Mountain Lake Park In 1884
Carr Cottage along Allegheny Drive.
An article published in The Republican dated 1884, describes the newly formed town of Mountain Lake Park. The author who goes by “Dayne,” describes an enchanting community in a forest filled with blooming foliage of all shapes and sizes.
My point of station for the summer is Oakland, a little village lying on the summit of the Maryland Alleghenies, and built on seven hills – this happy discovery was made by a friend of mine as we lounged one day on the broad veranda of "The Oaks."
Lying in the hammock this morning, gently rocked by the purest and softest of murmuring breezes, an Italian sky peering in there and there through the dense shade of majestic oaks, the birds caroling in the branches, the far-away sound of voices, the scent and sight of clover, eye and ear and heart gladdened by the peace and quiet beauty, I fell to wondering why this mountain region should not be more popular than it is.
I came here in the early spring, partly to recruit from the long illness to which I fell a victim last fall. From a convalescent, I have regained all my former strengths. Thanks to this dry, exhilarating atmosphere, I have become vigorous enough to enjoy tramps for sketching.
I had anticipated a stupid time, as far as society is concerned, but happily fell in with two pleasant companions at The Oaks One, a lady (who, by the way, was once a resident of your city), was here like myself, for health, and the other was a young fellow about my own age, enjoying "elegant leisure," but not yet spoiled by his millions. Miss K. proved to be a musician, and our evenings were accordingly spent at the piano. Jack R, as much of an enthusiast as myself where music is concerned, afforded us a pleasing variety by setting to music Cheney's poem, which appeared in the April Century, and so the little trio of congenial souls, as we proved to be, whiled away many a delightful evening with music and books and bits of travel thrown in here and there by our lady friend from her own experience.
Jack and myself started one glorious spring morning for Eagle Rock. We left "The Oaks" at 6 A.M. The little town was hardly stirring, so we had a chance to see it for once in perfect repose, if in repose it can ever be said to be, for it is all awry, everything in angular perspective; utterly disregarding the fact that a straight line is the shortest distance between two points, it obliges its residents to walk all about an acute angle to reach that other point, though it seems almost at hand.
From "the Oaks" to the heart of the town there is a gradual descent of sixty-five feet, but for the other hills, there are no gentle gradations, but one, two, three, and sometimes four tiers of steps, with inclined planes thrown between. The courthouse and a beautiful little Episcopal chapel half buried in a mass of foliage, look down from the highest hill, which Jack and I have named "Capitoline," from the similarity of one side of the courthouse to the back of the old Capitol at Rome.
As for the hill back of "The Oaks," Miss K. one day called my attention to its natural amphitheater, remarking that it reminded her very much of the old ruin at Milan.
These and other Oakland notes we had time to make, for Jet, our horse, proved to be in a contemplative mood – otherwise "no go" in her – unfortunately for us, for Eagle Rock is nine miles from Oakland. Jack helped me for a time to forget the quadrupedal obstinacy, regaling me with tidbits of village gossip, but after we had turned into the glade and were fairly en route, we tried every possible resource to make that animal go. After exhausting the whip, coaxing, and even moral suasion, without producing any marked effect, finally, in despair, I suggested that we should try to charm the beast with Cheney's Love Song. Jack volunteered to serve as a solo, and his rich tenor added additional grace to the words,
"Love, you are in the hills,"
Jet trotted away as if she, too, enjoyed it, but as Jack reached the lines,
"But ah! I know my loved one thrills
With touch of love and me,"
Jet relapsed into a walk and jack into indignant silence; the "touch of love" having failed to fulfill its mission, Jack resorted to numerous touches of the whip, and so, after much labor, we turned into Thorn Drive; from Thorn Drive, we came upon Hazel Glade Center; then burst upon our vision such a pastoral scene as I wish that your readers could have enjoyed with us.
Stretching away from us was the emerald-green glade, its rich grass swayed by a gentle breeze; crossed the railroad, and swept by herds of grazing cattle; up the beautiful slopes on, on went the fairy illusion, until dark forests beyond caught its motion and hid it away forever. Truly we had dropped into Magic Land – nonother than the new summer resort, Mt. Lake Park. Two years ago it existed only in a glad and woodland and the trains of a few enterprising men; today it is a reality and a very pleasant one. All that labor, time, and money could have done in that brief period, has been done to make this spot the most charming of summer resorts. Already about sixty cottages, of various styles of architecture, from Queen Anne to the bungalow, all tasteful and some expensive and artistic, have been erected; broad avenues have been cut through the forests and shaded drives wind in and out among the trees.
A few weeks ago, chancing to come upon Arbutus Glade Drive, peering out from under great beds of fallen oak leave, I spied that first harbinger of spring. the trailing arbutus. Down I went on my knees, in the search, and, incredible as it may appear, here I found it under six inches of leaves in full bloom – sweet, smiling, innocent flower, face upturned, waiting for the light! The air was redolent with its delicate fragrance. Perhaps nowhere in our Norther latitude can be found a greater profusion of wildflowers than her on the Alleghenies – in wood and dell and glade we find them – delicate spring beauties, the trembling anemone, American cowslip, service, innocence, blue-bells, hawthorne, honeysuckles, trillium, the mandrake and the dogwood, the violets and the buttercups, the law, the wild asters, and the thorn and crab apple blossoms; and so I might take you in imagination on many flower-hunts, for nowhere can we step but some delicate beauty peers up at us through fringed lids.
