F 
 
 OLIN g 
 
'^O'^NELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 3 1924 067 741 888 
 
 
 DATE DUE 
 
 
 JUfe*'#6 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 GAYLORD 
 
 
 
 PRINTED IN U.S.A. 
 
Production Note 
 Cornell University Library produced this volume 
 to replace the irreparably deteriorated original. 
 It was scanned using Xerox software and equipment 
 at 600 dots per inch resolution and compressed 
 prior to storage using CCITT Group 4 compression. 
 The digital data were used to create Cornell's 
 replacement volume on paper that meets the ANSI 
 Standard Z39. 48-1984. The production of this 
 volume was supported in part by the New York 
 State Program for the Conservation and 
 Preservation of Library Research Materials and 
 the Xerox Corporation. Digital file copyright by 
 Cornell University Library 1993. 
 
Lake Mahopac 
 
 Nature Studies 
 
 and 
 
 Historic Sketches 
 
 ^ 
 
 Rev. ULYSSES GRANT WARREN 
 
To My Mother 
 
 Whose love sweetens and sustains my life, this volume 
 is affectionately dedicated. 
 
M 
 
 '/J@, 
 
 Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924067741888 
 
P r e f a c e 
 
 )HAT Lake Mahopac, so rich in history, 
 tradition and scenic beauty, has not 
 been the subject of some author's 
 thought ere this is a matter of surprise 
 to the writer. In my research work 
 among people as well as books, I have 
 striven to differentiate between the historical and tradi- 
 tional gleanings. To get at the real history of this lake, 
 running back to the days of the Wappinger Indians, 
 and to corroborate all the facts has not been an easy task. 
 The work along traditional lines was not so arduous. 
 This is the birthplace of tradition. 
 
 As to the scenic beauty : It lies about the lake on every 
 side in such great wealth that one can truly sing when 
 under its charm, "I care not for riches, neither silver nor 
 gold." In this triple effort I do not claim to tell all that 
 Mahopac has been, is or will be, but I have tried to be 
 thorough and logical in what I have done. If it seems 
 that some links are missing from the historic chain that 
 girdles the lake, let it be remembered that such links are 
 made the subjects of chapters which in themselves are 
 complete. 
 
 Large monetary results may not come from this volume, 
 but I have gotten my reward in penning the lines that form 
 it, for none could think and write upon the beauties and 
 charms of Lake Mahopac without being lifted to an 
 atmosphere higher and holier than envelops most places. 
 After all, the book merely tells why the tourist and 
 traveler sojourn here and why people come from all parts 
 of the world to look in upon the little lake and its mountain- 
 ous surroundings. U. G. Warren. 
 Millbrook, N. Y., August i, 1906. 
 
Contents 
 
 Dedication .... .3 
 
 Preface . . . . . ^ 
 
 PART I— NATURE STUDIES 
 
 Picturesque Mahopac . . . . u 
 
 Around the Lake on a Spring Day 21 
 
 Under the Clouds at Mahopac 41 
 
 Kirk Lake . 49 
 
 In the Twilight by the Lakeside 53 
 
 The "Ramble" . 6i 
 
 A Storm on the Lake 65 
 
 MiNNOMAH Spring . 75 
 
 Moonlight on the Lake 77 
 
 PART II— HISTORIC SKETCHES 
 
 Historic Mahopac . . ... 85 
 
 The First House . 99 
 
 The Oldest House Standing . loi 
 
 Roger Morris Manor House Ruins 102 
 
 Old Red Mills ..... 104 
 
 Hoguet Point . . ... 107 
 
 The Dew Drop.. 113 
 
 Dreams and Dreamers. 115 
 
 The General McAlpine Estate . 123 
 
 The Mahopac Golf Club . 126 
 
 The New Town ... ... 129 
 
 PART III— THE SUMMER HOTELS 
 
 The Dean House 135 
 
 The Thompson House . . 139 
 
 The Forest House at Interlaken 144 
 
 The Viault Cottage . . . . 147 
 
 PART IV— MAHOPAC ISLANDS 
 
 Canopus Island . ... • 151 
 
 Beauty Isle . . 157 
 
 Petra Island . . .158 
 
 PART V— MAHOPAC'S RELIGIOUS LIFE 
 
 The Methodist Episcopal Church . 161 
 
 The Protestant Episcopal Church 165 
 
 The Roman Catholic Church . . . 168 
 
 PART VI— MAHOPAC INDIANS 
 
 The Retreat from Mahopac . 173 
 
 An Old Indian Burying Ground 176 
 
 The Wappingers, Natives of Mahopac 178 
 
PART I 
 
 NATURE STUDIES 
 
o 
 z 
 
Picturesque Mahopac 
 
 [ HEN the Spirit of God moved upon the 
 face of the waters and the firmament 
 separated them, and the dry land ap- 
 peared, God saw that it was good. It 
 was in the evening and the morning of 
 the third day that Mahopac's blue 
 waters began to roll, her lovely islands to smile, her shore 
 lines to reach and her mountains to lift. 
 
 Perhaps Adam and Eve were well pleased with the 
 wondrous garden that Deity chose for them in the Orient. 
 But had they ever seen the beautiful waters of Mahopac, 
 drifted among her islands, floated along her shores; had 
 they ever rested in the shadow of her leafy foliage and 
 been fanned by her cool breezes; had they ever breathed 
 the purity of her air and come under the magnificent spell 
 of her environment, they would have been lifted to such 
 high and holy altitudes that no slimy serpent could have 
 lured them from the path of right and rectitude and sent 
 them down the long aisles of time weeping over an inno- 
 cence that had taken its flight. 
 
 Mahopac is beautiful— wondrously beautiful! This 
 scenic beauty that is to be seen everywhere about the lake 
 is not of the grand and sublime type, but it has marvelous 
 variety and is picturesque in the extreme. The lake itself 
 is a lovely sheet of water covering between six and seven 
 hundred square acres, with a boulevard about six miles in 
 length circling it. The waters of the lake lie in a deep 
 basin, hidden in the hollow of some dreamy hills and 
 miniature mountains, nearly a thousand feet above the 
 level of the sea. The lake and its surroundings are like a 
 
 11 
 
ACROSS THE LAKE FROM INDIAN MOUNTAIN 
 
 THE ISLANDS OF THE LAKE 
 
charming jewel in a beautiful setting. Again, it is like a 
 picture. It is a picture done by the Great Artist, 
 and its framing is also made by Him. This picture — a 
 water color — is a beautiful sheet of clear water in a fram- 
 ing of green hills and wooded slopes that rise on either side. 
 It is dotted by lovely islands and colored by as bright and 
 beautiful a sky as ever arched the earth. It epitomizes all 
 lake beauty and loveliness everywhere, and illustrates the 
 luxuriant splendor of untrammeled nature. The breath 
 and spirit of the deep woods are here, though man lives on 
 its shores. Its beauties and charms are as bright and en- 
 chanting as when the earth was created and the firmament 
 and waters separated. A unique circling belt of wooded 
 land is all the way around. Some big trees and big rocks 
 are along the shore, the rocks wading out into the waters 
 and the trees overhanging them. Sometimes we see a thick- 
 leaved tree standing on the very edge of the bank, bending 
 forward and dipping its branches in the crystal waters. 
 The shore line possesses a rare beauty, because of the 
 turns, bends and twists that follow its circling route. 
 
 Mahopac seems to lie much nearer to nature's heart 
 than other lakes. Her waters are clearer, her skies 
 brighter, her grasses greener and flowers sweeter than can 
 be found elsewhere in many a day's journey. Beautiful in 
 repose, she is not without beauty when agitated. When 
 the storm comes and the sweep of the wind is seen in the 
 ruffle of the wave, the rolling waters are breaking on 
 the island shores and the roar of the tempest is heard in 
 the wooded mountains then, even then, Mahopac is 
 beautiful. 
 
 Sunrise at the lake is extremely fascinating. The shim- 
 mer of the first light coming out of the east, with its beams 
 weaving little pathways across the waters from shore to 
 shore, the morning breeze, the waves dashed back by the 
 
 13 
 
a: 
 
 04 
 
 w 
 c 
 z 
 
 s 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 ►J 
 
 < 
 
 ►J 
 
 < 
 
 o 
 z 
 
 3 
 z 
 
bow of some canoe, the vagrant clouds and blue skies, the 
 mountains lifting themselves out of the darkness and 
 standing guard about the little basin, make the sunrise at 
 Mahopac loved by all who, like myself, rise early to catch 
 a glimpse of its glory. 
 
 And the sunsets are equally charming at this mountain 
 lake. When the day is done and the sun is going to rest 
 behind the hills, the shadow lights and colors of the 
 sky reflected by the waters of the lake make one feel that 
 Raphael or Corot must have caught their inspiration from 
 Mahopac's sunset. To-day, as well as for many centuries, 
 an infinitely tender light seems to come out of the west 
 when the sun is going down and spread its beauty and 
 loveliness over all the land, smiling on every hilltop, caress- 
 ing every island, kissing every wavelet in Mahopac world 
 roundabout. 
 
 No wonder that the early love of Washington was kin- 
 dled for Mary Philipse, as the twain circled this lake, 
 climbed these hills, floated across these waters and drifted 
 serenely and sweetly among these islands, for the heart that 
 could not love under these conditions must indeed be 
 stony. And yet, marvelous as it must seem, there are some 
 hoary-headed old bachelors at Mahopac who have come 
 here all the days of their living — perhaps they have "loved 
 and lost" and perhaps they have "never loved at all." 
 
 While nature has done much for this mountain lake and 
 its settings, man has done his share, and done it well, in 
 order to make this resort one of the most famous and 
 charming of its kind. 
 
 There are some big hotels up here, with beautiful sur- 
 roundings on the outside and beautiful equipments on the 
 inside: thousands of people are made comfortable and 
 happy by them every summer. There are some fine old 
 homesteads and stone mansions gracing these shores and 
 
 15 
 
standing back among old, dignified and historic trees, 
 where the best in all the land come for the passing of some 
 glad summer days, while occasionally some true lover of 
 nature has built for himself a bungalow among the trees 
 and rocks, birds and animals. It is a great place up here 
 among the hills, by the waters and around the islands, and 
 all who come here love this picture and its framing. 
 
 Rich in scenic beauty, in tradition, in history, Mahopac 
 has long been known as one of the most famous, charmmg 
 and delightful resorts in all the country. There come 
 annually to her mountain scenery and water beauties 
 lovers of field and forest, of mountain and stream, of 
 meadow and plain, of the wildwood and the lake. For 
 many years people of wealth, culture and refinement have 
 
 k \ 
 
 If ^■'•> -fc,/„'k^- '/' 
 
 '^&lMM^rii£:£^m^- 
 
 :- *ri^^SS?*»,^6^ J 
 
 JOCKEYING FOR THE START OFF PETRA ISLE 
 
 16 
 
-il 
 
 »'*■■'»• 
 
 ^L-''*' 
 
 
 i^oK^PS^sl 
 
 1 1 
 
 ^K--ii 
 
 f a 
 
 - 1 .^Jtei 
 
 M. ^ 
 
 ^m^sJS^E^^ 
 
 ^^^^'' • • 
 
 ^^. teJ^ 
 
 ^Si-:i;i5a 
 
 ^^P 
 
 ^^^^^H 
 
 iiiiir'TTlBlffI 
 
 MOriMBf?^ 
 
 *• '» 
 
 ^^ 
 
 ^H 
 
 ti#?#*&>' 
 
 ^'^m 
 
 
 iK^saiB 
 
 HM 
 
 RB 
 
 LOITERING ALONG THE SHORE 
 
 sought and found among the hills and valleys of Mahopac, 
 along her mountain sides and on her waters, rest, quiet and 
 contentment. 
 
 As the ether waves come sweeping over these hills and 
 across these waters, they are laden with an ozone that stirs 
 the sluggish blood, quickens the step and refreshes the 
 tired body, until one feels that this must be the country 
 that the Spanish nobleman sought when he wanted to turn 
 back the wheels of time, in order to win the heart and hand 
 of his lady love; and the Oriental poet must have had the 
 purity of these waters in mind when he said, "Thy youth 
 shall be renewed like the eagle's." 
 
 Every day spent at this famous summer resort, whether 
 driving through winding and circular lanes, walking 
 through forest glades roundabout, resting in the cool 
 shadows of the islands or floating on the blue waters, that 
 all love so well, is wisely and profitably spent, and is not 
 only a revelation of nature but of ourselves. . 
 
 A drift along the shore, over some mysterious depths, 
 with sunken rocks and waterlogged tree trunks, by the 
 shoals of sands and pebbles, through little cozy coves and 
 in the coolness of shade from bank and bush, awakens 
 
 17 
 
z 
 < 
 
 < 
 O 
 
 < 
 
 w 
 
 Q 
 
 < 
 o 
 
 ■< 
 < 
 
memories of an earlier, simpler and, perhaps, nobler life, 
 when innocence and purity blessed us. 
 
 Lake Mahopac, like some people I know, is sort of a 
 mocdy creature. Oftentimes in the morning a thin, white 
 mist creeps over its surface, around the islands and along 
 the shore, until it seems as if the whole country is enveloped 
 in sort of a flowing bridal veil, and the lake itself is like a 
 beautiful mirror, a sea of glass. At the noon hour the 
 surface often becomes agitated. The clouds above begin 
 to float, the waves below begin to dance and skip about, 
 glittering in the sunlight, breaking on the shore, and then 
 hurrying back into hidden depths. Wind and wave and 
 sunlight play their parts prettily, and the scene is charming 
 and fascinating in the extreme. 
 
 In the eveningtide, when the breezes have died out and 
 the day-clouds have tramped away, the surface is again 
 smooth. It is then that these waters are most beautiful. 
 They reflect those evening clouds that linger away up in 
 the zenith, which are made pink and gold by the departing 
 rays of the sun. When these colors are all burned out a dark 
 purple canopyoverarches the skyandthe stars comeoutone 
 by one, shining like so many jewels in some royal crown. 
 It is then that this whole heavenly scene above is pictured 
 in Mahopac's waters below. Above in the starry canopy is 
 the real, below in the watery depths is the ideal, the same 
 yesterday, to-day and forever. If one wants to ride these 
 quiet waters at night, let him slip out upon them in some 
 dreamy canoe. A thousand sensations will be his, charm- 
 ing and pleasing, and while riding over these dark waters 
 with their sky-lighted spots, the stars can 'be seen to 
 twinkle and to tremble for a moment in the water, and 
 then the sweep of the paddle scatters them in a million 
 tiny flashes, and the canoe glides forward on Mahopac's 
 lovely rolling blue. 
 
 19 
 
o 
 
 K 
 
 2 
 
 O 
 
 o 
 
 X 
 h 
 
 W 
 K 
 H 
 
 O 
 
 b 
 
 hi 
 
 o 
 
 U 
 < 
 
 o 
 
 g 
 
 o 
 o 
 l-l 
 
Around the Lake on a Spring Day 
 
 N THE city the night was hot and suhry. 
 The limbs could find no rest; the body 
 no sleep. While tossing on a sleepless 
 couch I said to myself, "To-morrow the 
 country for me." I will hie myself to 
 God's own hills and streams, lakes and 
 mountains, where the birds, animals and insects live. I 
 will visit with the flowers, the wild flowers, God's own 
 flowers, those that grow in the valley or on the hilltop, or 
 by the sides of some brook, the seeds of which have been 
 scattered there in other days by angels in their passing. 
 I will go to the very tops of the hills roundabout the lake, 
 where the big trees grow, and lifting up their proud heads 
 look out, far out, over broad vistas of stretching land- 
 scapes. I will linger in their shadow and rest beneath their 
 branches. I will cross the fields and stroll through the 
 meadows, where the cattle are browsing. I will follow 
 some brook as it sings merrily on its way to the seas. I 
 know of a boat out there whose sail I can stretch. If the 
 wind blows I will pay my respects to old Neptune and his 
 wily seas. It will be a great day. Oh, the joy of it! But I 
 must sleep some now. What is that .? A flash, a roar, some 
 explosion ? Listen. The rain patters on the street- 
 Fudge! A thunder storm. Rainy night, rainy day. Good- 
 by, trip. 
 
