A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. (The Record of a Happy Outing.)

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(June 26, 1914.)



IT was late in the afternoon of June fourteenth when the train neared Reading. We were reminded of the immortal Bayard Taylor's description of his approach to that city: "We presently emerged upon a slope, whence a glorious landscape opened upon my eyes. Never had I seen or imagined anything so beautiful. The stately old town lay below, stretched at full length on an inclined plane, rising from the Schuylkill to the base of the mountain; the river, winding in abrupt curves, disclosed itself here and there through the landscape; hills of superb undulation rose and fell, in interlinking lines, through the middle distance, Scull's Hill boldly detaching itself in front, and far in the north the Blue Ridge lifted its dim wall against the sky. The sinking sun turned the smokes of the town and the vapors of the river to golden dust, athwart of which gleamed the coloring of the distant woods. The noises of the scene were softened and mellowed, and above them all, sweet and faint, sounded the bugle of a boatman on the canal. It was not ignorant admiration on my part, for one familiar with the grandest aspects of Nature must still confess that few towns on this side of the Atlantic are so nobly environed." And these words, written many years ago, portray the Reading of today, the nascent Paris of America. When we reached the main or "outer" station of the Reading Railway, great crowds of happy travelers were assembled. We pushed our way through the throngs to the cab-stand, presided over by the genial Billy Rogers. We were soon in a comfortable coupe, drawn by a plodding horse and being driven along the shady, sunset streets to the American House, at the foot of the majestic Penn Square. There are found more friendly faces to greet us, the proprietors, clerks and bell-boys vieing with one another to make us comfortable. After supper, in the cool of the evening, we rode out to the foot of Mount Penn, and boarded the gravity car for a ride through the sweet-scented woods. It was so cool and primeval in that forest-hidden route that we scarcely realized that almost below us quarrymen were blasting away the verdant face of the mountain.

Continued:

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INTRODUCTION. THIS is a record of an eight-days' drive through one of the most picturesque and historic sections of Pennsylvania. It is written as a plea to "see Pennsylvania first." While the United States and foreign lands abound with interesting and romantic spots, right at our very doors, in the Keystone State, we have enough that is well worth seeing to keep travellers busily engaged for a lifetime. After one has become acquainted with his or her native state, then it is time to travel into other states or other lands. Travelling through inland Pennsylvania is attractive in many ways. The roads are, for the most part, splendid at least for horses and carriages, and any one wishing to admire scenery or study local history and traditions or to make check-lists of birds and wild flowers can find satisfaction in no other way. The hotels in the region visited in this Blue Mountain trip were above the average of excellence. The beds were good, everything clean, the fare was simple but good. The landlords were invariably polite, and this feature was put to a real test, as in almost every instance our party arrived at the inns an hour or two after the regular supper hour. We cooked our mid-day meals in the woods, being provided with a small outfit, which consisted principally of a "roaster," a gridiron-like appliance on four legs, obtained from D. T. Abercrombie, New York and useful in many ways, a coffee pot, a frying pan, some cheap knives and forks, wooden dishes and some George Washington, or instantaneous coffee. While we were armed with a permit to camp on the state lands, we probably did most of the cooking on private property. We used every precaution to extinguish the fires before leaving, and gathered up all papers and rubbish, so as to leave the grounds as neat as we found them. The prevalence of springs of clear, pure water all through these mountains, made camping a most delightful experience. The prices at the hotels where we stopped for the nights were very reasonable, the general charge being four dollars for supper, breakfast and lodging for two persons and driver and two meals each for pair of horses. We hired our team in Reading, where there are several good liveries. In order to fully enjoy the Blue Mountain country, a driver speaking Pennsylvania German is essential. This is a passport to the confidence and good will of the people, especially the older ones; which when gained, they are ready and anxious to answer questions of all kinds. The Pennsylvania "Dutchman" is shy by nature, and inclined to be suspicions of strangers when living in remote localities, but a word or two in his favorite tongue soon puts him at his ease, and he has a heart of gold. It is recommended that for reference the following books be taken on a drive into the Blue Ridge: D. C. Henning's "Tales of the Blue Mountains," Chester A. Reed's "Land Birds of America," Mrs. William Starr Dana's "How to Know the Wild Flowers," "Getting Acquainted with the Trees," by Horace McFarland, and a pocket map of Pennsylvania. We usually drove thirty miles a day, but on some occasions covered forty without any difficulty. It is hoped that others will enjoy this particularly charming drive.
[SIZE=-1] HENRY W. SHOEMAKER, [/SIZE]
Fairbrook, Pennsylvania, June 26, 1914.

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