of the cove the blufi" shore rises a little, and here (the river-men say) live the " high-toners" of Beverly, their settlement being known as Edgewater. They are evidently people of good taste, both in their selection of homes and their adornments. Beverly used to be " Dunk's Ferry," while Edgewater was " Woodlane," and there still live Jerseymen who have sucked straws at its former cider-press, and as they did so looked over the river at the mouth of the broad Neshaminy. Tho UP THE DELAWARE RIVER. 25 river-banks wind on both sides, making a succession of pretty coves, and as we ascend, the stream gradually narrows, be- coming quite contracted as the steamboat approaches Bur- lington, a town apparently almost hidden by the trees. On the Pennsylvania shore is a smooth beach, the location of the old Badger Shad Fishery. Above this the river broadens, forming two channels around Burlington Island, the town of Burlington being on the right hand, and Bristol over in a cove on the left, with the low wooded shore of the island between. Burlington is a thickly-built town, extending some distance along the river, and having several boat-landings. It has a ferry to Bristol, with a little odd-looking ferry-boat. As we approached, this craft with its thin smoke-pipe on one side was steaming across the river. Our steamer landed some passengers and freight, and then followed the little ferry-boat over to Bristol, which is clustered along the cove, with a standpipe rising above the trees at the upper end, and quite a number of old-time houses on the bank, while at the lower part of the town the Delaware Division Canal comes out to the river, bringing its traflSc down from the Lehigh coal region. As we neared the landing, the powerful tow- boat '' Bristol" was making a long sweep around with its trail of at least a dozen empty barges, getting them into position to enter the canal. Mill Creek comes into the Delaware at Bristol, and the town is one of the most ancient on the river. It was the first county-seat of Bucks County, the original court-house having been built of logs, and replaced by a brick building as early as 1705. Its St. James' E[ns- copal Church was built in 1712 and its Quaker meeting- house in 1714. The river-bank above Bristol has been much improved of late years by the erection of new houses, so that now it is quite picturesque. Here begin the broad acres of the Landreth seed-farm, at Bloomsdale, which extends along the Pennsylvania shore for a great distance, and back from the river as far as the eye can see. The farm covers, I am told, six hundred acres, and presents a succession of fine houses and gardens, beautiful foliage and fruit-trees, and highly cul- tivated fields. CAMDEN AND AMBOY. The Delaware Biver, as we all know, is not a very straight- Above here it makes a sudden bend to the 3 26 BRIEF SIMMER RAMBLES. right, changing from northwest to northeast, and beginning a series of gyrations that continue for miles. Across a tongue of land the smokes of Trenton can be seen scarcely four miles awaj, yet the crooked river makes us almost turn our backs upon it and pursue a tortuous course of fourteen miles to reach the town. Here are the Hellings' ice-houses for fruit storage and preservation, and just above Dr. Morwitz, of the German Democrat^ has a country home, where he retires to meditate the purchase of more newspapers to add to the large number he already possesses. Tullytown is in the distance, and some of its people came out to the river to see the steam- boat stop at the little wharf. Opposite, the river's sharp bend is made around Florence Point aud its foundry, while above, the bluffs along the shore gradually rise into Florence E eights, once a noted excursion-ground, but now eclipsed by more modern resorts. The Pennsylvania shore, above Tullytown, is that region of fine farms and high cultivation known as Penn's Manor, and the locality where his country-house for- merly stood is still pointed out, near the river-bank. This house was a marvel in its day ; it covered sixty by forty feet, and Penn resided in it in 1700 and 1701. until he left for England. He never returned to America, and before the Eevolution the house, which had fallen into decay, was taken down. Before the beginning of the present century the entire estate at Penn's 31anor had been sold out of the Penn family. Droves of cows and calves come down to the water's edge at Florence landing, and the cove above is filled with lumber rafts. The Heights rise up apparently like a small mountain, the shores we have passed being so low. Above here the river widens and becomes very shallow, the channel being close to the Jersey shore. On these shallows fine ice is har- vested, and the Knickerbocker Company has put up large icehouses on the banks to store it. Here the broad Kiukora Creek comes in, where, in the days anterior to railroads, the boat transferred the New York passengers to the stages that took them across Jersey. A remnant of the old wharf still remains. The river again becomes narrow, and around a bend to the left is seen White Hill, on the Jersey shore, a busy place in years gone by, for here are the abandoned Cam- den and Amboy Railroad shops stretching along the bai>k UP THE DELAWARE RIVER. 