 In the morning the clouds were gone. The sun came and 
 brought joy to all the land. Not much sleep, but a big 
 desire to get out of the city. With many others, I go to the 
 Grand Central. All aboard! The big engineer opens the 
 throttle, and we are off". The city is a good place to make 
 money; a good place to lose it. Lots of society, lots of 
 things to eat and drink. Lots of things to see. No danger 
 
 21 
 
of ennui. Some religion. The kind that men talk about, 
 but rarely feel. But who wants to make money all the 
 while, or eat and drink all the while, or see people all the 
 while ? What about the quiet meditation that lifts the soul 
 and broadens the vision, when one is out in the country, on 
 some mountain top, alone with his thoughts and his God .? 
 Broad vistas in the city .? Hardly. Going down Broadway 
 or through Wall Street, or anywhere, bricks under foot, 
 bricks to the right, bricks to the left, bricks above, lifting 
 skyscrapers twenty-five or thirty stories into the air. A 
 little, small, narrow section of the heavens is visible, if the 
 bridges, elevated structures, overhanging sections, leaning 
 buildings, circling arches and skyscrapers permit. There 
 is a mad rush in that city. People are trying to get there. 
 Get where ? I don't know; but they are running, so they 
 must be going somewhere. Some are running under the 
 ground, some are running on the ground, some are running 
 above the ground. What a noisy place the city is! But I 
 am leaving the roaring, tooting, whistling, hissing, rum- 
 bling, noisy pestilence of a city behind me. I am off for a 
 day in the country. The faithful engineer is riding his iron 
 steed swiftly away. Soon we are racing into the little old 
 station, up among the hills and mountains, and by the side 
 of waters at Lake Mahopac. As I step forth from the 
 stuffy old car, these beautiful waters flash before me and 
 the ozone of the heavens fills my lungs. Lots of people 
 came up on that train; some rich bon tons of the city. 
 Their handsome carriages meet them and they roll away. 
 The more humble ones and I walk. Dick is there with his 
 two ponies. Dick's great-grandfather drove those ponies 
 a hundred years ago. "Howdy.?" said Dick. "Carriage 
 this morning?" "Not to-day," and I swing out right 
 gaily for my trip around the lake, on foot. 
 
 The thunder storm had swept the skies and cleared the 
 
 23 
 
^3 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 Ki 
 
 m^m 
 
 § ';'^?€^-"^'' 
 
 1^^ 
 
 
 
 1 8pf^^-t 
 
 f^» 
 
 
 ^Mffsi 
 
 ^^^P 
 
 ppp^ 
 
 rflV'. ""%-. »«(^-^ 
 
 
 
 M^^MMHI^ 
 
 SftJjgP 
 
 H 
 
 ?-.. ^^^^^S^^^ 
 
 ^m 
 
 ^E 
 
 
 THE FOREST HOUSE SHORE I.IN'E 
 
 THE DEAN HOUSE COVE 
 
atmosphere. Poison in the air this morning ? If so, it 
 must be at the ends of the earth, for the breezes that come 
 down the mountain side and sweep over the lake bring 
 much vitality to me, and I am so filled with life that I feel 
 like "taking the wings of the morning and dwelling in the 
 uttermost parts of the earth;" but I am only a man, so I 
 just take my feet and walk. It is just possible that some 
 day I may tread the golden pavements of heaven and walk 
 along its celestial highways, and I may not. Be that as it 
 may; but if I do, even then I shall never forget this high- 
 way of Nature, strewn with flowers and perfumed by their 
 sweetness, along which God is leading me this glad day. 
 It is one of those "rare days in June" that Longfellow used 
 to sing about. The early roses and red top clover have 
 sweetened the air, the grasses are greener and the skies 
 brighter than in many a day. I saunter along slowly, stop- 
 ping now and then just to look about. I follow the walk. 
 It follows the shore line, so we all three go along together. 
 Tall, stately trees lift themselves up in serene dignity as I 
 approach, and spread their branches, too, out above me as 
 I pass. 
 
 I go along. The bright blue waves come dancing and 
 skipping to the land, lapping over the stones and breaking 
 along the shore. I wonder how far they would roll if the 
 land did not hold them back. I remember a king who 
 took his chair down to the shore and dared the rolling 
 waves to wet his feet, but the waves laughed at him and 
 broke over him, and had he not moved back they would 
 have drowned him. Though a man be a king, he cannot 
 control the waves, unless he is King of kings. There are 
 too many cottages here, too many people. I am not look- 
 ing for people this morning. I like them sometimes. So I 
 hurry along. Do I .■* No. I stop still. See that little cot- 
 tage up there on a bluflf", a hundred feet up. It is leaning 
 
 25 
 
WHERE THE WRITER SPENT SOME SUMMER DAYS IN SUNSHINE AND SHADOW 
 
 over the rock and looking down at me. It knows me. I 
 love it. Of all the cottages roundabout, that is the dearest 
 to my heart. It gave me shelter one summer's day. The 
 fairest of all the land and I, we lived there, and with us a 
 little darling with big, soulful eyes. One night the heavens 
 darkened, the thunder roared, the lightning flashed, the 
 winds blew — moaning, disconsolate winds. An angel 
 passed our way — that one that carries so much sorrow to 
 hearts already sad and to lives already burdened. We 
 prayed, my love and I, as we leaned over the cradle. 
 Heaven called back the angel of sorrow and no message 
 
 26 
 
was left that day. Some other day it will come, I suppose, 
 for what is not behind us is before us. I linger in the 
 shadow of this cottage. I love it. I think of other days. 
 I look up to the window where it all happened, and see her 
 little face, with big eyes, peeping out from behind the 
 curtains. I uncover my head, drop a tear, say a prayer and 
 go along, thanking God for a kindness that cannot always 
 be given. 
 
 I want solitude in the roamings of this day, so I leave 
 the drive and the shore line and begin to climb a stairway 
 of Nature's rocks, and soon reach the top of that mountain- 
 ous ridge that runs along the western shore of the lake. 
 
 I lift up my eyes and look out, far out, on every side. 
 There are only a few such pictures as these painted by the 
 Divine Artist. It must have been some such a site as this 
 that Tennyson chose for his " Palace of Art." To the west, 
 far off and down the slopes, is a little lake, nestling among 
 the foothills of this mountainous ridge. Beyond it there 
 are some open fields, the farmer's pride, and still beyond a 
 
 THE THREE BRIDGES 
 27 
 
THROUGH THE WOODS AROUND THE LAKE 
 
 ALONG THE SHORE 
 
mountain, rising up in all its majesty, circling about and 
 stretching away toward the north. To the east is that 
 noble body of water known as Lake Mahopac. Solomon 
 asked for wisdom. Some ask for riches, others for power, 
 but the waters of this lake implored the Goddess of Nature 
 to send to her as a gift, not wisdom, nor riches, nor power, 
 but rocks, trees, flowers, isles, shore line, waves, blue 
 waters below, blue skies above and occasionally tender 
 clouds. They are all here and more, too. Thewatersof the 
 Pool of Bethesda in ancient Judea might have healed the 
 body, but the bright blue waves of this mountainous lake, 
 dancing and glittering in the sunlight, contain a mighty 
 healing for the spirit of those who have eyes to see and 
 hearts to feel the loveliness of it all. Out upon these waves 
 there are some amateur skippers, trying their skill. I have 
 wasted many an hour at such folly. Above this lake craft 
 great white wings are stretched, flying low and swift over 
 these bright, dancing, sun-kissed waves, telling the story 
 of some unseen power pushing them along. Around 
 " Petra" Island, along the rocky shore of "Hoguet Point" 
 and creeping toward "Canopus," are innumerable boats 
 and canoes, all moving toward the branches of those faith- 
 ful trees along the shore, which reach far out and hang low 
 down over the waters, sometimes sheltering from the rain, 
 other times from the glare of the sun, all times from the 
 gaze of those who pass. Ah ! These trees are friends of 
 the lovers. If these overhanging boughs could but talk, 
 what stories ! But, then, who wants to know the secrets of 
 lovers. Such things should be locked in heart-beats, the 
 hiding place of their mutual love. 
 
 Looking south ! What sylvan vistas break on my vision ! 
 Stretching valleys, running streams, rising knolls, stately 
 groves and landscapes of every description, billowing away 
 in the distance, where the earth and sky seem to meet. 
 
 29 
 
2; 
 < 
 
 < 
 
 < 
 
 C 
 < 
 
 O 
 
 w 
 
 K 
 H 
 
 as 
 O 
 & 
 
 CO 
 
 W 
 
 < 
 O 
 
 >• 
 
 > 
 < 
 H 
 
 a 
 w 
 
 H 
 
These running, rolling, reaching, rifting landscapes are so 
 fair and beautiful that one can scarcely tell where earth 
 ceases and heaven begins. Virgil must have climbed to 
 some such eminence as this when he caught the inspiration 
 for his pastoral poems. 
 
 Looking to the north, I see one vast mountain, wooded 
 from shore to shore, sloping down to either lake, rocks here 
 and rivulets there, occasionally some wild flower and then 
 some animal, but my journey lies that way, and I will tell 
 you more of it as I go along. 
 
 Well, I must go now. Must? Not to-day. For nothing 
 troubles me nor hurries me this glad day. I have a lifetime 
 for this trip. If 1 had another life I would take another 
 such trip. Out here in the deep, deep woods I see some- 
 thing I love at every step. It will not be so when I get back 
 among men, so I am not going to hurry. Nature, she is 
 coy. The longer you tarry the more you love her. 
 
 This is a Spring Day, out here in the woods. What 
 difference does that make .'' None to the city. For it would 
 take more than the power of heaven to resurrect brick, 
 mortar and stone. But out here, on hilltop and by the side 
 of still waters, among the wifdwood and the vine, a mighty 
 lesson of the resurrection is taught. The Sadducees did no*^ 
 believe in the resurrection of God or man. There are some 
 Sadducees to-day. Whether God cares enough for man to 
 resurrect him may be an open question, but he loves spring 
 far too well to hold her back when the sun is high in the 
 heavens and winter time is running down the streams. 
 Here is a blade of grass, there a flower, yonder a twig, all 
 coming forth. These are Nature's little preachers. I look 
 about me. The forest is filled with them. The hilltops are 
 covered with them. Every stream carries a bark laden 
 with them, going to other fields. Their little voices ring 
 out far and near. They are all preaching the same sermon. 
 
 31 
 
telling the same story: "He is not here, for He is risen." 
 I go along. The sun is walking across the sky leisurely. 
 The air is getting soft. The clouds are getting tender and 
 the sunlight is getting warmer. I travel along, where the 
 trees are few and far between, then across an opening, and 
 now these stately inhabitants of the mountain have come 
 closer together and are reaching out their branches to one 
 another, as if in a glad handshake. Some distance ahead I 
 see a great rock looming up out of the earth as if in 
 defiance of all that dare attack. On its shadowy side, climb- 
 ing tenderly up to its very top, is a beautiful, green vine, 
 holding out in its tiny, leafy hands as an offering to the 
 morning a bell-shaped flower known as the morningglory. 
 There must be more than a hundred of these glorious 
 belles of the morning clinging to this old fellow of a rock 
 and covering him with a mantle of beauty and life seldom 
 seen in the depths of any forest. While I linger before this 
 picture of nature, the rays of the sun come slanting through 
 the branches above, creeping around and over the big rock, 
 until these lovely maidens of the woods lay their heads one 
 by one on the stony bosom of this old fellow and go to sleep. 
 Such fair and lovely devotees are rarely found anywhere. 
 The frail ones of life love a protection such as the old rock 
 of the woods can give. 
 
 I go along. Here are some maidenhair ferns, seeking 
 shelter under a young oak. The maiden fern looks up to 
 the young oak and he looks down to her. Ah ! This is a 
 great day for affection. All nature is wooing. 
 
 And here is an old worm fence running through the 
 forest. It looks like the old fence that used to run through 
 the pine woods down South when I was a boy. It is half 
 decayed and is tumbling down, but is artistic and romantic, 
 and I am not its only lover. Here is a beautiful vine, cling- 
 ing lovingly to it, as if to protect it in its declining days. 
 
 32 
 
If one's old age could be filled with the devotions and per- 
 fume that this clinging vine breathes forth daily into the 
 life of its aged companion, that one could count himself 
 thrice happy, for it is a honeysuckle vine and the air is 
 laden with its heavy perfume. Innumerable little bees, of 
 different kinds, each knowing what it wants and each know- 
 ing how to get what it wants, are making their way to these 
 honey flowers, burying themselves into dewy petals, drink- 
 ing of the sweetest nectar, loading themselves with the very 
 essence of sweetness, and then flying away, far away, to 
 their little homes up in the treetops. I climb the old fence 
 just as I used to in the pine woods, and leave it and its 
 devoted companion and go deeper into the forest. I love 
 the forest. There are so many things out here that love you 
 and bestow their smiles and kindness, the best they have 
 as you pass by! 
 
 But here among the trees, on the sloping and wooded 
 sides of the mountains, I come among many flowers — ^wild 
 flowers. No man scattered these seed, and no gardener 
 tills the soil. Some of these flowers are budding, others are 
 blooming, all are smiling and telling you the story of love 
 and beauty. How shall I choose from among so many of 
 such rare beauty and sweetness ? Out from among this 
 garden beautiful, just beyond a clump of bushes in the 
 open, where the sun can kiss and the dews bathe, is a soli- 
 tary bush, bearing a single flower, a wild rose of exquisite 
 beauty. It is more retiring and modest than the others. 
 It does not burst on you with all of its beauty and glory as 
 you pass, but, rather, retreats beforeyou; and,likethedanc- 
 ing maiden of fiction, lures you deeper and deeper into the 
 woods. When, finally, I reach it, I stop, charmed as the 
 mariners of old. With my eyes I caress it. With my lips I 
 kiss it, and, like a maiden of tender years, it blushes deeply. 
 Oh! It is so inexpressibly beautiful. I linger over its 
 
 33 
 
THE LAKE FROM MR. LOWERRE'S VILLA SITE 
 
flushed face. I breathe deeply of its perfumed breath. It 
 is so delicate, so timid, so shy and yet so coy. How I love it 
 and love it, and then I confess my love, for I am but a man 
 and, like Terence, nothing that belongs to man is foreign to 
 me. On bended knee and with tearful eye I confess my 
 love. I confess my love. I plead as only a lover can plead. 
 I look down into the deep of its soul. It looks up into the 
 deep of my eyes, and then — an eternal affinity. I do not 
 pluck it, for that would kill, but I gather it to my heart and 
 walk away with its love. 
 
