Standing on the summit
of Whitcomb, one of the finest views of pure wild mountain
scenery in the East is disclosed. Immediately in front of you
loom vast numbers of wooded slopes with their varied tints of
green in grand variety, stretching shoulder to shoulder like
works of art. A great many peaks, rivers and dark blue lakes,
all saturated in the warm, purple light, lie dreamily silent in
the far distance. Rounded summits rise up from the vast
undulating mass like a never-ending sea, whose surface is broken
as far as the eye can reach with their immense billows of blue
and green.
The nearer forests comprise the green-tinted waves, which recede
and blend imperceptibly into infinite gradations of color from
palest sapphire to darkest purple tones. Standing here, gazing
at the glorious landscape circling round with its far-flashing
streams, placid lakes, and the infinite blue dome of the sky
above, and an air of mystery brooding over all, we exclaimed
with the poet: "And to me mountains high are a feeling, but the
hum of human cities torture."
What a wealth of natural beauty greets you here! It is the
highest point along the Mohawk trail, twenty-two hundred and two
feet above sea level. From the sixty-foot observatory the eye
sweeps sections of four states: Vermont, New Hampshire,
Massachusetts, and New York. Among the prominent peaks that
distinguish themselves are Monadnock, in New Hampshire, Mount
Berlin in New York, Wachuset, Mount Tom, and Graylock in
Massachusetts, the latter being monarch of them all, rising to a
height of thirty-five hundred and five feet. A remarkable
feature of the place is a spring issuing from the rocks near
Mount Whitcomb's summit.
There is more sublimity in the towering snow-clad Alps, more
real wildness in the Adirondacks, more gracefulness in the
flowing contour of the Catskills, yet few are so beautiful or
"bring more lasting and inspiring memories." Lying dreamily
silent in thick purple hues, old Graylock is a vision of
splendor that looms as a charming surprise to all observers. The
sunbeams that filter through innumerable leaves give the place a
cathedral-like solemnity. How all sordid thoughts disappear,
vanishing on the far shores of forgetfulness like the pale tints
that grow dim and melt along the sky-line! How the so-called
splendors and pomp of your cities pale into insignificance out
here among God's eternal hills! The eye roves over this vast
domain in unwonted freedom.
How quickly one imbibes disdain for all unrighteous restraint.
No wonder the inhabitants dwelling among the Swiss Alps could
not bear the crushing yoke of tyranny thrust upon them.