27 with the railroad alongside them. Their occupation has been gone since the Pennsylvania Railroad's assumption of the New Jersey lines, but they are to be uiven new life by other parties as a locomotive-works. A bluff shore rises behind the shops, and at White Hill landing, as we stopped a mo- ment, a little girl on a canal-boat was engaged in hanging out the family wash, while a boy stood by with his hands in his pockets, possibly wondering whether he might not get a suf- ficient start in life on that canal-boat to become a second Garfield. Just above the White Hill shops Crosswick's Creek flows into the Delaware, making a pretty depression between the hills, with the steeples of Bordentown seen up the creek in the distance. On the left hand rises the bold shore of Bona- parte's Park, while on both sides of the creek the railway runs, up to that odd station at Bordentown, where the cars for Amboy go under the ancient railway office and the street in front. This was a famous place in the olden time. The railway magnates assembled there to rule the Commonwealth that our ancestors called the "State of Camden and Amboy," and here with their through lines running under the old house in which they met, they controlled the politics of New Jersey and declared magnificent dividends. I remember attending a Camden and AriJ3oy annual meeting when a boy, on the day when the news arrived from England by steamer of the result of the ftimous Heenan and Sayres prize-fight, an event in which America took much interest. The train with the New York papers ran under the house, and an ex- cited railway magnate getting a copy of the New York Herald., the proceedings were suspended while he read the account of the fight. But the glory has departed from the old house over the station. Its people no longer puU the Jersey rail- road wires. DIFFICULT NAVIGATION. At Crosswick's Creek the Delaware and Raritan Canal begins its course, running up alongside the river to Trenton, and then across Jersey to New Brunswick, This is one of the gTeat canals of the countr}'', carrying a heavy tonnage, cliiefly of coal, and forming the inside water route between Phila- delphia and New York. The railway that runs along the 28 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. canal-bank was formerly the great route of travel between the two cities, but it is now superseded by the shorter line crossing the Delaware at South Trenton. Dredges are en- deavoring to improve the canal entrance, and have done good work below, but do not seem to have accomplished much above, where one was at work when we passed. The river- shores here are low, and we came in sight of Trenton at the shallow place, about three miles below the town, known as Periwig Island Bar. Here there is not over two and a half feet depth at low water, and to get over these shallows, the *' Edwin Forrest" has to make her voyages according to the tides, timing her movements so as to reach Trenton just at high water. She does not draw over five feet, yet, to get through this difiicult place, she has to slow speed and make zigzag turns. There has been considerable work done here at dredging, but it does not see^i to have accomplished much permanent good, as the ice in winter sweeps back the gravel dredged out of the channel and deposited on the adjacent shore. The passage through which the steamer can go ia barely eighty feet wide, requiring careful navigation. Last winter the ice jammed on this bar, and when the spring freshet came down it made a new channel across Penn'a Manor, the water coming out near Tullytown. The twist- ing river, with its pretty shores, makes attractive scenery below Trenton, and by a bend to the right the railway bridge across the Delaware is opened up. We pass Morris Island, a favorite excursion-ground for Trenton, and go through clear water over a rocky bottom, where, in the season, they catch most delicious shad, better than in the less pure waters below. Trenton appears a low-lying town, with a few steeples showing up above the pretty little Riverview Cemetery on the right hand, and on the Pennsylvania shore is Morrisville, named after Eobert Morris, who had his country home there, while it was also for three years the place of exile of the French General Moreau. Big rafts float along, interfering with the steamboat movements in the narrow channel. Huge iron- and steel-works line the river-bank, above which and almost up to the railroad bridge is the wharf where the journey stops. We laud with the other passengers ; freight comes off and goes on ; a new lot of travellers embark, in- cluding an itinerant band with harp, hand-organ, and monkey j UP THE DELAWARE RIVI^R. 29 the steamboat swings around, and soon starts off on her trip back to Philadelphia. TUE NEW JERSEY CAPITAL. Trenton is a thriving city, and will repay a visit. The Assunpink Creek divides it into two sections, and it was one of the earliest settlements of this part of the country, as old as Philadelphia, and named after William Trent, a Jersey law- maker one hundred and fifty years ago. Historically it is fiimous for its battle-ground, now built over to such an extent as to seriously interfere with the periodical sham battles of Trenton, with which the patriotic in these parts revive Pvevo- lutionary memories. At the