 I go along. In the distance a majestic oak beckons me. 
 As I approach I see the light filtering down softly through 
 its outspreading branches and gorgeous leaves, making 
 pictures of sunlight and shade on the mossy ground 
 beneath. An ideal spot for some light lunch, which loving 
 hands have prepared for me; what it is I scarcely know, 
 for I am not feasting the body to-day, but, rather, the spirit. 
 It is the noon hour, and a profound silence reigns every- 
 where. Through this stillness I hear the ringing of a bell. 
 Yes, I know the sound. It is a dinner bell. It is calling the 
 men from the fields to the table laden down with good 
 things, fresh from mother earth. Another bell jingles ! 
 That's a cowbell. I turn, and over the hill I see the herd 
 coming, winding its way for the noonday drink from the 
 hills to the stream that goes rippling and laughing and 
 skipping down the valley, like some young girl. 
 
 I look up through the branches that hang above me, and 
 see an eagle soaring on high. What a proud and haughty 
 winged fowl of the heavens he is ! He looks down with dis- 
 dain on me, a poor sojourner and wayfarer. A crow calls 
 defiantly from a treetop in the distance, "Caw! caw!" 
 Why so far away .? I know. You think I want to harm 
 you. That teaches me of the evil in your own mind. I 
 know what you want, Mr. Blackman. I was raised among 
 
 35 
 
THE FOUNTAIN AND WALK AT "LONGMEAD," WITH THE TREES REACHING DOWN TO THE LAKE 
 
gentlemen of your color. I can tell your thought by the 
 sound of your voice and the light of your eye. This time it 
 is the remnant of my lunch. If there are any favors to be 
 given out, I trust you to be on hand all right. You are a 
 slick one. Well, here is your dinner. I am going nov(^. 
 
 I go along. The wind begins to move and go along with 
 me. It sighs softly among the treetops. As I pass under a 
 clump of pine trees, lifted up on a knoll, their sad tones 
 catch my ear and enlist my sympathies. These trees are 
 whispering to their neighbors in sorrow. Suffering likes 
 companionship. The blind like to be in company with 
 the blind. The Man of Sorrows sought those whose hearts 
 were sad and whose burdens were heavy. Just a little 
 way along, up among the treetops, I see a robin redbreast. 
 He calls to me. What he says I do not know, but it must 
 be something nice, for he looks so happy and fine. My, 
 he is a proud bird! He just flings his notes at me. I move 
 forward. He flits to another treetop. He is suspicious. 
 No fear, little birdie. Not for the world would I harm a 
 feather in that beautiful red breast. The woods are full 
 of birds, all kinds of birds. Where have they come from ? 
 From the sunny fields and pine woods of the Southland, 
 where there are no snows and ice, storms and winds in 
 winter-time. These birds are aristocrats. Like the bon- 
 tons of the land, they go South in winter and come north 
 in summer. On this balmy spring day the woods are full 
 of them. They fill all the treetops. Every branch bears 
 a songster and all the forest rings with their glad songs. 
 
 I go along, down the side of the mountain, where its 
 base meets the base of another in a most beautiful glade- 
 A limpid stream is meandering through it. All about are 
 the voices of nature, and the songs of the forest are vieing 
 with one another. Each voice is the sweetest. This is 
 God's own glade. These are his ferns and rocks and 
 
 37 
 
flowers and this is his stream. If his mansion in the skies 
 is as restful and peaceful, then I shall be happy. 
 
 I go along. Out from a clump of bushes just ahead of 
 me a rabbit springs, and I have no gun. It dashes across 
 an opening, into a little thicket far up the glade, and then 
 out of sight, running for its life. No fear, little bunny. I 
 would not harm a hair in your sleek back. 
 
 A noise above me ! I see a lithe gray form, with big 
 bushy tail, leaping from treetop to treetop, running up and 
 down trees, always on the other side. It stops in its swift 
 and strenuous flight, and peeps out at me from behind a 
 tree and wonders how dangerous an animal I am. 
 
 Slowly and sorrowfully I leave this glade, with all of its 
 riches and wondrous beauty, and make my way back to 
 
 FORTS AND SUMMER HOUSES ALONG THE SHORE 
 38 
 
the highlands. A bird flings himself before my face in its 
 passing, so close that I can almost touch him. He whirs by 
 and is gone. 
 
 The day is far spent. The sun is beginning to lower, the 
 shadows are beginning to lengthen, so I come out of the 
 woods. I hate to do it. As I emerge into the open, there is 
 the lake, with the blue of its waters tilted against the blue 
 of the skies, and the curtain is drawn down on every side, 
 fastened to the mountain tops roundabout. I am so tired 
 and dusty. I tarry just a moment, looking down. The 
 cool breezes of the evening come floating over its broad 
 waters, bathing me and laving me, as if it were a wave 
 washing some shore. The sun is getting low and casting 
 its evening shimmer over the peaceful waters. The shad- 
 ows of the great rocks on the western shore are getting 
 long. A cooing dove moans softly for a little minute and 
 then is still. The wind is musing tenderly in the treetops 
 and then it hushes. The day is dying, but— 
 "Heaven is nearer 
 And earth is dearer 
 Than yesterday to me." 
 Listen! My train is blowing. The horrid thing! Will 
 it take me away .? Must I leave all this glory behind .? If 
 so, be it so. Still, lean say, with Shakespeare, "'Tis better 
 to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." 
 Well, I must go. Good-by, Goddess of the Forest. Keep 
 well thy charge and forget not my little rose out there in thy 
 heart. All aboard ! Again the engineer opens the throttle 
 and we are off". Looking out at the car window I see lake, 
 mountains and stream vanish. The animals and birds are 
 gone. But my journey on foot this day has been a trium- 
 phant march. Caesar might have passed down the Appian 
 Way and through the streets of Rome, dragging to his 
 chariot wheels kings and queens and all the spoils of war, 
 
 39 
 
BY THE LAKE SIDE 
 
 but I would not exchange the royal things that greeted me 
 on this glad day as I marched down my Appian Way for 
 all the Roman Empire. I hope some day to climb the 
 golden stairway of the skies, but I also hope that along 
 that way there will be some flowers and some birds, some 
 wooded hills and rolling landscapes, some laughing 
 streams and smiling lakes, and the angels can add the rest. 
 At home I take my little ones on my knee and tell them 
 of all the things I have seen and felt up in God's country, 
 and by the side of His lake, where seraphim and cherubim 
 live and sing forever and a day. 
 
 40 
 
Under the Clouds at Mahopac 
 
 IT was a long summer day, hot and sultry. 
 Trying to get away from the heat and 
 seeking shelter from the sun I go down 
 to the lakeside, loosen a boat from its 
 moorings and bend to the oars. In the 
 deep blue I dip them and dip them. I 
 leave the shore line and walk slowly across the lake. Soon 
 I near Petra. The tall stately citizens of that rocky island, 
 covered with their leafy garments, bow their heads in 
 cordial greeting. They cast their shadows far out over 
 the waters. With the sun beating down on my head and 
 burning my arms, I pull for the cool of their shade. When 
 I reach its dark and welcome outline, I rest on my oars 
 and look about. What beauty in rocky shore and leafy 
 growth is here! Around the curve and leaning far out 
 over the waters of the lake is a willow, known as the 
 "weeping willow." It invites me. Out of the deep of its 
 boughs it offers me its hospitality. I lift one oar and 
 paddle along and soon go drifting into its shadows. I 
 throw out my anchor. A few rising bubbles tell me it 
 has buried itself in the sands. Adjusting the furnishings 
 of the boat, I lay myself down and with uplifted face, 
 look toward the open skies and watch the clouds. How 
 these clouds are constantly changing their form! Now 
 they are spread out over the blue, and now they are 
 huddled close together. They are soaring and sinking, 
 rising and floating. They never seem to be in a hurry. 
 The wind blows them where it listeth. They drift around 
 and across, back and forth, under the upper dome. They 
 seem to have no purpose, no destiny, yet wherever they 
 
 41 
 
&d:l^^^:jia^l 
 
 .^■>YOB! 
 
 LONGMEAD'S SLOPING LAWN 
 
go they gladden the eye and cheer the heart, and lend 
 beauty and charm to lake and mountain, to valley and 
 stream and to every landscape. Drifting across the open 
 sky they look so frail and flimsy. If, indeed, they are 
 the pillars of Heaven, then truly do they tremble, and 
 that Hebrev^r poet spoke wisely when he said: "He 
 stretcheth out the north over the empty place, and 
 hangeth the earth upon nothing." 
 
 Looking up from my open boat through the over- 
 hanging boughs, I see the cirrus cloud with its thin wisp 
 and light curls standing out against the high blue. It is 
 the frailest and lightest of all the clouds and sometimes 
 sweeps across the sky like the Milky Way. I see these 
 delicate, frail clouds in the uppermost parts of the skies, 
 riding, as it were, on angels' wings. What is above them 
 and beyond them I do not know, unless it is "The Great 
 White Throne," and Him who sits on the throne, for I 
 have read somewhere that "He holdeth back the face of 
 his throne, and spreadeth his cloud upon it." 
 
 I hear the goings of the wind in the treetops and soon 
 feel their cool breezes. On they go singing across the 
 lake, making the waters ripple a little here and a little 
 there, but not across the lake alone, for they have swept 
 the face of the sky. When I cease watching water and 
 wind in their play and again look up for my cirrus 
 clouds they are gone. These goings of the wind 
 have scattered them and also gathered them, for 
 now I see the cumulus bowling across the sky with 
 angels climbing the ethereal stairway. I see it ofi^ in 
 the southern skies, heaping, piling, rolling, tumbling 
 itself up like some great mountain in the heavens. And 
 still it moves and rolls and tumbles, lifting itself far up 
 toward the blue in turrets and domes and peaks. It 
 floats along like some great ship sailing the celestial blue 
 
 43 
 
across the face of the sky. In passing between me and 
 the sun, that shining orb strikes it full in the back, then 
 suddenly the part nearest the light rolls up. It is of 
 intense luminosity, and as it rests upon the very top of 
 this mountain cloud, capping it with fleecy whiteness, it 
 appears like some great Alpine tower with its cap of snow 
 lifting itself in the skies. The ancient Hebrews felt the 
 splendor of this kind of cloud. When in the wilderness, 
 heart-weary and footsore, they followed this "pillar of 
 cloud" whithersoever it led them, for on its summit they 
 saw God descending, and around about him they saw 
 the angels standing. 
 
 The wind muses in the treetops again, causing little 
 ripples on the water, little waves on the shore; my boat 
 rocks softly. These musings of the wind have caused 
 another transformation in the heavens, for as I look I 
 
 
 UNDER THE TREES ALONG THE SHORE 
 44 
 
see the stratus clouds. Truly this is a day of clouds. 
 There must be a "cloud feast" somewhere, for they are all 
 marching down the pathway of the skies. Perhaps a 
 nimbus will come rolling along soon. It travels faster 
 than the others and, consequently, does not have to leave 
 home in such haste. This stratus cloud is flattening itself 
 out and reaching in long lines across the whole face of 
 the sky. While I still look these lines are woven together 
 by some unseen hand and a great bridge is formed, 
 reaching from horizon to horizon. Perhaps Gideon and 
 his noble band will march across this cloud bridge. It 
 takes brave hearts to cross it, for it is twenty-five thousand 
 feet up. A wonderful highway it must be. How quickly 
 the Divine Architect of the universe can build and rebuild, 
 and then destroy it all just as quickly. All men, both 
 savage and civilized, lift their hands and raise their eyes 
 toward these clouds as though above and beyond this 
 blue dome was the great Bar of Justice. The spiritual in 
 man has always looked upward and heavenward as if its 
 future habitat was somewhere in the heavens beyond the 
 furtherest star. 
 
 This is a summer's day and where are those summer 
 clouds, the heavy cumuli ^ Certainly they were not the 
 first to go to this cloud feast, for they scarcely ever 
 begin their journey until the sun begins to lower and the 
 shadows begin to lengthen, so I think I shall see them 
 yet. I know, my back is to them, the boat has swung 
 around. There they are off in the western skies by the 
 south, near the horizon, lying on their back. They seem 
 like some great mountain range lifting its snovyy summit 
 to be kissed by the departing sun. Their pinnacles are 
 glowing with glistening light. The breezes stir, the clouds 
 part a little and show us their gold and silver lining. 
 The sun is sinking and throwing up its tints and shades. 
 
 45 
 
THE BOAT HOUSE AT GRAYMANSE 
 
 A SHADY WALK 
 
The fleecy clouds catch these colors and make gorgeous 
 pictures against the background of blue. Off in the west, 
 over the place where the sun went down in his glory, I 
 see some great phantom ship go sailing against the blue. 
 Then another heaves in sight, and another, and another, 
 and still they come riding these waves of the blue over 
 the horizon until it seems as if all the great fleets of the 
 earth had gathered in those western skies and were 
 engaged in some mighty naval battle. They sail along, 
 they go about, they bear down on one another, they circle, 
 they rise, they fall, they move on majestically until they 
 sink below the distant horizon. 
 
 It is getting late now and I must weigh my faithful 
 anchor and move from this sweet, secluded spot with 
 many thanks to my good host with his leafy canopy. 
 The clouds are gone. Where .? To their love-feast up 
 in the skies. Well, good-by to everybody and to 
 everything out here along the shore and under the clouds. 
 Hold ! What is that small, dark cloud in the west .? Your 
 kind I do not know and I thought I was well versed in 
 cloud studies. Now it grows larger and darker and 
 points toward the north. Ah ! I recognize you. You are 
 the big nimbus I have been looking for all the afternoon. 
 I thought this was your day. Without a word in response 
 it comes flying along, low and swift. It was late in getting 
 started, and is in an awful hurry. It is moving in great 
 rolling, tumbling puffs; now it flattens itself out into 
 dark, thin, fast-flying sheets with ragged edges. It is 
 reaching its long, black, clumsy arms forward. It is 
 spreading itself out so widely and leaping forward so swiftly 
 that it looks like one vast canopy of black stretched 
 across the face of the sky. The waters of the lake begin 
 to move, then to roll, and leap into waves, fleeing before 
 it as if for their very life. These black clouds move 
 
 47 
 
forward silently. They are the advance guard of the 
 storm. They contain mighty winds, but no rain, no 
 lightning. Job must have been watching this cloud when 
 he sang, "He bindeth up the waters in his thick clouds; 
 and the cloud is not rent under them." 
 
 How this big black nimbus of a cloud is twisting and 
 writhing and rolling and tumbling and falling over itself 
 in its mad rush across the skies! See those gray clouds 
 following up the advancing lines. How silently and 
 stealthily they are moving. You can't fool me, Mr. Cloudy. 
 I have seen your kind before. I know your tricks. I am 
 going to get out of here. And quickly, too. Good-by to 
 nobody. I bend to my oars. I pull through the rolling, 
 pitching, tossing waves. I rowed some in college and it 
 now serves me well. The big black fellow above me beats 
 and lashes the lake into a mighty foam and the waves 
 leap about me in their mad effort to flee. I pull gallantly 
 for the shore. I reach the land and its good shelter just 
 as the black advance guard rolls by and the dark gray 
 lines appear, the cannonading begins, the storm breaks. 
 I have been under the clouds, but now I am under 
 shelter and I watch the battle between cloud and lake. 
 
 LILY COVE 
 
 48 
 
Kirk Lake 
 
 )IRK LAKE lies directly west from 
 Mahopac, about 800 feet away. In 
 traveling this 800 feet one drops nearly 
 100 feet. The lake is one and three- 
 quarters miles in length, about one-half 
 J a mile in width. It is a very pleasant 
 adjunct to the Interlaken Park and Forest House. 
 
