The
varying shades of the undulations grow gradually dimmer until
they mingle with the Catskills on the far horizon.
Between the bases of the hills winds the leisurely, majestic
current of the river, clothed in those deep sunny hues that seem
like some lovely dream in place of a reality. To the southeast
the same green hills, with the same deep hues and mysterious
veils, lead your enraptured sight to where the distant peaks of
the Adirondacks with their hazy indistinctness seem like the far-
off shores of another world. Before and below you lies the city
with her sea of spires and dark smokestacks and the steamers
coming up the river, "filling the air with their dark breath or
the mournful sound of their voices."
After beholding so beautiful a scene as this, one loves to
remember Poughkeepsie, not for its beauty alone, but for the
beneficence of a great man - Matthew Vassar. Mr. Vassar wanted to
do something worthy with his money and at first thought of
erecting a great monument commemorating the discovery of the
Hudson river. "It was to be a monument of unsurpassing beauty;
one that should cause the people to marvel at its magnificence."
But the people of Poughkeepsie were not enthusiastic over his
project, whereupon Mr. Vassar decided to use his money for
something far more worthy. Here is located Vassar college,
occupying about eight hundred acres, and is the first
institution in the world devoted exclusively to the higher
education of women. It solved in a practical way the question
that had been discussed in many lands for ages: "Could women be
granted equal intellectual privileges with men without
shattering the social life?" Therefore, Matthew Vassar, because
he was blessed with vast wealth, has taught the world the all-
important fact that "ignorance is the curse of God and knowledge
the wings whereby we fly to heaven," a statement as applicable
to women as to men.
Had the countries of Europe spent their money for a cause as
worthy as this in place of building such expensive monuments in
memory of tyrannical rulers of the Hohenzollern type, the world
might never have witnessed the indescribable horrors of a world
war. What matters it if Russia and Italy contain such marvelous
cathedrals as long as ignorance holds sway among the peasant?
Mr. Vassar shall long live in the memory of a grateful people,
and he erected a monument so vast and magnificent that only
Eternity will rightly gauge its proportions, for he built not
for a dead past, but a bright and glorious future.
THE CATSKILLS
We spent a never-to-be-forgotten evening near the base of Mount
Treluper at the Howland House. How cool and quiet the place was,
with only the rippling melody of a mountain stream to disturb
it!
We walked along the highway that led through the most charming
scenery of this lovely region and glimpsed pictures just as
beautiful as many places of Europe that have an international
reputation.
As we strolled along the babbling stream that flowed over its
rock-strewn bottom, we thought of Bryant's words:
"The river sends forth glad sounds and tripping o'er its
bed
Of pebbly sands or leaping down the rocks,
Seems with continuous laughter to rejoice
In its own being."
How these songful streams beguile you to the woodland and
through tangles of tall ferns and grasses, until they emerge in
some meadow where they loiter among the tall sedges and iris or
"lose themselves in a tangle of alder to emerge again in sweet
surprise, then as if remembering an important errand, they bound
away like a school boy who has loitered along the road all
morning until he hears the last bell ring."
We have heard of Artists' brook in the Saco valley in New
England, but here every stream is clothed in exquisite tangles
of foliage and light. The pleasant reaches and graceful curves
through charming glens that are part in shadow and part in
light, what artist ever caught their subtile charm? Over the
rough boulders draped with moss and lichens we catch the mellow
gleam of light as it filters through the fluttering birch leaves
or falls upon the lovely gray bolls of aged beech trees. Then
they flow more slowly over some level stretch or stop to cool
themselves in the shadows of some graceful elms that rear their
green fountains of verdure above them. What joy it brings to you
as you sit musing by their sides, listening to their songs.
They all are excellent musicians, but we fear they are very poor
mathematicians, for how little they seem to know about straight
lines. But all are expert landscape gardeners, making graceful
loops and curves as they go meandering on their songful way. How
like a mountain road they are, "sinuous as a swallow's flight."
Often we have followed them as the sycamores and willows do,
drawn by an irresistible charm and found new and rare delight in
every turn. In places they rest in shady pools or pour their
wealth of sparkling waters over ledges of rocks or seek deep
coverts where tall ferns wave and the birch "dreams golden
dreams where no sunlight comes."
In regions as lovely as the highlands of New York, you are
reminded many times of that sweet singer who dwelt at Sunnyside,
and wrought the legends of these hills into the most exquisite
forms of beauty.
Out over the hills we beheld one of Nature's poems of twilight.
The vapors seemed to be gathering over the high ridges, but the
western sky was almost clear. It was evident that Nature was
preparing for a magnificent farewell today.