last one, the " Hessians," it was noticed, wore the finest clothes and won the most applause. Trenton at present is best known for her Legislature's skill in saving Jerseymen from taxes, and for her potteries. As New Jersey controls the great line of travel between Phila- delphia and New York, the trafiic across the State supports the State Grovernment, pays most of the State expenses, and has preserved the Commonwealth almost without debt. We may smile at the " Spaniard," but we pay liim toll in the form of " transit dues" every time w^e cross the State to New York, and he feeds us from his market- gardens, while we eat the victuals on chinaware which usually originates in Trenton, though sometimes bearing marks that look as if it came across the sea. Going about the attractive town, so much of which is made up of fine houses with front gar- dens, it looks as if potteries, with their conical kilns, had been dropped down at random, and as if we were in a section of Holland, there are so many canals to cross. The Dola- ware and Karitan Canal and its feeders manage to make almost every street cross them on little swing drawbridges wdiich quickly open to let the barges pass. The potteries do a heavy business. There are over twenty of them, some very large, and they make the chinaware of^ ordinary char- acter that is found in every house. The town is built over beds of clay, and it is no wonder that they can thus dig out of the soil of New Jersey the materials to make three-fourths of the entire crockery manufacture of the country, and can themselves roll up an annual product worth several millions. The English potters have settled here extensively, and, in 30 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. some places, they also do the finest deconition. At Dean's rooms, fine speeimens of decoration on imported porcelain are to be seen, but the artists are all French and English. In fact, the whole pottery trade for which Trenton is noted seems a section of Europe, set down on our domestic clay- beds, to reproduc-e here the goods which merchants once brought over the ocean, but c-an now get at home. CUuton Street, in Trenton, is a very fine avenue, with attractive houses on either side, and an excellent pavement. The Model School buildings are on this street, near where the " Swiuup Angel" cannon, once so destmetive at Charles- ton, is now doing peaceful duty as an ornament for a drink- ing fountain. On State Street is the new p«>st-office. which Uncle Sam has recently built at a cost of a half-million, and the old State House, where the Legislature meets to devise methods of making somebody else support the State s^jvernment. This building fronts the street, with grounds running back to the river, here a shallow stream, its bed filled -with rocks and boulders, while farther up State Street is a succession of ornate residences, with ample grounds extend- ins to the river^shore, A few hours spent in going about this city will disclose a thriving community, and then, as the dav wears away, we are ready to return home. The home- ward journey can be made by steamboat, as we c:ime, or by either of t^e railroads. We will take the Pennsylvania line, which treats us to the novelty of running under the c-anals I instead of going over the water as is usually done), and then crosses the Delaware by the great iron bridge. This homeward journey demonstrates the superiority in time of railwavs over water navigation. The lovely steamboat ride up the Delaw:ire took three hours and a half; the railway brought us home in fony minutes. ATLANTIC CITF. 31 V. ATLANTIC CITY. A RIDE ACROSS JERSEY. It has not been many years since New Jersey for a broad space inside of the sandy coast-line consisted of pine barrens, ahnost uninhabited, excepting by the useful but lonely char- coal burner. Excluding the pines that grew upon them, there could not have been found a better representation of a veritable Sahara than these sandy wastes. But the indomi- table spirit of enterprise is fast reclaiming the desert, and thrifty settlements, like oases, are springing up all over it. The establishment of Atlantic City was soon followed by the opening of the Camden and Atlantic Railroad, and this, bringing a stream of travel through what before was an almost unknown region, was the beginning of a tidal-wave towards the seaside that now requires three railroads for its accommodation. The opening of the " Jersey Pines" led settlers to seek out the rich soils that were formerly almost unknown, and now the railways are dotted with settlements. After passing the broad belt of garden-land bordering the Delaware, the ride across Jersey to the sea is hardly now the wearying task it used to be. The trains rush through in ninety minutes. After leaving Haddonfield and its broad acres of luxuriant cultivation. Lakeside Park and its pretty excursion-ground are passed. Here a little paradise has been made, where many thousands go for a day's summer recrea- tion. The pretty lake, covering nearly thirty acres, gives a chance for bathing, fishing, and boating, and the sailing pleas- ures are so much sought that the railway rents out the boating privilege for fifteen hundred dollars a year. East of this was formerly the dreary, dusty waste of pines, but they now