 There is an ever deepening charm about this lake as 
 it lies in subdued glory down among the foothills of this 
 mountain range. On the one side is a stretch of wood- 
 
 KIRK LAKE, LOOKING WEST 
 40 
 
land heights reaching down from the larger lake above. 
 On the other side is a long series of hills, gently curving 
 and rising until they lift themselves into young mountains 
 that reach away toward the west. 
 
 An ideal spot for lovers; the seclusion is superb. And 
 the fishing over here is good, too. All kinds of the gamy 
 tribe can be caught in and on these waters, the finny 
 species as well as others. 
 
 There is a tradition that the last great battle between 
 the white man and the Indians was fought on the shores 
 of this lake. Canopus had delivered his memorable 
 address to the faithful braves and Indian maidens over 
 on what Erskine's military map calls "Grand Island," 
 but now known as Canopus Island. The refusal to leave 
 
 KIRK LAKE, LOOKING EAST 
 50 
 
the hunting grounds and the graves of their ancestors 
 had been sent to the white man, and not long after the 
 battle began. The fight started near the wigwams of the 
 aged sachem of the tribe — Canopus. All day long the 
 strife lasted. In the middle of the afternoon the whites 
 set fire to "Grand Island," and then took up their position 
 on the west shore of the lake. Soon the Indians began to 
 pour out of the woods of the island like bees out of a hive. 
 As they swam the narrow run and climbed the hills 
 beyond they were easy targets for the Puritan's rifle. 
 Many an Indian maiden lost her young lover by this 
 military strategy of the white man. Over on the shores of 
 Kirk Lake the Sachem Canopus rallied his trusty braves 
 and made a gallant stand. As the sun was going down 
 and night was throwing her curtains of black about the 
 struggling warriors, Canopus received a wound, and then 
 another. He was hurriedly carried to the healing wateis 
 of Minnomah Spring, but the Great Spirit chose to 
 gather him unto his fathers and he was no more. That 
 night the great Indian chief was carried back to Kirk 
 Lake and buried on its shores. 
 
 Here lies the lonely grave, 
 
 And no white man knows that sepulchre. 
 
 And no white man saw it e'er. 
 
 For the red man upturned the sod 
 
 And laid Canopus there. 
 
 51 
 
AX EVENING VISTA 
 
In the Twilight by the Lakeside 
 
 WILIGHT is the time when night 
 animals come forth from their hiding 
 places and traverse the paths of the 
 wooded lands. Young animals also get 
 brave and play in and out of the bushes 
 along the roadside. It is the time when 
 lovers of nature, of romance and of subdued beauty go 
 forth and rejoice in the long shadows of the evening and 
 in the coming of the night. 
 
 But what makes the twilight .? It is the going of the 
 sun below the horizon. Long after he has disappeared 
 behind the western hills, like a departing lover, he throws 
 back kisses of light, and they are caught upon the rosy 
 lips of lingering clouds in the west. It is this light that 
 is thrown out far and near, up mountain sides, over 
 valleys, across lakes and along winding streams, this 
 soft, subdued, fading light that is called twilight. After 
 this first twilight of the evening comes a glow, then 
 another and another, until it fades into a pale, nebulous 
 light like that of the star cluster in the dome above called 
 the Milky Way. The great waves of light that roll up 
 the blue vault at daydawn and overspread the canopy 
 swinging from above, in the evening twilight are heaving 
 and rolling along the horizon lines. At every roll some 
 beautiful color breaks and disappears. Out of its scattered 
 and fragmentary parts comes another combination to 
 take its place still more beautiful than the first. When 
 these beautiful successive colorings begin to die out in 
 the west, a dark shadow begins to climb up the eastern 
 skies. It is not the darkening of the hills, valleys and 
 
 53 
 
waters about us, but it is the great earth shadow stealing 
 up and over the illuminated blue, taking the place of that 
 lingering light that has gone sliding down the vast western 
 incline. Beautiful beyond description, marvelous, sublime, 
 is this great dark shadow climbing the stairway of the 
 skies, this reflection of the earth sweeping up and across 
 this sky-sea of ethereal blue. This is the death of twilight, 
 for it is the coming of night. 
 
 While twiHght, beautiful and soft, is here I guess I will 
 walk out along the lakeside with some of the other lovers 
 of nature and the wildwood. In my goings I meet many 
 others, and, from all appearances, they are interested in 
 anything beside nature and the wildwood. Ah! but 
 nature has partly stirred this great love in their hearts. 
 With the twilight as my only companion I go along. I 
 come to a grove of evergreen trees, with low hanging 
 branches reaching far out over the waters, a delightful 
 spot to tarry with my companions, but others seem to 
 have a mortgage on this altar of the gods and are lolling 
 around as if they owned the whole earth. So I keep 
 agoing along this eastern shore and soon come to a huge 
 rock standing alongside of the lake, bathing his feet in cool 
 waters. What a big, sturdy looking fellow he is. He 
 reminds one of some Roman sentinel standing guard at the 
 door of an ancient palace. Recalling the words of a great 
 mind, "as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land." 
 I seek rest and quiet with this stony friend, and leaning 
 back for a welcome support, I turn, like so many 
 others, toward the lake and look out on the beauty and 
 charm of these famous waters. With my eyes I run by 
 pretty cottages, stone mansions and mammoth| hotels 
 scattered around the lake. I care but little for these things, 
 the work of man, when standing in the presence of the skill 
 of the Divine Architect and rejoicing in his handiwork. 
 
 54 
 
As I look out I see the mountains rising in the west, their 
 foothills coming down to the waters' edge, a beautiful 
 shore line reaching all the way around; wooded strips 
 wading out into the deep waters; islands here and there 
 seated on big rocks, and over it all the blue haze of 
 mantled skies lending a charm, a beauty, a picturesqueness 
 that lift the soul and makes man know the presence of 
 God along nature's highways. 
 
 While leaning back hard on my big rock (I always like 
 to lean on something or somebody) and enrapt in 
 the sweet and silent contemplation of all these things, I 
 see the sun, beautiful, radiant, golden, sinking, sinking, 
 in the far west. The soft shepherd winds are gathering 
 the vagrant clouds about his setting. Behind the golden- 
 tinted pillow and rolling up in the western skies be- 
 yond is a sea of glory stretching far away. The shining 
 orb of the day goes down and is no more, and the day 
 begins to die. The quiet stillness of the evening spreads 
 over all the land and the lulHng landscapes breathe softly 
 into my soul while rejoicing in my sylvan solitude. The 
 evening twilight is coming. It is here. A pink and rose 
 tint is spreading over all the heavens. These rosy colors 
 are falling from sky to waters, and then they pass from 
 wave to wave until the whole lake is like some vast 
 bed of roses, over which the evening breezes are softly 
 passing, stirring them into rosy ripples. The winds cease 
 in their going and the waves die out. The lake becomes as 
 quiet and peaceful as a little child asleep in its mother's 
 arms, not a ripple on the surface, not a wave on the shore. 
 It seems like a lake of glass, a magnificent mirror spread 
 out along the face of the mountains, among her foothills, 
 round about islands, beneath the rolling skies, reflecting 
 the beauty and glory of it all. The stars now are coming 
 out one by one. These still waters, reflecting island and 
 
 55 
 
THE LAWN AND COTTAGES AT THE DEAN HOUSE 
 
mountain, sky and star, seem like some beautiful crown 
 in which many precious jewels are set. The fleecy clouds 
 and starlit skies while rolling above are still rolling 
 beneath the crystal surface of these waters until it seems 
 as if the beauty of all the earth is caught up in the glory 
 of the skies, but not so; in reality it is the crystal waters 
 of the lake that are declaring the glory of the skies, and in 
 these watery depths are pictured all the beauties of the 
 firmament. "It is now between the dark and the day- 
 light when the night is beginning to lower," for the long 
 summer's day is gently fading into night and the vapors of 
 evening are beautifully colored. The sunset has been 
 an infinitely tender one, and, like the rainbow, seemed a 
 special token of divine grace. 
 
 At last arousing myself from these evening lullabies 
 I look with pity upon my stony companion, who, in 
 the presence of such marvelous display, is dumb and 
 senseless. Dumb and senseless did I say .? Who knows .? 
 A greater one than you or I has said: "If these should 
 hold their peace the very stones would cry out." I stroll 
 along the shore of these veritable waters of Meribah. I am 
 not stirred deeply nor aroused, but softly subdued by 
 the mellow charms of the twilight. The light is softly 
 falling from above and striking on the waters. The sun 
 has gone in all of his glory. All, did I say ? Not all, for he 
 has sent much of it up from below the horizon to the 
 skies, making them golden and beautiful, and it is this 
 light that is now falling from above, and as it strikes the 
 rippling waters, such colors! — emerald, violet, rose, pink, 
 all blending and shifting over the surface of these placid 
 waters, changing and chasing one another, suggesting 
 some realm of fable or romance, where lovers might be 
 waiting and longing for the coming of one another. 
 
 I walk along the shore in the coming twilight, looking 
 
 57 
 
out across the quiet, placid waters of the lake. Somewhere 
 in the heavens there is a tiny motion in the ether, a 
 mere wave, it is followed by another and still another, and 
 soon these successive waves come rolling down the skies. 
 Away, far away across the waters, out on the lake, near 
 the shore, there suddenly appears a tiny strip of blue. It 
 gradually spreads over the quiet surface like floating 
 azure over the skies. What is it .? It is the first breeze 
 of the evening, dipping to its bath and waking as it passes 
 the sleeping ripples of the lake so that they may join the 
 soft-voiced treetops in their evening songs. 
 
 As these living waves of ether fall upon the quiet waters 
 of the lake and quicken them into action, so the living 
 principles of love drop into the human heart and quicken 
 the passive dreams of childhood into the active realities 
 of manhood and the young life is lifted up and led forward 
 by the Vision Beautiful. 
 
 THE GARDEN AND WELL 
 58 
 
2; 
 
 o 
 
 O 
 
 Q 
 O 
 
 K 
 
 O 
 U 
 
 O 
 K 
 
 ei 
 W 
 2 
 S 
 a 
 
 w 
 a 
 
 H 
 

 **wk 
 
 
 • I'V;. 
 
 
 
 :-'■■ •' ■- 
 
 - ■'*■■•■ - 
 
 
 |P^: 
 
 • 
 
 .If:'/, 
 
 ':k. idi 
 
 f '-'■ 
 
 
 
 ^^mW'-wm^ 
 
 »"' 
 
 
 
 11 ^ ^:. ' 
 
 ,t^- l^sjflpv 
 
 ^'1^ 
 
 i ' ■ 
 
 
 il.' ■' 
 
 
 7 :^ 
 
 I ,, > 
 
 
 'J 
 
 
 ■ i' >.>."..■'.-. ■/ 'V-.. '. "•' 
 
 
 
 '>■'■■"■"■'■'■&; 
 
 ir 
 
 
 »?i . > '..V , 
 
 •i|;;/,;-' 
 
 
 P 
 
 
 i 
 
 "/I 
 
 ■■ 1 
 
 m 
 
 >^ 
 
 ^, vkl , 
 
 PSI^^^ 
 
 .y- ■"'""'" 
 
 
 
 '-■''-^'"(•atfe^^ 
 
 
 
 
 H 
 c^ 
 O 
 Z 
 
 o 
 'z 
 
 3 
 o 
 o 
 ►J 
 
 u 
 
 p 
 
 w 
 h 
 
 o 
 Pi 
 
 1- 
 
 < 
 
 » 
 
The "Ramble" 
 
 [HE RAMBLE is a walk one and one- 
 quarter miles in length, laid out in the 
 beautiful park at Interlaken by the 
 proprietors of the Forest House. This 
 ramble walk starts near the shore of 
 Lake Mahopac. It turns and twists, 
 winds and weaves among the trees, over the rocks, 
 through the glens, down, always down, the sloping sides 
 of Interlaken until it reaches the shores of Kirk Lake. 
 Along this shore it finds its way, through the thicket, and 
 over the ledge, and then begins its ascent back to the 
 shore of Mahopac. Perhaps the landscape artist who 
 sketched the plans for this charming walk found an 
 Oriental rock along the shores of Kirk Lake and by 
 a mighty reach of his rich imagination he saw the 
 tired and weary head of Jacob resting serenely on this 
 rocky pillow. So the landscape genius built a ladder out 
 there on the sloping sides of Interlaken, among the tall 
 trees, and he called it "Jacob's ladder." For the going 
 and coming through that forest ramble is by means of this 
 ladder, even as the vagrant youth saw in his vision angels 
 ascending and descending. 
 
 There are many beautiful little summer houses along 
 this ramble; some are hidden among the big rocks, some 
 are down in shady glens, some are in odd nooks and 
 quaint corners, while others still are overhanging some 
 high, rocky ledge looking out on valley and plain to the 
 hilltops beyond. Rustic bridges, spiral gateways, 
 swinging hammocks and cozy corners are everywhere to 
 be found as one winds his way through this forest glade. 
 
 61 
 
Passing down this ramble and following its serpentine 
 wind, climbing rocks and turning corners, one soon finds 
 himself far down among big boulders, solid stone on every 
 side, and above arching boughs. With big niches in big 
 stones, cave and mysterious openings everywhere, one 
 thinks of the Catacombs of Rome and their weird history, 
 quickens his step and hurries along. He passes some old, 
 quaint nooks and odd summer houses where he would 
 like to tarry and read Coleridge's "Ancient Mariner," 
 but he must jog along, for this is a lengthy ramble and 
 there are many things to see. And now, as this winding 
 path leads him through some deep glen and he passes under 
 the shadow of some great rock and looks upon its strength, 
 
 JACOB'S LADDER 
 
 62 
 
A RESTING PLACE ALONG THE RAMBLE 
 
 he thinks that old Hebrew poet spoke wisely when he 
 said: "Behold, a king shall reign in righteousness . . . 
 and he shall be as the shadow of a great rock in a weary 
 land ... a shelter in time of storm." A climb up 
 "Jacob's Ladder," a pass through "Laurel Glen," and by 
 Minnomah Spring and the fountain brings one out on 
 the grassy lawns and among the budding flowers of the 
 Forest House. The walk has been charming, the Ramble 
 delightful and the scenic beauty inspiring. 
 
 63 
 
as 
 
 H 
 h 
 
 Q 
 d 
 
 b 
 O 
 
 O 
 W 
 
 a 
 & 
 
 W 
 K 
 H 
 
 2; 
 
 >< 
 < 
 
A Storm on the Lake 
 
 BEAUTIFUL day at Lake Mahopac, that 
 sounds familiar; blue waters and clear 
 sky. There are just a few vagrant clouds 
 tramping the western skies, and the light 
 breezes from them are causing the waters 
 to move upon the face of the lake, and 
 tiny waves are lapping the stony shore by my side, telling 
 me that other waves are in motion and that sailing will be 
 good. A little way across the waters I see a graceful, 
 slender sailing craft, her white robes furled on her spars, 
 proudly riding at her moorings. I know her well and 
 love her, too, for she has safely carried me over stormy 
 seas on occasions of yore. Most temptations are either 
 sinful or expensive, but this one happens to be neither, so 
 I easily fall a victim to the subtle wiles of this maiden of 
 the sea. 
 
 She has slipped her anchor now, and her spars have 
 let go of her white robes. By the aid of the ether-waves 
 above we are speeding over the water-waves below like 
 some huge bird trying to rise on its noble pinions. Into 
 the folds of white, hanging from this winged bird, the 
 soft shepherd winds begin to gather. She spreads her 
 wings to the breeze, and, like the great white bird that 
 she is, flies low and swift across the lake. 
 