"The voiceless lips of the flowers are living preachers,
Each cup a pulpit, each leaf a book,
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers
From loveliest nook."
But I must come back to our drive and Jet, who never allows us to fall into prolonged reveries.
"We are now," said Jack, "in Hazel Glade Center – properly center, for from here radiate six drives; to your right are Violet and Blubell Drives, to your left Hazel Glade and Camp Drives. The one we are just now about to take is the Allegheny." We entered this drive; to our right lay the railroad, beyond green glades, and still further the great Backbone Mountain; to our left numerous cottages peered out from amongst the trees. As we passed E Street, Jack called my attention to a pretty, tasteful cottage in its new dress of cool greys. "That," said he, "is Brier Bend, Miss K.'s cottage."
"That reminds me," I observed, "that I have been going to ask how it happens that our Presbyterian friend has built her – is not this a Methodist enterprise?"
"Oh! there," replied Jack, "you are in error; it is non-sectarian as far as the purchase of the lots is concerned, but the Methodists, generally forward in pioneer work, took hold of the scheme with willing hands to make it not merely a camp-meeting center, as I supposed by many, but to establish on these. mountains a summer resort., available alike to rich and poor of whatever denomination, where the usual temptations common to such places might, by proper laws, be kept in check. So far they have admirably succeeded, and where East or West, could have been found a more desirable spot? Is it not truly beautiful for situation, and why should it not be 'the joy of the whole earth?"
All that morning I had been drinking in the rare beauty of nature, in her fresh summer dress, and had hung away on memory's wall beautiful vistas of green glade and distant mountain, pretty carpeted slopes and groves of stately oaks, but Jack's remark, I suggested that we stop Jet and take a glance around. Not the slightest objection was made by Jet, who has a marked talent for standing.
We had just turned into Arbutus Glade Drive; in front was the pretty little station, lately erected by the B.&O. Company; past it came a rippling stream, "where does this stream lead?" I inquired.
"Oh, this is the little Yough (Youghiogheny.) Suppose we drive over to the lake?" So we took the Youghiogheny. Drive, which runs nearly parallel to the river, and followed it out until we reached the lake, which is kept supplied by it. After enjoying the lake, we drove to Grafton avenue; from where we turned into Laurel Avenue. Which took us directly back to the auditorium. Deer Park; Wintergreen, Laurel, and Oakland avenues all radiate from the auditorium, and very nearly all the other avenues run into or across at acute angles these four.
So Jack continued the topographical lesson: "if in the course of years," said he, "this lovely spot should develop into a mountain city and every vestige of the now great variety of wildflowers disappear, in the names of the drives and avenues they would continue to live. Now could any name be more appropriate for this drive than Laurel? unless, indeed, it be Rhododendron?" – and Jet was brought to a sudden standstill. But a step or so brought us into a laurel thicket, with here and there great clumps of rhododendron. Well loaded we returned to our carriage, and stowing artist materials into a smaller space, filled up the room thus made with our mammoth bouquets. We found the auditorium grounds enclosed with a low wire fence; the grove itself is one of the most beautiful in the park. Even here the grass was decked with Indian pink, waldsteinia, and bright, yellow-eyed daisies.
Near these grounds, a new three-story building was being erected for Miss Jennie Smith, the great temperance worker, and her friends.
Turning, we drove down Spruce Avenue, to the hotel, at present plain and unpretending, but comfortable, the wing only of the prospective mammoth building.
It was a wise man who selected the site, commanding, as it does, so extensive and charming a view – but words fail to describe "enchanted land." May your readers come and see for themselves. Truly, the desire of their hearts will be satisfied.
"By the way," exclaimed Jack, "I strolled out this way one day last summer, and happened in at this very place; heard a most interesting lecture given by Prof. Jessie B. Young on the 'Churches and Cathedrals of Europe,' illustrated by an unusually fine collection of photographs made by the lecturer during his travels. Lymon Abbot and Prof. Young, of Princeton, were here last summer and added greatly to its interest by the lectures. The last named gentleman will be here again in August. H. Thane Miller, of your city, who for years has been an annual visitor at Oakland, found himself a not unwilling guest at Mt. Lake Park Hotel."
Leaving the hotel, we crossed by the station and drove along the beautiful winding road recently built by the B. & O. Company. I do not know a finer road anywhere. It is a gradual grade, broad, with now and then a turn disclosing giant trees touching overhead. On we went past Lake Youghiogheny (also an enterprise of the same company) until we turned into the road leading directly to Eagle Rock, – but our trip there, the sketch I made, and our return drive, I must reserve for my next letter, in which I will endeavor to give you a more graphic account of Mt. Lake Park, its programme for lecturers, and its amusements, which are not neglected.
In August, when the Chautauqua school, already formed here as a Southern center for the peculiar educational interest and work which cluster around that name, is formally united with the Chautauqua School of New York, you will hear from me again.
Just now jet must be whipped up or we will never reach Eagle Rock, and then how much will be lost out of my next letter, for Jack tells me that no grander view can be found east of the Mississippi – and Jack can be relied upon.
DAYNE