are broken up by the settlements, and ultimately, if the present process goes on, will practically disappear. Im- mense regions have been cleared for cultivating, and thrifty farmers, and fruit- and vine-growers now have possession of 32 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. tliem. To the energy of the American has been added the perseverance of the German, Swiss, and Swede; and Ham- monton. Egg Harbor City, Yineland, Ell wood, May's Land- ing, and a dozen other places are known the country over as successful agi'icultural settlements rescued from the Jersey pines by thrift and hard work. Here grow fruits, berries, and wines ec^ual to any of their class produced anywhere else. New York and Philadelphia eat them and drink them ; and the New York gourmand, as he smacks his lips over some of the luscious wines set before him at Gotham's palatial res- taurants, labelled as from the Rhine and Moselle, does not know that Egg Harbor produced them, and that the German label on the bottle is — not to put too fine a point upon it — a mistake of the printer. In fact, the greatest wine compe- tition of the world — that of the Paris Exposition of 1878 — gave to Julius Hencke, of Egg Harbor, the highest prize for his wines. Thus is the Jersey Sahara being successfully reclaimed. THE CITY BY THE SEA. Let us go for our summer ramble to-day across New Jersey to the seacoast, to the watering-place that draws the sea- seeking crowd from Philadelphia as Brighton does from Lon- don. Three railroads lead to it, and four ferries across the Delaware feed them. Excepting Coney Island, no American watering-place — in fact, no seacoast resort in the world — attractsthe masses like Atlantic City. Even Brighton itself, though it fills up at times with boarders, does not draw the excursionists like this city by the sea. Over thirteen thou- sand excursionists have gone there in one day, and the sum- mer population at times reaches the large figure of forty thousand. In the height of the season the anxiety to go is such that often it taxes the railway facilities to the utmost, though these f icilities arc continually being increased. C>n some days not only has every car of every description been used, with benches put up in freight-cars, but trains have gone out with people standing in aisle and on platforms, and some even on top of the cars. How a hot Saturday empties out Philadeljihia seaward can be realized only by those who watch the ferries and the cars. Atlantic City is built on Absecom Beach, a low strip of sand thi\t extends about ten ATLANTIC CITV. 33 miles along the coast, north of Egg Harbor, the town being on the northern end of the beach. A narrow inlet north of tliis divides it from Brigantine Beach and the adjacent islands, while across Egg Harbor, to the southward, is the new settle- ment on Peck's Beach, known as Ocean City. It is the in- tention to extend railway facilities all along both beaches, connecting them by a ferry or a drawbridge across the Inlet at Atlantic City, and by establishing a ferry between the south end of Absecom Beach and Ocean City. Of the chain of seacoast settlements along the Jersey ocean-shore, this, as it is now the most populous, seems destined to continue the most popular, and these railway facilities, with individual enterprise, will constantly extend it. When the train rushes out of the region of the pines to the marshes that border the coast, and the heat and dust are suddenly replaced by the burst of cool, refreshing moist air, laden with the aroma of the sea, the effect is delicious. The three railways, side by side, run across these meadows, and the passenger looks out of the car-windows over the vast level, treeless region, to wonder whether somebody has not dug out with a spade the accurately squared and straight- edged little water-basins, scattered everywhere over it. Then away off on the left hand he sees Atlantic City, a dim and distant mass of low-lying buildings, with an occasional tower or spire raised above the rest. The approach across these meadows is very like the approach to Venice, where the sin- gle railway that connects it with Italy is constructed on a causeway over similar salt marshes, and the domes and stee- ples of the town can be seen afar off over the treeless region, long before the train reaches it. After a sweep around on the meadows, the railway crosses the drawbridge over Beach Thoroughfare, and deposits us at Atlantic City. It is found to be a town of wooden houses built on the sand, with grav- elled streets, dusty and dry, with an almost blinding glare of sunlight in the daytime, but having nearly always a cool and refreshing breeze, and an absolutely cold atmosphere at night. It has not the substantial stone and brick buildings and the compact construction of the older foreign watering- places, but then they have nothing in their pebbled and shingled, shelving, and often very steep shores, to compare to its broad and hard sand-beaches. 