 The mountains along the western shore lift themselves 
 up in majestic outline against the sky and look frowningly 
 down upon us as we approach. The wooded foothills 
 come reaching down to the very water's edge, wade in 
 and warn us of impending danger. The great white bird 
 softly lifts her voice, with a little trembling and fluttering 
 
 65 
 
"goes about," and flies along the western shores, where 
 overhanging trees and huge boulders tell her not to come 
 near lest dangers, concealed by watery mantle, encom- 
 pass her. Like the historic dove sent on a mission by 
 the old sea captain as he sailed over the boundless blue, 
 she could find no rest for the sole of her foot. 
 
 Again we "go about," and the breezes come floating 
 over our starboard side and carry us well out into the lake. 
 There is a straining at the stays and a swaying of the 
 spars and we sail on and on, faster and faster we go. We 
 pass other boats, smaller boats, rowing boats, paddling 
 boats, out there on the deep; with oars and arms they are 
 able to crawl slowly through the water like a fish, but 
 the sailing boat is like a bird. One gets its power from 
 the water and below, the other from the skies and above. 
 
 LIFTING THE SAIL 
 66 
 
One lives in the world of the temporal and has seen things 
 of life, the other has reached out into the unseen and eternal 
 things and is sailing for the port of Heaven : that is my 
 bark. There are some great ships sailing dowm the 
 horizon, mighty spiritual fleets out on the deep, sailing 
 an ocean as v^^ide as eternity, boundless as the blue, and 
 whose sunlit waters are ever rolling toward the haven of 
 rest. 
 
 The clouds now begin to travel down the long pathway 
 of the skies and are soon lost among their vapory haunts. 
 The breezes begin to die out and the white garments of 
 the ship hang loosely on her spars. Drifting now! A 
 calm ^ Yes, a calm ! a mere incident, a common thing on 
 the waters of Lake Mahopac. An opportunity for silent 
 meditation. Good for some people. They, at least, have 
 opportunity to think. There is not a cloud in the sky, 
 not a ripple on the surface, not a wave on the shore. The 
 boat seems like a child asleep in its mother's arms. A 
 calm that precedes a storm is prevailing everywhere. 
 
 Far off in the skies, just above the outline of the 
 mountains shouldering up in the west, comes a tiny cloud, 
 a mere "speck in the sky," no larger than a man's hand. 
 While watching this solitary and miniature cloud form, I 
 think of an old prophet, who stood on a lonely mountain 
 peak scanning the heavens, anxiously looking for some 
 sign of a storm. A multitudinous host was praying in the 
 valley. For more than three years no rain had fallen. A 
 mighty storm swept over that land on that day, and the 
 sign in the sky that the old Hebrew seer saw was a tiny 
 cloud no larger than a man's hand. Goodness! I hope 
 no such rainy blessings and windy mercies roll this way 
 to-day while I am in this sailboat. 
 
 While thus meditating that "tiny cloud" has gone 
 tramping down the vapory highways and picked up some 
 
 67 
 
congenial companions. Now a large company of these 
 fierce looking vagrants are marshalling their hosts in the 
 west. Some stray ones, like officers, are circling around 
 on the outside. The captain of these heavenly hosts must 
 be collecting and concentrating his forces for a double- 
 quick march across the battlements of the skies. So 
 quickly has this cloud army been gathered and its battle 
 lines formed that I suspect its chief may be that famous 
 old Ezekiel, who had but to prophesy and up from among 
 the lilies and grasses and daisies sprung a mighty host, 
 a great company filling all that valley "like an exceeding 
 great army on the march." Let the captain be who he 
 may, the order "Forward, march!" has been given, and 
 that multitudinous host begins its triumphant tramp 
 across the sky with military precision; the flying column 
 moves swiftly forward. The advance guards are flying on 
 before with reconnoitering purpose. A powerful enemy 
 must be entrenched somewhere among the cloudy battle- 
 ments, for now the cannons begin to boom and the powder 
 light flashes through the battle smoke. An answering shot 
 must have rung out from somewhere above, for the 
 vapory lines of the front are torn and tattered, scattered 
 here and there. With human intelligence and great rapidity 
 these shattered lines close up. With majestic mien this 
 marvelous host sweeps over all the heavens and every foe 
 is vanquished. 
 
 Now the black, heavy nimbo-cumulus cloud is rolling 
 far up in the skies, towering toward the zenith with its 
 upper peaks of shining white. The dark clouds lying 
 underneath are mere pedestals of the great white pinnacles 
 and spurs, far up in the skies, that seem to tower and rock 
 slowly like icebergs in a stormy sea; a rain fringe, like a 
 comet's tail, is trailing after this cloud. It reaches far down 
 to hilltops, valleys and meadows. The whole landscape 
 
 68 
 
is darkening. The big black clouds leadingonare the wind 
 clouds. Great havoc they are making with the sleeping 
 lake. They come rushing down the mountain side and 
 leap upon these quiet waters like some wild beast 
 pouncing on its prey. My frail bark with big white sails 
 is skipping about like some young animal trying to escape 
 from its keeper. This way. That way. All ways. I reef 
 the sail. I head up into the wind. I challenge old Boreas 
 as he still lashes the lake with his windy furies. This must 
 be the spirit of Xerxes and his mighty Persians lashing the 
 waters of some Hellespont. 
 
 Now the storm in all of its fury and blast has broken 
 over the lake and is beating her waters into tempestuous 
 billows. The mad waves with mighty strides come 
 walking over the deep. They throw out their long 
 flinging arms and grapple with miy faithful ship. It is a 
 great struggle out here all alone. Back and across, to 
 and fro, in the trough and out of it, my ship battles with the 
 watery tempests and rolling storm. The thunder peals, 
 the lightning flashes. More terrible than the classic bolts 
 of old Zeus is this lightning as it comes hurtling through 
 the clouds and breaking across their dark bosom. Out 
 of the dull gray clouds bringing up the rear the rain 
 storm rushes, first the big drops, then the thinner dashes. 
 In great watery sheets they reach from the clouds above 
 and sweep over the lake in an unbroken storm. 
 
 My noble ship is now in sore distress, for the elements 
 are angry. The sails are drenched, and the captain, while 
 a good skipper, "never saw such a tempest." "Don't 
 give up the ship" are the cheering words that come out 
 of the past. Now all the mighty hosts and great legions 
 of the deep are battling and struggling with my bark. 
 The battle between St. George and the Dragon isn't 
 comparable with this watery strife. The waves, scurrying 
 
 69 
 
RACING FOR HOME 
 
 A FOUNTAIN AT INTERLAKEN 
 
hither and thither, driven by wind, are crossing and 
 breaking upon each other, and in wild dashes of foam are 
 rolling up on the port side. The thunder peals, the light- 
 ning flashes, the wind blows and a stormy hurricane is 
 sweeping over the lake. Wind and wave, sea and ship, are 
 clashed in a mighty battle. Tempestuous waves, with 
 broken and ragged crests, driven by wind and storm, are 
 bearing down on the struggling bark. Rain and wind are 
 howling through the rigging. Old Neptune with his heavy 
 trident is lashing the deep. Whitecaps, dull and ghost- 
 like, rise from beneath the triple lash and foam all about 
 the wave-tossed and wind-beaten craft. Still the storm 
 rages, the wind blows and the waves roll. The thunder 
 peals and the lightning flashes. 'Tis a great battle out 
 here among the angry elements. And now all the fury 
 and fierceness of the storm seem to be concentrating in 
 that big black wave rising in the distance. It comes rolling 
 on, lifting and rising, pitching and tossing. I point up. 
 I head into its depths. On it comes with head lifted high, 
 rushing and charging, heaving and pushing, straining and 
 leaping. It heaves and heaves, until at last,having pushed 
 itself up to an unsustainable height, it suddenly lets go. 
 With its ragged, torn crest it pitches forward in seething 
 foam and breaks in all of its fury upon the deck of the 
 battling bark. She reels. She rocks. She lifts her 
 bow high into the air and pitches forward, but gal- 
 lantly she steadies herself and shakes oflT the watery 
 deluge, and points into the very teeth of the storm. A 
 great victory gained, a mighty triumph achieved, and the 
 ship well deserves to be remembered in history with the 
 Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria. And to her skilful skipper 
 is due some credit. The storm is now broken, its fury 
 spent, and the clouds have rolled by. 
 
 These castle clouds rolling away are struck by the sun 
 
 71 
 
as it comes breaking through, and a beautifully colored 
 pathway across the skies is formed, along which the angels 
 are traveling. We call this suspended arch, this celestial 
 highway, a rainbow. Now that the storm is over, the 
 timid ones, who have hidden away like birds, come to see 
 what has happened to the world round about. Nature, 
 tired and dusty, now is fresh and beautiful. This storm 
 has given new life to the rain-dashed fields and deep 
 woodlands. The smell of the ground, the clearness of the 
 air, the brightness of the vegetation, the beauty of the 
 skies, charm the eye and fill the soul with love. One 
 feels that the earth has awakened from a long sleep, had a 
 bath, and is now clean and refreshed. Boats are astir, 
 moving out from cove and dock, gaily gliding over the 
 waters with happy passengers. The birds on every side 
 are singing, and oh ! how sweetly they sing. Color is 
 revived. The flowers are more beautiful, the grasses 
 greener, the skies bluer and foliage everywhere more 
 luminuous than in many a day. Light, loving and soft, 
 beautiful and blushing, comes pouring out of the west in 
 radiant and smiling streams, bathing every tree, kissing 
 every flower, and peace dwells on all the earth. Truly 
 this seems to be an epoch of "Peace on earth and good 
 will toward men." 
 
 My battle-scarred ship, tattered and torn, bearing un- 
 mistakable evidences of a mighty strife, moves slowly 
 back to her moorings through the infinite calm and peace 
 that blesses all the lake and its environment with its 
 loveliness. Surely this must be that sweet peace of which 
 the Great Prince spoke, when he said to his disciples on 
 the eve of his departure, "Peace I leave with you, my 
 peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I 
 unto you." 
 

 AN ARGUMENT ON THE WATER 
 
 WASHINGTON'S HEAD 
 
.'•, ■1}'T 
 
 
 1 . ' ~y.' 
 
 l^Hf 
 
 , ,■::•■■■■ •i' 
 
 W '^^^■: - 
 
 "■? . ,>,'':: "■ 
 
 >^5^'''" V, ,:.-'-4r""'- 
 
 " »*'-"' '■ r- - 
 
 ^ ■ - '■ 
 
 
 ^^^^^;( .i?i! 
 
 ^^^^'■■^S',' 
 
 ""> 
 
 '' " ■ ■*-^.^ 
 
 
 " ■■^^^»^s^^ 
 
 ^m^^^^^^^. 
 
 ^ "•-,* 
 
 v, >3|. 
 
 ■- ;., . ■.-f-v^^-^-- ■■ ^' :>«^ 
 
 '■"" v^Sw^P 
 
 ^^j 7*£-"*;":^is;.' ■.. 
 
 '■■* ■>.,'''■ 
 
 
 
 ,^?^^^S 
 
 ^""v'^fc-"" 
 
 i/ ." ": ■ -■ 
 
 
 ■ ■' V ■■^' '' ''''"''■ :*"" ..rfPT^^-^^lggl 
 
 p ' Jjk'm^.-^- 
 
 -^-" :"^"; ■ ■^-iisj. 
 
 "■ -m^^^^ 
 
 ,"■■; ' 
 
 
 
 ^^ ■■%.'"-"#-"'■•■ 
 
 " V:'"^*'* 
 
 
 .,..;■ ■. 'yS' ■ ^ p^_..... 
 
 
 '•'"*-■:;«» '^'^ *' 
 
 
 
 
 ■— ^r-rj^,..,,-- 
 
 j^,^" ^ 
 
 ■ : - -^ ■ -'"'"*'"■ ■j'T^'-'^jfe^^^^ 
 
 ^Srrx^. ...,., /.., 
 
 :'"'^ 
 
 jgp-^^ 
 
 '" ., , '■■.■.- . = ■-.' *^/^/. 
 
 SSaBite niftfiifrJ'' Aw ' L*> -^'.uu'irii'^ 
 
 
 
 It -1 V- -,.. :---K;fc;*'>^-i-i''.*. ■,:;;..<,; /is*^-:;'*?^ 
 
 fl^^^'^ '^''--''''"'"^*^ -IH 
 
 ;-r*^-|^^S- 
 
 MINNOMAH SPRING 
 
Minnomah Spring 
 
 HIS is a beautiful spring of water on the 
 western side of the lake. It is situated in 
 the Interlaken Park, and all the water 
 used at the Forest House is carried from 
 this mountain spring. It nestles among 
 some thick foliage at the base of a 
 mountain whose rocky sides feed it. 
 
 The waters of this spring have always had a local 
 reputation for unusual purity and large healing qualities. 
 This was true among the old Wappinger Indians, who 
 used to live in these parts, as well as some modern Indians, 
 who come here now. 
 
 It is said if any of this special tribal division were 
 taken sick or fell in an arrow battle, their fellow braves 
 would take the sick and wounded body and hurry with 
 all possible haste to the side of Minnomah Spring and 
 there gently lay their precious charge, believing that the 
 purity and healing powers of these waters would restore 
 them. It was the Indians who gave this spring the name 
 Min-no-mah, which means "good water." When the great 
 chief of these Wappinger Indians fell in that last battle, 
 fought on the shores of Kirk Lake, his trusty braves 
 brought the battle-scarred body of the beloved chieftain 
 to the quiet and stillness of these waters and about it 
 they religiously knelt and said their prayers to the Great 
 Spirit, but Minnomah waters did not heal, for the spirit 
 of Canopus had gone to the happy hunting grounds 
 beyond. 
 
 75 
 
THE LAKE FROM MAHO PARK, OWNED BY MRS. GANU.N'G 
 
 »^j . 
 
 PETRA AND THE CANOE 
 
Moonlight on the Lake 
 
 By Pearl H. Wafren 
 
 HOT day at Lake Mahopac, you say. 
 Well, if one has suffered with the heat 
 here, what must have been the suffering 
 elsewhere ? Nevertheless, it is true; all 
 day that greater light that rules by day 
 has asserted his rights and humanity 
 has wilted before his relentless rays. 
 
 But now the feverish day is done; like some great 
 passion it has died away and night serene and still is upon 
 us. Softly the evening came. The sun as it sank 
 behind its western bank of hills reminded us of some 
 magician extending his golden wand over all the land- 
 scape. This wand touched sky and water and forest until 
 they seemed to meet and mingle together, and we are 
 reminded of the lines: 
 
 "The sun impressed upon the lips of eve a lingering kiss; 
 and gently taking leave. 
 
 Undid its golden tresses for the night, 
 To let them float upon the dying breeze. 
 And get entangled in the tops of trees, 
 
 Where darkness freed them from their sorry plight." 
 