34 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. A RIPE ON THE SANDS. It is tiresome work walking about in the sun on these hot days, so we will get into one of the Jersey carriages, with horses that look as it' they waged perpetual war against the mosquito and green-headed fly, and broad-tired wheels, made to prevent sinking in the sand, and take a survey of the town. We pass the new National Bank and the Chinese laundry just set up by an almond-eyed mandarin named AVag-shag, and proceed up Atlantic Avenue. This broad street, one hundred feet wide, runs the full length of the city, and is surveyed all the way down the beach. It is bordered by fine hotels, stores, and lodging-houses, and the railway, with both horse- and steam-cars, is laid along the centre. This railway curves around to the left towards the Inlet, and near here is seen the old frame Atlantic Hotel, which was the first hotel built in the city. Near it an enterprising gentleman is digging a series of excavations in the salt marshes that look like a regular system of min- iature canals and docks, and are to be ultimately elab- orated into what is known as a " terrapin farm." The ground is spongy underfoot and easily worked, while just beyond surveyors are laying out a new railroad to the Inlet. We go farther, to the edge of the wharf at the Inlet, and find that the tidal action which has been filling in new land on the ocean front has, at the same time, been washing away the shore of the Inlet, while the wind blows the sand in heaps that almost cover the railroad. Across is the dreary waste of sand-bars at Brigantine Point, and between are a few rapidly-moving yachts that " stand over"' in the stifl' breeze. Vegetation does not flourish here. The few trees are stunted, and the grass, which has a hard struggle for existence against the sand and salt air, is sparse and sickly. Turning about, we pass through several cross streets, and finally go south along Pacific Avenue. The Life-saving Station is passed, a low reddish building, shingled on the sides as well as the roof, but closed for the season. The signal-officer's house is recognized by the r[ueer instruments up on the roof, the cups that tell the force of the wind rapidly revolving. From here come those tantalizing tele-" ATLANTIC CITF. 35 firrams that agirravate Philadelphia on a hundred- decree day 'by rep(jrting only sixty or seventy degrees at Atlantie City. Tile tall light-house tower, with its red and white surface, rises between, the people on the little balcony at the top looking like pigmies, they are so high up. We drive along Pacific Avenue between rows of pretty villas and cottages, with an occasional hammock swung on tlie porches to aid in passing away a very lazy day. Similar cottages are seen along the cross streets, with frequent new ones going up on the vacant ground. All are built of wood, cellarless, and standing on brick supports, the panels and eaves being prettily painted, while the frequent bow-windows show that that phase of Philadelphia warfare has not yet reached the Jersey coast. A newsboy's fortune. Pacific Avenue leads us to the region of the Excursion houses, where every morning the three railways pour out their loads of transient visitors. Here is a perfect maze of saloons and restaurants, bathing-houses, and amusement places, not to forget the huge circular swings as high as a house ; and here are the tens of thousands accommodated who can only give a day to get a breath of fresh air and a dip in the salt water at the seaside. The chief of these, the Sea View House, has been built up into prosperity by a Philadelphia newsboy, John Trenwith, who began life by selling Ledf/ers, and is now a capitalist worth, they say, at least one hundred thousand dollars. It is a sight to see when in the full tide of business on a big excursion day ; and to hear John tell how he first accumulated pennies by selling newspapers, while his brother Tom makes his big black dog, Neptune, stand up and bark to get a cracker. They pay eight thousand dollars a year for tlie house now, which is pretty good evidence of the business done in the two or three summer months that it can be carried on. Below the Excursion houses the town soon loses itself in the sand-hills, and off the shore the gaunt bones of a wreck stick up, with the waves washing over them. We turn back along the beach, and, as the carriage drives through the edge of the sea, for the tide is coming in and waves pass under the wheels, we look out over the ocean with its green water, and the blue line far away where the sea 36 BBIEF SUMMER F AMBLES. fades into the sky. The breakers roll in, curl over, tumble, about in long lines of foam, and, 'with a steady roar, finally break down and exhaust themselves at our feet. Little bub- bles float on their surface, and as they recede a streak of soapsuds marks the line to which they came. The best surf, and consequently the best bathing, is at the southern end of the town, and down towards Egg Harbor. A broad plank foot walk borders the beach, and bath-houses are dotted all along it. People are lying about on the sand, with umbrellas up, to keep off the sun and wind. Children are digging canals and building forts to be knocked down by the waves, some wading about in long gum boots, and others getting their feet wet as they miscalculate their ability to run away from a wave. Carriages drive along, and occasionally a thin youth balances himself as he goes by, apparently with painful effort to keep himself erect on a bicycle. In this region the new Park bath-house and parlor, built by IMr. George F. Lee, has introduced a comfort in bathing accom- modations heretofore unknown at Atlantic City. To the dressing-rooms he has added the attractions of the parlor and the usefulness of the telephone and messenger systems, the house itself being quite an ornamental structure. In the bazar adjoining are all the different kinds of pretty shells picked up on the beach, the proprietor quietly telling me he usually imported his supplies from the West Indies. THE GREAT BEACON. There are a few great beacon-lights on the Atlantic Coast that are known by the mariner the world over. One is at Hatteras, others at Cape Ann, Cape Cod, Gay Head, Minot's Ledge, and Nantucket, and another at Absecom. This great xVbsecom light at Atlantic City, furnished by a Fresnel lens of the first order, which gives a mass of light six feet wide and ten feet high, burns steadily from sunset to sunrise, and can be seen from the deck of a vessel twenty miles at sea. It is a fixed white light exhibited from the top of a tower one hundred and sixty-seven feet high, and is visible all around the horizon. To protect the tower thousands of tons of stone and huge d^-kes are placed on the seaside, but the washing of the waves seriously threatened it, until, three years ago, a pier was constructed a long distance out to sea, and since- ATLANTIC CITY. 37 then the land has made, removing the beach hundreds of feet away from the tower and the town. About twenty-five years 2.'^() a liuge package was sold at auction in New York for unpaid custom duties, and brought about two hundred dol- lars. It had been consigned in France to a person who had never called for it. Being opened, an immense Fresnel lens, of the highest order, was found, and this is now the Absecom light. It had cost the government about eleven thousand dollars, and they thought it was lost. Let us make this great light-house a visit. 3Iajor Wolf, the keeper, lives in a modest brick building at the foot of the tower. He is a bird-fancier, and has a large lattice-work house near by, with almost a hundred pigeons, many of them carriers, and .some of them most amusing tumblers, while over the assemblage presides a solemn wild goose. The walks about the grounds are bor- dered with shells, but even steady coaxing cannot get flowers to grow on the neat grass-plats. We enter the base of the tower and sign the register as a preliminary to the visit. The keeper complains of being lonesome at times, though he has plenty of visitors. Last year over eleven thousand persons climbed the tower, nearly half of them in the month of Au- gust, but he is principally lonesome in the winter-time^ only twenty coming to see him in January, and they on two days only. But in August they come in droves, and on the 11th of August last year, in the three hours that the tower is open, no less than three hundred and eighty-four persons went up. There was a big excursion that day, and, as the Major tersely expressed it, a good many of his visitors were saturated with •' peanuts and mineral water," and made so much dirt that the tower had to be given an extra house- cleaning. As we signed the book, a pretty little rose-breasted grosbeak, which had been caught in the netting outside the lantern, chirped merrily in its cage. Were it not for this netting the birds flying against the lantern at night might break the glass. As it is, many are caught in the netting. The Major said he once caught seven brant at one time, and they had thus captured as many as three hundred birds in a single night. Let us climb laboriously up the winding stairs of the grad- ually narrowing tower, and count its two hundred and twenty- eight steps as we ascend. It is a tough job, even for the 4 38 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. keepers who are used to it, and the climber winds around and around the twisted stairway until he srets almost into the condition of the whirling dervish. The stairway finally comes to an end in a little room beneath the lantern, and on a level with the balcony outside the tower. Here they sit at night, serving four-hoia* watches, and as the tower vibrates in the wind they superintend the light above. We go up into the lantern and see the wonderful construction that makes this powerful light. Imagine yourself in the chimney of a mammoth lamp, ten feet high and six feet across, the central part of the sides made of thick curved glass, and all the rest, top and bottom, of curved prisms acting as a multitude of reflectors. In the centre is a large lamp with four circidar wicks, arranged regularly, one inside the other. Above and below are huge reservoirs of lard oil, with pumps moved by clock-work which regulate the supply. Two gallons of oil are burnt in a night to keep up this artificial sun for the mariner, which outshines any other light that has yet been adapted for light-house use. The view from the top of this tower is grand. Far out to sea the haze over the water obscures the junction of ocean and sky, but vessels spread their white sails in all directions. To the northward Brigantine Beach stretches far up the coast, with the two hotels dim in the distance, and its intricate maze of inland thorough^res spread out like a map. To the south- ward is the city, and beyond it exten