 All day the lake has been deserted, but the night, ah ! 
 that will be so different. I, with many others, have prom- 
 ised myself an evening on the lake. But how shall I ride 
 its deeps; how best shall I enjoy the revelations which this 
 night shall make known unto me .'' A rowboat is instantly 
 dismissed from my mind and I am left to choose between 
 a sailboat and a canoe. A sailboat always has its charms 
 for me and I hesitate. But the night promises but very 
 little breeze and I finally decide upon a canoe. Now that 
 
my choice is made, I step into my canoe, the "Swan" 
 I call it. The lake seems lost in an idle dream, sleeping 
 in this rainbow light that occasionally we catch a glimpse 
 of between the dark and the daylight. I scarcely ruffle its 
 coral surface as I dip my paddle, and my canoe reminds 
 me of some sear autumn leaf, some yellow water-lily riding 
 the bosom of this lake. But I soon forbear to break this 
 sea of glass by even these tiny ripples that follow in my 
 wake and sink and rise as if in an ecstasy of delight, and I 
 silently drift as a cloud drifts through the sky. After the 
 restless heat and disquietude of the day just past, the night 
 has come, but not too soon, and I drink my fill of earth, 
 lake and sky. Whatever the demands of the day have 
 been, I put them all behind me and simply breathe and 
 look and live. If I think at all in these first few moments 
 of perfect relaxation, it is somewhat in this strain: 
 
 "O Gift of God! O perfect night! 
 
 Thereon no man shall work but play. 
 
 Whereon it is enough for me not to be doing, but to be." 
 
 Once more I dip my paddle, and now seem to be 
 approaching some shore, as I can hear the water lapping, 
 lapping. It is not the mainland, but Petra, that I am 
 approaching, and I drift beneath its overhanging branches 
 and decide to wait here for the rising of the moon, this 
 lesser light that rules by night. "There is no light in earth 
 or heaven just now but the cold light of the stars and the 
 first watch of the night has been given to that red planet 
 Mars." As I lie in my canoe and gaze upon that planet, 
 it almost seems to me that I can see the gleam of a hero's 
 armor. But I have not long to muse in that direction, for 
 a dreamy effulgence seems to be filling that eastern sky, 
 and I look only to see a rim of light which tells me that 
 my wait is to be soon rewarded. Silently, quietly, in the 
 infinite meadows of heaven, the light grows and is intensi- 
 
 78 
 
fied until this golden ball of the night, this ruler of dark- 
 ness, this princess of the sky, in all her pride, like some 
 glorified spirit stands revealed in her own radiance. 
 Silently she lies, with a silvery haze upon her, and my whole 
 soul seems inundated with her magical, witching light, and 
 as this splendid scenery of the sky unrolls before me I am 
 led to cry out with the Psalmist: "When I consider thy 
 heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, 
 which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art 
 mindful of him ? and the son of man, that thou 
 visitest him ?" 
 
 " But man has ceased to marvel and worship, except, 
 perhaps, when some blazing comet appears on the walls 
 of God's temple as if some hand had appeared and written 
 
 A COTTAGE BY THE LAKE SIDE 
 
the word 'Upharsin.'" The fireflies are about me gleam- 
 ing and floating away in infinite numbers, and over my 
 head the stars, the thoughts of God in the heavens, shine 
 down into my eyes. And now, loud and sudden, sounds 
 the note of a whippoorwill, like a flute in the woods. 
 Further and further away it floats, calling to some delin- 
 quent mate, perhaps, until it dies into silence. Higher 
 and higher in the heavens rides this ruler of the night and 
 more and more intoxicated do I become with its witching 
 light and silent majesty. My soul longs for expression and 
 it seems as if — 
 
 "Through every fiber of my brain. 
 Through every nerve, through every vein, 
 I feel the electric thrill, the touch. 
 Of life that seems almost too much." 
 Corot in his letter to Graham has described the rising 
 of the sun, the coming of the dawn, but oh ! for pen, for 
 eloquence, to describe Mahopac's moon as now I see it. 
 As I gaze down into the waters round about me, I see the 
 sky hollowed out, with the moon dipping, the stars twin- 
 
 IN THE SHADOW OF C^XOPUS, WAITING FOR THE MOON TO LIFT- 
 SO 
 
klingand inverted in this sea of glass; the gray rocks gleam- 
 ing. The trees standing side by side seem bending to meet 
 and greet this fair canopy of the night. As I look about 
 me again, I see a ship, not a phantom ship, although each 
 mast and spar lies across the moon like a prison bar, but 
 a sailboat caught in a calm. Those words strike terror 
 to my heart on even a night like this, and I think of my 
 wise choice. And now my moon has hidden her face, like 
 some fair lady at her casement window when she knows 
 her lover, a passionate wooer, is drawing near. She seems 
 to ride far above this screen of clouds as light as ocean's 
 foam. They cannot entirely hide her radiance, but are 
 tinted and colored with her gold until they add to the 
 already supernal beauty of the night. They remind me 
 of some host overthrown in battle, and every pinnacle seems 
 a shattered lance. Such radiance cannot long remain 
 hidden and now the clouds ride on and once more her 
 beauty bursts upon me. Time passes on unheeded 
 until I am startled to see my shining orb of night 
 about to divest herself of all her radiant garments and 
 ready to recline behind the screen of yonder pines. This 
 is my signal for leaving. My evening on Lake Mahopac, 
 beneath her moon, has passed, but I am stronger and 
 better for the time spent beneath the branches of Petra's 
 Isle and I dip my paddle and retrace my steps with a new 
 song in my heart, serener and more resolute, calmer and 
 more self-possessed. 
 
 Before leaving this spot, with its beauties seen and un- 
 seen, let me say that— 
 " If thou art weary and hard beset with sorrows that thou 
 
 would'st forget, 
 If thou would'st read a lesson that will keep 
 
 Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep" 
 
 Go to the sheltering branches of Petra's Isle and see the 
 moon rise over Lake Mohopac. 
 
 81 
 

 o 
 
 s 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
PART II 
 
 HISTORIC SKETCHES 
 
o 
 
 X 
 
 w 
 Pi 
 
 w 
 
 o 
 ►J 
 
 u 
 
 < 
 ►J 
 
Historic Mahopac 
 
 )HE history and tradition that cluster 
 around Mahopac are interesting. Attrac- 
 tive to the Indian and white man ahke, 
 it has been the theater of many thrilling 
 scenes in modern as well as olden times. 
 It was once the pride of Dutchess 
 County, but since the division, authorized by the Legisla- 
 ture at Albany, Putnam County has boasted of her charms. 
 In early times it was simply known as " Big Pond," 
 but when the Hughson family became prominent, owning 
 the whole north side of the lake, it took the name of 
 "Hughson Pond." When Erskine's military map was 
 published it was named "Mahopac Pond." "Ma-ho- 
 pac" is an Indian word meaning "Great Lake." "Big 
 Pond" seemed to be the most popular name and was 
 used for many years. 
 
 The lake was originally bought by Adolph Philipse 
 from the. Indians. Later this purchase was attacked, but 
 the Philipse title was declared valid, and Lake Mahopac 
 with her surrounding country was known as Philipse 
 Patent. Here is where the story of the gallant Washington 
 comes in- He met Mary Philipse in New York City. 
 She invited him to her country estate, which consisted of 
 about 40,000 acres, and included Lake Mahopac and her 
 settings. The young Southern gentleman fell in love 
 with the country and the lady. By marrying one he 
 could get the other. It would have been a lucky stroke 
 for Father George. Just about that time the tea was 
 dumped overboard in Boston Harbor and soon after 
 Warren fell at Bunker Hill. The young lady was loyal 
 
 85 
 

 o 
 
 P 
 
 25 
 < 
 
 ci 
 S 
 
 C 
 
 o 
 w 
 
to the throne beyond the sea, while the young man 
 refused to pay homage to any king save only the King of 
 kings, and so they parted; each went their way: Washing- 
 ton to fight for the Declaration of Independence and 
 Mary Philipse to marry Col. Roger Morris, who had 
 fought side by side with Washington at Braddock's 
 defeat and afterward was in the battle on the Plains of 
 Abraham when the two brave generals, Wolfe and Mont- 
 calm, fell. 
 
 After the Revolutionary War all the land belonging to 
 the Tories, Roger Morris and his wife, was sold by the 
 Commissioners of Forfeiture. 
 
 Previous to 1834 the lake was scarcely known to the 
 outside world. In that year Stephen Monk came from 
 Connecticut, bought an acre of land adjoining the lake 
 and erected the first boarding house and hotel at Lake 
 Mahopac. This afterward became the site of the 
 famous Gregory House. The father of the boarding 
 house and hotel business at this watering place was 
 called "Old Bolivar." He was an interesting old char- 
 acter. He never became rich. He did not understand 
 the fancy prices and long list of extras, but a good, jolly, old 
 soul was he. I have talked with some old inhabitants 
 who knew him well. He was one of the leading local 
 citizens, liberal and generous, a great lover of music and 
 children. He died when fifty-six years old, leaving a wife 
 and seven children. He was laid to rest in the Crane 
 burying ground. 
 
 Huldah Gregory bought the Mahopac Hotel that S. 
 Monk had started together with one acre of land. 
 
 Another piece of land joining this and a part cf the 
 old Peter Mabie farm was previously bought by her from 
 the administrators of the Daniel Baldwin estate. Both 
 pieces of property were conveyed by her to her son, 
 
 87 
 
o 
 z 
 
 o 
 z 
 < 
 
 e 
 z 
 
 o 
 
 < 
 
 pa 
 < 
 
Dr. Lewis H. Gregory, January 26, 1853. This was the 
 beginning of the famous old Gregory House, which in its 
 day was equaled by few and excelled by none of its kind 
 anywhere, and did much to make Lake Mahopac so well 
 known. From the time that these two estates were con- 
 solidated and the Gregory House formally opened until it 
 was burned to the ground, Dr. Gregory was identified 
 with the progress and development of the hotel business 
 at Lake Mahopac. While Mr. Monk was the father of 
 the industry, it was Dr. Gregory who gave it character 
 and dignity and elevated it to the high grade which his 
 successors so wisely maintain to-day. 
 
 The Gregory House in fashion and splendor rivaled 
 anything that can be found at Newport or Saratoga. It 
 was burned to the ground October 2, 1878. 
 
 The "Mansion House," built from an old dwelling 
 house, was burned January 18, 1857. It stood opposite 
 the Mahopac Hotel. 
 
 In 1853 Reuben C. Baldwin built the famous "Baldwin 
 House" and ran it successfully for ten years. In 1869 
 it burned and was not rebuilt. The carriage house and 
 barn are still standing and presumably some one is living 
 there, for on the outside of the back door over the case- 
 ment are these words — B-A-R. 
 
 Jn 1858, John W. Carpenter came to Mahopac and 
 built what is known as the Carpenter House. This is a 
 good summer house and has some fine trees about it. 
 It is now run by Walter Carpenter. 
 
 The old Lake House stood where the Catholic church 
 now stands. It was bought by the Cole family and bore 
 their name until recently, when it was burned to the ground. 
 
 Previous to 1849 ^^e natural highway to the lake was 
 from Peekskill. After the Harlem Railroad was built to 
 Croton Falls it was from that point. By a special act of 
 
 89 
 
THE SUMMER HOME OF DR. IMLAY BENET 
 
legislature commissioners were appointed to straighten 
 and improve the highway that ran between Croton Falls 
 and Lake Mahopac. Over this highway great coaches 
 from the different hotels at the lake traveled to meet the 
 Harlem trains. These coaches were drawn by four, six, 
 eight and even ten horses. Back over the hills and 
 through the dales they raced. Some of the old inhabitants 
 tell of the spectacular scene often witnessed when the 
 Gregory House coach, drawn by ten white horses, en- 
 deavored to pass the Baldwin House coach, drawn by 
 eight black horses. As they reached the far end of that 
 level stretch just beyond the site of the new town the 
 real race began. It was the home stretch and the natives 
 came for rriiles every evening to see it. Side by side they 
 raced for half a mile, the black team and the white; first 
 one and then the other ahead, much to the delight of the 
 passengers. Perhaps Lew Wallace took one of these 
 flighty rides and thus caught his inspiration for the 
 chariot race in " Ben-Hur." 
 
 In the spring of 1871 a movement was set on foot to 
 extend the New York City and Northern Railroad to 
 Carmel. This was brought about by the influential 
 members of the Lake Mahopac Improvement Company. 
 The directors of the Harlem Road, at that time a com- 
 petitive company (and we all wish it were now), hurriedly 
 called a meeting and planned to build a road from Golden's 
 Bridge to Lake Mahopac. Articles of incorporation were 
 speedily executed and the work of construction began at 
 once. The first train run from New York to Mahopac 
 was on July 4, 1871. A great celebration was held; 
 Mahopac was in all of her glory. 
 
 The formation of the land companies of Mahopac, 
 their wild speculations, brief life and death are treated 
 of elsewhere. 
 
 91 
 
s 
 
 > 
 
 
 w 
 S 
 o 
 
 X 
 w 
 
 w 
 
 >^ 
 
 2; 
 c 
 
 ►4 
 
At the north end of the lake are two old home- 
 steads. Around them some fine old trees are clustering. 
 About them there is an air of quiet dignity and reserve. 
 Their beautiful green lawns reach all the way down to 
 the waters of the lake. One, "Graymanse," is owned by 
 Mr. Dewitt Smith, of New York City; the other, "Long- 
 mead," is owned by Mrs. Nathan K. Averill, also of New 
 York City. Both of these estates are a part of the old 
 farm of RobertjHughson, who bought it directly from the 
 Commissioners of Forfeiture. Up to a comparatively 
 recent date this old Hughson farm retained the simplicity 
 of other days. It was sold by the heirs of Hughson to 
 Stephen Dingee. Benjamin Ballard bought it from 
 Dingee. Selah Ballard bought it from his brother's heirs 
 and sold it to Lewis R. Griffin, and he sold 24 acres 
 of the original tract to William Tilden, who erected a 
 magnificent stone mansion, the most handsome structure 
 of its day, not only at Lake Mahopac, but in all Putnam 
 County. In December, 1900, Mr. Smith bought this 
 property and at once began very extensive improvements 
 on it. He has spent more than ^100,000 in this work. 
 He built the most substantial and artistic boat-house at 
 the lake, laid out a beautiful Italian garden, with a well 
 in its center. Flowers, trees, riprap wall, beautiful lawns 
 and winding walks make one think of those old Roman 
 estates on the shores of Southern Italy. 
 
 The old Griffin farm was bought by Isabel Saportas, 
 July I, 1863. She built a home for herself on it along the 
 shore, which she occupied for some time. This house is 
 situated just west of the outlet that flows from Wixsom's 
 Pond and now joins the property of Mr. Dewitt Smith. 
 Some time later Mr. Peter B. Sweeney, of New York City, 
 bought this place and paid ^^47,000 for it. The handsome 
 trees that grace its lawns, the big broad walks that reach 
 
 93 
 
from the house to shore, the unique fence that encloses 
 it, the grading and many other similar improvements 
 were done by Mr. Sweeney. The landscape artist who 
 planned this work was General Viele, who laid out Central 
 Park, New York City. The site of the old homestead 
 is one of the finest at the lake. Both sides of the group 
 of islands can be seen from its lawns. The old Griffin 
 family graveyard is just across the road to the north of 
 "Longmead." 
 
 Another historic site is the "Kaufman Place" at the 
 other end of the lake and just south of the Carpenter 
 
 MT. HOPE COTTAGE, HOME OF MR. F. C. BIVENS 
 94 
 
House. This is situated on the old Drake farm, and in 
 Itself was originally a tract of 99 acres. At one time it was 
 sold by Henry S. Baldwin to Samuel Kaufman, who 
 spent more than ^150,000 in improvements. Later Mr. 
 Lowerre, of Yonkers, N. Y., bought the property and 
 has spent much time and money in beautifying the place. 
 It possesses an air of dignity and character as it stands 
 up among tall, stately trees, and adds much to the charm 
 and beauty round about that portion of the lake shore. 
 
 Over the railroad is what is recently known as the 
 Card property. Mr. Lowerre has bought this fine site and 
 purposes to erect a villa of summer cottages thereon. It 
 is truly a magnificent view from the lifted heights of this 
 villa site, whether it is to the north over the lake and 
 islands, or to the west, east and south over the rolling 
 sylvan stretches. Many people sojourn this way looking 
 for summer homes; finding none, they go elsewhere. 
 When this plan is realized it will in part supply this de- 
 mand. There are some large trees and shady groves 
 gracing the sloping sides of this site as well as other 
 natural beauties which, when properly used by the land- 
 scape artist, will beautify and adorn the proposed little 
 summer villa. 
 
 To the southwest of this site and overlooking the lake 
 is what is known as the Mt. Hope Cottage. The owner 
 of this place, F. C. Bivens, lives here. It is of historic 
 interest. Originally it was a part of the Peter Mabie 
 farm, and then came into the hands of Mr. Baldwin. 
 When he sold his property to Mr. Kaufman he reserved 
 30 acres on the very crown of the hills and built this 
 present house, expending more than ;^20,ooo in its erec- 
 tion. The old gentleman lived here many years. Later 
 this property came into the hands of Mrs. F. C. Bivens, the 
 only surviving member of the old Baldwin family at Lake 
 
 95 
 
Mahopac. There is a curious spring up here throwing 
 up about loo gallons of pure water per hour. It has done 
 this for forty years. And still another curio found up 
 here is a gold, feldspar and quartz mine. It is called the 
 Crow Hill Mine, and was discovered by Mr. F. C. Bivens 
 in 1902, who opened the mine and worked it to some 
 extent, shipping the feldspar to Trenton, N. J., and the 
 quartz to Still River, Conn., leaving the elusive gold 
 hidden away in her earthen pots that some adventurous 
 spirit might sojourn here and buy the whole hillside in 
 order to get the goose with the golden egg. Ricketts & 
 Banks, chemist assayers, have given certificates of analysis 
 for these minerals that have been mined. Gold has been 
 found in large quantities on the Pacific Coast, but Crow 
 
 'THE GOLD MINE" AT LAKE MAHOPAC 
 96 
 
Hill Mine stands alone along the Atlantic shore as 
 possessing the precious jewel. There are many fine 
 places at Lake Mahopac, and some not so fine. It is 
 impossible to mention all of them. Miss Hoguet, an old 
 resident of the lake, has a fine cottage setting upon the 
 crest of some half civilized rocks along the shore. The 
 Senior homestead is one of the oldest places around the 
 lake as well as one of the highest. There is a very pretty 
 little reach of shore line with some homelike cottages 
 among the trees on the south end of the lake, called 
 "Virginia Row," because the people who live here all 
 came from that fine old Southern State that gave us our 
 Presidents in the early history of the Nation. The Deusen- 
 bury cottage is one of the fine homes "just beyond the 
 turn in the road." At the other end of the lake there are 
 some old estates, among which is the Welspiel estate, 
 that came from the Reuben D. Baldwin property. It has 
 a beautiful water front 750 feet in length and contains 
 about 13 acres. Some fine trees and rocks make this 
 property very desirable for those who love rustic things. 
 When everything has been said, the history of Lake 
 Mahopac, from the time when the Indian used to push 
 his log-hollowed canoe out on its waters until now, when 
 the steam and motor launches churn its waters, is inter- 
 esting and charming to the extreme. Big real estate 
 movements, wild dreams, the ebb and flow of its popu- 
 larity as a summer place all go to make the place worthy 
 of mention along the side of other famous resorts. The 
 personnel of the men who have journeyed here, lived here 
 and then gone elsewhere adds to the interest. Always 
 romantic and sentimental, yet there are substantial possi- 
 bilities at the place which if rightly used and developed 
 would make Lake Mahopac known everywhere as a 
 fashionable watering place second to none in all the land. 
 
 97 
 
z 
 < 
 
 o 
 
 D 
 
 c 
 a; 
 
The First House 
 
 jHE first house ever built in these parts, 
 so far as human records go, is here 
 shown. It was originally built of logs; 
 later was made over, after the advent of 
 saw mills. The site of this old landmark 
 is about one-half mile directly north of 
 the lake on the Carmel Road. The exact spot where it 
 stood is in the middle of the road directly in front of 
 Mr. Samuel Crane's homestead. 
 
 Mr. Crane's ancestors came from Connecticut and 
 located here. They cut down the trees and built this 
 house and lived in it a month before they knew any other 
 white man lived within a hundred miles. Occasionally 
 an Indian strayed by during its erection, but no white man. 
 It was built about 1740 by John Crane, the progenitor, at 
 least in these parts, of the famous old Crane family that 
 afterward became prominent in the life and thought at 
 Lake Mahopac. John Crane was made captain in the 
 Continental Army and served in the Revolutionary War. 
 His captain's commission is now in the possession of 
 Mr. Samuel Crane. The writer has seen it. Captain 
 Crane had charge of the Colonies' cause throughout the 
 whole region, and kept Washington informed of the move- 
 ments of the Tories, of which there were many roundabout. 
 When Washington had his headquarters at White 
 Plains he was accustomed to make sallies through here. 
 On one occasion he stopped overnight with Captain 
 Crane in this old house. At that time the English Govern- 
 ment had set a price on the head of the Commander-in- 
 Chief. Supper was served, the family and their distin- 
 
 99 
 
THE FIRST HOUSE, BUILT 1740 
 
 guished guest had retired, when there came a loud knock- 
 ing at the door. A voice on the inside cried out: "Who is 
 there?" A voice on the outside answered: "Friends." 
 The voice on the inside called back : "Advance, friends, and 
 give the countersign." The voice on the outside was 
 silent, but the knocking continued louder than ever. 
 General Washington, Captain Crane and the whole 
 family flew to their arms, with fixed bayonets and guns 
 ready, when the door was opened; but what was thought 
 to be enemies in ambush proved to be friends bearing news 
 of the movements of Tories to the north of this place. 
 
 100 
 
The Oldest House Standing 
 
 /HIS house shown here is the oldest 
 building standing in this vicinity. The 
 old Crane house is gone. The Roger 
 Morris manor house is in ruins, the red 
 mills have been torn dowm and this old 
 , landmark alone stands. It w^as built by 
 Nathaniel Crane, the son of Captain John Crane, who 
 built the first house here. The exact date of its structure 
 cannot be ascertained, but it was about the first part of 
 the last century or the last part of the eighteenth century. 
 Nathaniel Crane built it for his son-in-law, Ammon 
 Fowler, who sold it with eighty acres of land adjoining to 
 Lewis B. Griffin in 1846, and he (Griffin) sold it to Elias H. 
 Herrick, and it is now in the possession of that family. 
 At one time, about the first part of the last century, it was 
 used as a Methodist parsonage. It stands on the road to 
 Carmel just north of the lake. 
 
 THE HOUSE 
 
 101 
 
Roger Morris Manor House Ruins 
 
 |FTER Mary Philipse married Roger 
 Morris they built a manor house near 
 the outlet of the two lakes — Mahopac 
 and Kirk. The site is near that of the 
 Old Red Mills. The log house has been 
 gone for many years as such. But over 
 it and around it a new house was built. This composite 
 structure stood here until recently, when a fire came one 
 night and reduced the old historic building to ruins. 
 
 The oldest inhabitants roundabout here say that the 
 prisoner, Major Andre, and his guard stopped here one 
 night when they were returning to West Point after Andre 
 had been taken at Tarrytown. The history of Putnam 
 County denies this fact — on what authority it does not 
 state. The following are the historical data and one can 
 draw his own conclusions: 
 
 Major Andre had been taken from North Castle to 
 lower Salem. While at the latter place the party received 
 orders from Washington to take the prisoner to West 
 Point. There were two roads which led from lower Salem 
 to West Point. One was known as the "North Road," 
 the other as the "South Road." Washington sent special 
 orders "not to take the South Road," because the British 
 were pushing rapidly up the river in their efforts to 
 recapture Andre, "but to take the North Road." This 
 North Road passes directly by Lake Mahopac and the old 
 Roger Morris Manor House, and it was the only house 
 of its kind along that road for miles. The journey from 
 lower Salem to West Point is two days. This house was 
 on the way, and since there is a strong tradition about 
 
 102 
 
here to the effect that Andre and his party did stay here 
 over night, and since the history of Putnam County states 
 that he did not not stop here without showing any evidence 
 or argument, the writer beheves that the historical data 
 is of such a character and of sufficient strength to corrobo- 
 rate the tradition. Therefore, these old ruins among the 
 trees at Mahopac Falls are interesting because over the 
 spot where they now lie this young and unfortunate 
 British officer passed one of the nights shortly before he 
 was sent into eternity. 
 
 THE RUINS 
 
 103 
 
Old Red Mills 
 
 [he site of this mill is at Mahopac Falls 
 where the outlets of Lake Mahopac and 
 Kirk Lake join. This is doubtless the 
 same site where " Kirkham Mills" were 
 located, mentioned when the roads were 
 laid out in 1745. 
 Red Mills were built in 1756, about fourteen years after 
 John Crane built his house at the north end of the lake. 
 The timbers used in the structure were cedar, and because 
 of the red and pink colors of this wood they became 
 known as Red Mills. 
 
 They were built jointly by Roger Morris and Beverly 
 Robinson on that part of the Philip's patent known as 
 lot 5. 
 
 They were sold in 1781 by the Commissioners of 
 Forfeiture to William Smith. The deed given to Mr. 
 Smith included the right of the water courses from Kirk 
 Lake and Lake Mahopac. In the County journal and 
 Poughkeepsie Advertiser, January 9, 1788, appeared this 
 notice: "William M. Smith, No. 7 Old Slip, New York, 
 has for sale exceeding cheap his Capital Mills now let at 
 ^200 per year with several farms near the same in 
 Fredericksburg Precinct." About ten years later the 
 property was bought by Robert Johnson, who left it to 
 his son, William H. Johnson. Subsequently it changed 
 hands many times and finally was bought, January 2, 
 1866, by Thomas J. McArthur for the "Empire Sewing 
 Machine Company." The plans of this company were 
 not realized and they sold the mills to the Mahopac 
 Manufacturing Company, January 10, 1869. Just as this 
 
 104 
 
company was about to send machinery and begin opera- 
 tions, the Board of Water Commissioners of the City of 
 New York took possession of all water privileges of the 
 two lakes, and these premises were taken by the city, and 
 thus the manufacturing company was put out of business. 
 On June 14, 1881, H. O. Thompson, chief of the Depart- 
 ment of Public Works of New York City, offered for sale 
 at public auction the "superstructure, woodwork and 
 machinery of the Red Mills," and they were bought by 
 Lewis Baker for ^27. They were at once torn down, 
 the great beams and timbers were sawed and hewn and 
 sold in small pieces as souvenirs to those who remembered 
 the old Red Mills and loved them because they had 
 ground the corn and done the work for the sons and 
 daughters of these parts for three generations. 
 
 THE MILLS 
 
 105 
 

 .>:'. ' N 
 
 
 a 
 
 < 
 
 O 
 
 O 
 
 
 ID 
 
 
Hoguet Point 
 
 RSKINE'S military map shows that 
 previous to the Revolutionary War a 
 certain Dr. Hamilton lived on the 
 south end of a point of land extending 
 far out into the lake. This projecting 
 point forms a very important and 
 picturesque part of the irregular and unique contour of the 
 lake, and is now^ known as "Hoguet Point." 
 
 When the property of Roger Morris and his wife, 
 noted Tories, was confiscated and sold by order of the 
 Government, this point, a part of the old colonial manor, 
 was bought by John Drake. Later on it came into the 
 hands of Soloman Kirkham and wife, who sold it to Abel 
 Smith the first part of the last century. In our research 
 we came across the record: "Fifty-two acres of land at 
 the northeast corner of Joseph Gregory's farm were sold 
 to Abel Smith, April 24th, 1801, by Soloman Kirkham 
 and wife. This tract of land lay directly opposite of what 
 is known as Ganung's Island, and Abel Smith had his house 
 on it." 
 
 After the death of Abel Smith the property went to his 
 son, Abijah Smith, who sold it to Anthony Hoguet Septem- 
 ber 15, 1854. Mr. Hoguet owned it until his death, 
 January 2, 1875, when it was bequeathed to his heirs, so 
 for more than half a century this property has been in 
 the Hoguet family and borne its name. 
 
 Somewhere on the site occupied by Dr. Hamilton 
 before the Revolutionary War, at the south end of the 
 "Point" and on the Boulevard around the lake, is the 
 summer home of Mr. A. B. See, of New York City. Mr. 
 
 107 
 
a 
 
 
 O 
 
 D 
 O 
 
 
See came to Lake Mahopac in 1900 and located on this 
 historic site. He is one of the leading citizens of the 
 summer colony; liberal spirited, always ready and willing 
 to help any good movement that looks toward the better- 
 ment of life and thought at the lake. He has improved 
 and beautified the southern end of this well-known 
 property until it is one of the most picturesque places at 
 this famous summer resort. Just as cold, lifeless winter- 
 time gives way to bright, blooming springtime under the 
 touch of gentle rains and warm suns, so this place, with its 
 air of antiquity, has been completely changed by landscape 
 improvements and artistic touches until it reminds one of 
 some country home to which the Roman poets retired 
 when they wanted to gather inspiration to write odes to 
 their lady loves. 
 
 The house has been equipped with all modern improve- 
 ments, inside and out, its broad piazzas, porte-cochere, 
 rich awnings set in among the green of the foliage, making 
 a picture of rare beauty. Originally on the east side of 
 this place was a real swamp in the midst of civilization, 
 perhaps a "thing of beauty," but not a "joy forever." It 
 has been cleared away and filled in and adds to the grassy 
 slopes of one of the most beautiful lawns roundabout the 
 lake. Over these grassy slopes are some handsome trees, 
 proudly lifting their branches and forming an arch above 
 as if to shelter some conquering hero returning from 
 fields of battle. 
 
 But where the most artistic improvements have been 
 made and the largest results accomplished is along the 
 shore line of what is known as "Lily Cove." It has been 
 improved with artistic "landings," summer houses, 
 miniature forts, shore line walks, flower gardens, grassy 
 plots and terraced lawns, until it has became one of the 
 
 109 
 
a 
 
 < 
 o 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 Z 
 C 
 
 a 
 z 
 
 ij 
 
 

 ' JUBBH 
 
 
 JHWliB 
 
 ^'JM 
 
 nj^mjH 
 
 
 P^^SflH^i 
 
 
 '^t^J^Bi^H^BR^^^BI^^^^^^^B 
 
 
 ■^h8 
 
 A QCIET VISIT ALOXG THE WEST SHORE OF Hf)GUET POTXT 
 
 most beautiful and picturesque water fronts, not only at 
 the lake, but in all the country over. 
 
 If the water nymphs of the deep blue should silently 
 steal ashore some moonlight night seeking some sweet 
 secluded spot to hold a "land carnival" with their lovers, 
 they could find no more enticing or beautiful play- 
 grounds than here on these terraced lawns, under these 
 trees and among these flowers. 
 
 It can be truthfully said that this property is one of the 
 finest pieces of real estate roundabout the lake. It con- 
 tains the largest and most diversified possibilities that can 
 be found in many a day's journey. 
 
 It is a fifty-two-acred peninsula, eight acres lie beyond 
 the Boulevard, there are twelve acres in green terraces 
 and sloping lawns, leaving about thirty acres as a sort of 
 bold promontory reaching far out into the waters of the 
 lake, nearly half way across. It has more water front 
 than any piece of land its size in these parts. More 
 variety and diversity in its surface formation. It furnishes 
 large opportunities to the landscape artist to produce 
 
 111 
 
results that could scarcely be achieved elsewhere. As one 
 strolls out on this point alone, over its wooded knolls 
 and through its shady glens, along winding paths and 
 beneath overhanging boughs, by cozy nooks, and among 
 the flowers and shrubbery, rocks and trees, and listens to 
 the tiny waves breaking over the shore, he is conscious of 
 a higher and holier atmosphere than lives among men, 
 for surely soliloquizes this lover of the wildwood and the 
 lake, "This is the abode of the gods, perhaps the 
 deserted Garden of Eden," and then this nature-loving 
 youth sends up a little pra3'er to the deities of the groves 
 that no one with business inclination will tread these 
 walks and turn all these blessings of nature into com- 
 mercial and industrial channels, for poetry and beauty 
 love solitude. 
 
 THE EAST SIDE OF HOGUET POINT 
 112 
 
The Dew Drop 
 
 HE. Dew Drop was a double-decked 
 steamer brought to Lake Mahopac in 
 the bahny days of the Gregory House, 
 and used for the purpose of carrying 
 excursion parties around the lake. Daily 
 she could be seen with her gay excursion 
 parties creeping along the shore and circling the islands. 
 Occasionally a brass band furnished the music for the 
 trips and then the natives would come down to the shore 
 and listen to the sweet strains as the popular little steamer 
 passed by. When the Gregory House burned, and the 
 summer life at Mahopac received a temporary shock, the 
 Dew Drop went out of commission and is now sunken in 
 the Thompson House Cove with her smokestack visible. 
 
 
 ^^^M 
 
 THE DEW DROP 
 113 
 
X 
 
 a 
 c 
 o 
 
 s 
 
Dreams and Dreamers 
 
 [HE old prophet Joel said: "Your sons 
 and your daughters shall prophesy, your 
 old men shall dream dreams, your young 
 men shall see visions." How literally 
 this prophecy has been fufilled in human 
 history. Men of all ages have had their 
 dreams and seen their visions. Sometimes the dream was 
 of a nobler life and higher thought; sometimes the vision 
 was the Vision Beautiful, but alas ! too many times the 
 dream has been idle and the vision not beautiful. The 
 world has always had its financial dreamers. England's 
 financiers dreamed of a mighty company in the South Seas. 
 This company was to annihilate the Spanish commerce 
 in South America, and its revenue would be sufficient to 
 wipe out the public debt. A great dream for those days. 
 Robert -Walpole bitterly opposed it, and warned the 
 country and the Ministry against this dream, but old 
 Morpheus was ruling the land. The beasts of the field 
 were asleep in their stalls and the birds of the air in their 
 nests, and England's statesmen and financiers were 
 dreaming, and they continued to dream until the South 
 Sea bubble bursted, and some of England's "best" 
 went down and out. Then one bubble company after an- 
 other followed until some promoters appeared in England 
 selling to her gullible subjects stock in a company which 
 was to take salt water from the ocean, turn it into fresh 
 water and with this manufactured H^O were to irrigate the 
 lands. Many thousand shares of this stock, aggregating 
 vast sums of money, were actuallysold to the English public. 
 So in due time some descendants, at least in thought, 
 
 11.5 
 
X 
 
 o 
 
 a 
 
 b 
 
 o 
 
 w 
 
 o 
 
 X 
 
 s 
 
 w 
 2 
 
 O 
 X! 
 O 
 
of these English financiers and promoters of the South Sea 
 bubble appeared on the shores of Lake Mahopac. Over 
 its blue waters they floated, around its islands they drifted, 
 on its grassy shores they rested, and rested, the cool 
 zephyrs and balmy breezes floating over the lake fanned 
 them, the tiny waves lapping the dreamy shore lulled 
 them, lulled them into sleep, sweet sleep, and they 
 dreamed, these children whose promoting progenitors 
 had fostered on the English public the fresh water plant, 
 dreamed, and in their dreams they became mighty giants 
 of finance, the pioneers of a gigantic industry. The first 
 vision they saw in their dream was the "Lake Mahopac 
 Improvement Company." The matchless scenic beauty 
 of the lake and all the blessings of nature were to be put 
 into the machine of utility, the great wheel to be turned, 
 and coin, gold and silver, was to rattle out like shelled 
 corn. They saw the lakeside converted into vast play- 
 grounds, sort of an Arcadia, and stretching out like an 
 endless chain into a series of beautiful villas, whose 
 grassy lawns reached down to the very water's edge. 
 And still they dreamed, these sleeping kings of finance. 
 They see a circuitous boulevard reaching all the way 
 around the lake. Beautiful and broad is to be this drive, 
 now it passes under large trees with overhanging boughs, 
 now through shady dells, now by the side of the lake, 
 whose broad waters are always playing and skipping in 
 the sunlight. A mighty drive was this boulevard to be. 
 The gay, the rich, the "bon-tons" of all the land would 
 vie with one another in their eff"orts to race this renowned 
 highway. So wonderful and mighty was this piece of 
 civil engineering to be that in the future mankind and 
 history would no longer mention the Appian Way of 
 Rome as marvelous and matchless, but the boulevard ot 
 Lake Mahopac. 
 
 117 
 
2 
 O 
 en 
 
 W 
 H 
 
 O 
 ci 
 
 O 
 < 
 H 
 H 
 O 
 U 
 
 O 
 H 
 ►J 
 
Old Morpheus sends his winged messengers to these 
 sleeping giants; another sedative: again they dream. 
 The castle in the air they now see is a "National Museum 
 of Natural History." In design and architecture, in 
 equipment and collection, it is to be the marvel of the age 
 and the wonder of the world. Students from Europe and 
 scholars from Hindoo will journey to this land in search 
 of this great museum, just to look upon its wonderful 
 collections and learn something of analysis and classifica- 
 tion. This museum alone will make the name of 
 Lake Mahopac known the world over and her praises 
 sung in every land. Great sleepers and dreamers were 
 these sons of English promoters. Old Morpheus has 
 got good subjects now and by his winged messengers he 
 sends another dose. The vision this time that breaks out 
 of the skies is that of a "Musical and Art College," for 
 these sleeping sons are of noble blood and artistic tempera- 
 ment; so this college of fine arts is to be the crown of all 
 their efforts. The broken and scattered fragments that 
 fell from the cunning hands of Phidias shall be collected 
 from all the world over and set up here on the shores of 
 this beautiful lake as models for the youth of the land. 
 Masterpieces shall be brought from all the art galleries of 
 Europe and decorate the walls of this art college. Music ! 
 Young Beethovens, Mendelssohns, Paderewskies shall be 
 made here, and greater than these, too. Voices shall be 
 lifted from this musical college and wafted out on the air 
 that shall be heard the world round. Saratoga and New- 
 port will pale by the side of Lake Mahopac as a star pales 
 in the presence of the sun. Those places are mere resorts, 
 while Mahopac shall be a place of culture and refinement 
 for all time. 
 
 And while these sleeping giants of finance were still 
 dreaming with the hope that the dream was soon to 
 
 119 
 
blossom into reality, "Old Hard Times" came limping 
 along. He was one of the native-born sons and dwelt on 
 the shore of the lake. He had a legal document in his 
 pocket and on its back was written "Mortgage." Limping 
 along with his old cane, he comes to these sleeping forms 
 stretched out along the lake, and knocking them with his 
 stick, says, "Awake! Awake!" With drowsy eyes and 
 stiffened limbs, they climb to their feet and ask him what 
 he wants. "Money! Money! Money!" Some of the 
 gold and silver coin that the old corn sheller was to turn 
 out, and like their noble sires of England, these sons who 
 had dreamed dreams and seen visions, had nothing to 
 give to "Old Hard Times" but common stock in some 
 fresh water plant and seventeenth mortgages on some air 
 castle, and thus the glory and prosperity of Lake Mahopac 
 in the early days of its history under time and circumstance 
 faded out and a reaction relentless and severe set in. 
 
 The Lake Mahopac Improvement Company was organ- 
 ized March 8, 1871. Their purpose was to buy up as 
 much land as possible on the lake shore, divide it into villa 
 plots and erect large buildings thereon, thus furnishing a 
 summer home for the elect, the cultured and refined, as 
 well as the wealthy. The capital stock of this company 
 was ;^ 1, 000,000. 
 
 After the company had made all the purchases possible, 
 or that they cared for, they began to make improvements 
 on a very large scale. They began first to construct a 
 boulevard that girdled the entire lake. This work was 
 completed and the boulevard was opened to the public on 
 July 4, 1 871. On this same day the first train ran over the 
 new railroad from Golden Bridge to the lake. This road 
 was known as the "New York and Mahopac Railroad." 
 These two events falling on the same day, and that a 
 national holiday, was the occasion of a grand celebration 
 
 120 
 
at the lake. It was on this day and dunng these festivities 
 that the corner-stone of the "National Museum of 
 Natural History" was laid a little west of the old Griffin 
 House. It was a great day for the lake and was full of 
 prophecy for the future. People journeyed for miles 
 from over the hilltops, others came up from New York 
 City, to be present at the grand cavalcade and celebration. 
 In the evening a fancy dress ball was given at the Gregory 
 House at which were present all the leading people of the 
 place, the prominent summer guests and the trustees of 
 the Improvement Company,withtheirwives and daughters, 
 and Lake Mahopac was in the height of its glory. 
 
 Among other projects of this ambitious company was 
 the proposed Musical and Art College. This, indeed, was 
 to be a very large affair, 430 feet in length, 300 feet in 
 width, with a tower 230 feet in height. It was to contain 
 400 suites of rooms and a music hall with an auditorium 
 to seat 2,500 people. The conception was grand, and had 
 it gone on to perfection it would have been one of the 
 finest of its kind in the country. What a shame this 
 bud never blossomed! Unable longer to borrow money, 
 with mortgages of all kinds foreclosed and all but 
 thirty-five acres of land gone, this great financial 
 organization laid itself down on the shores of the lake 
 and breathed out its last breath of life, and with its death 
 some heavy clouds began to hover over the waters of 
 Lake Mahopac, which have not as yet entirely vanished. 
 
 On November i, 1875, the Mahopac Land Company 
 was organized and Mr. Dewing transferred this prop- 
 erty which he had bought at the foreclosure sales to the 
 new company. The capital stock of this company was 
 fcoo,ooo, and the trustees were John H. Cheever, 
 John L. Hoyt, William H. Guion, Henry Knickerbocker, 
 Andrew McKinney, G. R. Wiggins and James Johnson. 
 
 121 
 
This real estate company had the same purpose for its 
 organization as the Improvement Company. It Hved the 
 same life and died the same death. 
 
 Upon the ruins and out of the wreck of the old Maho- 
 pac Land Company came The Putnam Land Company, 
 a new real estate organization with the same purpose as 
 its ignoble predecessors. It was organized April ii, 
 1878. Its trustees were Joseph Seligman, William H. 
 Breeden, Andrew V. Stout, John R. Ford and Chris- 
 topher Myer. This company had a capital stock of 
 ^49,000 and stills exists, and owns much land around the 
 lake, especially on the northern end. It has never made 
 any aggressive moves toward carrymg out the policy of 
 its charter members, spending but little money and 
 making but few sales. 
 
 We marvel that every industrial movement organized 
 on the shores of this beautiful lake or within the influence 
 of her environs should fail. It must be that the gods on 
 whose sacred altars the nature-loving Greeks poured out 
 the libations of their souls frowned upon these scheming 
 and devising giants of finance in their efforts to turn the 
 loveliness and beauty of nature into money, mere money. 
 These gods must have sent their thunderbolts and forked 
 lightning into the plans and efforts of these gold seeking 
 and silver loving creatures, and at last, when it was too 
 late, they learned that "The best laid schemes of mice 
 and men gang aft agley." 
 
 ]22 
 
The General McAlpine Estate 
 
 )HE General McAlpine Estate is one of 
 the oldest and most historic at Lake 
 Mahopac. It includes the site of the 
 famous Gregory House, the present site 
 of the new village, and until recently 
 " Petra Island." The new village was 
 built and is owned by General McAlpine. We speak of this 
 elsewhere. 
 
 Petra Island was at one time owned by Peter Mabie; 
 later it was bought by Pierre Humbert, of France, for 
 Fifteen hundred ($1,500) dollars, and he sold it to Dr. 
 Gregory, who sold it September 15, 1879, to Judge Ambrose 
 Ryder, who conveyed it to General McAlpine. General 
 McAlpine owned this beautiful island, which is in the 
 midst of the lake, for more than a quarter of a century, and 
 recently sold it to Mr. Robert E. Farley, who is the 
 present owner. 
 
 The Gregory House site originally was a part of the old 
 Roger Morris Manor, whose wife's ancestors bought it 
 directly from the Wappinger Indians. When the Com- 
 missioners of Forfeiture sold the property of these noted 
 Tories this eastern shore of the lake was bought by Peter 
 Mabie. 
 
 That part of the original farm that afterward became 
 the site of the Gregory House was given by Mr. Mabie 
 to his son-in-law, Edward Vermilyea. He sold it to 
 William Wright, and he in turn sold it to Stephen Thom- 
 son in 1882, and it was purchased from him in 1834 by 
 Stephen Monk, the father of the boarding house business 
 at Lake Mahopac. The property was sold at public 
 
 123 
 
.m^m^^ 
 
 
 '^^'^^' 
 
 'mA 
 
 
 "^#- 
 
 ■■>^, 
 
 
 .' ! i 
 
 GREGORY HOUSE SITE 
 
 ;-'■ -'-.Sf .-. .^ 
 
 SYLVAN VIEW FROM MB. LOWERRE'S VILLA SITE 
 
auction in October, 1842, and was bought by Charles W. 
 SchafFer and George W. Shields, who later conveyed it to 
 Huldah Gregory. On January 26, 1853, the entire prop- 
 erty and all its buildings came into the hands of Dr. 
 Lewis H. Gregory. In 1871 he sold it to Andrew McKin- 
 nery, who transferred it to the Mahopac Improvement 
 Company the same year, and so heavy were the incum- 
 brances on this estate that on April 26, 1877, it was sold 
 by Walter Edwards, referee, to General McAlpine, who 
 took possession. In October of the next year the Mam- 
 moth Hotel, with all its furnishing and buildings, caught 
 fire and burned to the ground while General McAlpine 
 and his family were touring Europe. This property, lying 
 right on the shore of the lake, proudly lifting its noble trees,, 
 whose branches reach far out over the waters, casting the 
 shadows still beyond, is one of the finest country estates, 
 not only here, but anywhere in all Putnam County. A 
 quiet dignity, sentiment and romance all cluster with these 
 fine old trees about this historic site. The boulevard 
 around the lake passes by this property. What a fine site 
 for some new hotel enterprise or a little colony of summer 
 cottages with grassy lawns reaching down to the placid 
 waters of the charming lake! No more beautiful or hand- 
 some grounds than these could be found anywhere for the 
 country residence of some gentleman of finance, who loves 
 water, wind and wave. The view of the lake from this 
 commanding site is truly fascinating. It is over long 
 wooded stretches reaching out into the waters, around the 
 islands here and there, across the bright sparkling waters 
 to the far shore where the green hills and young moun- 
 tains lift themselves in the distance and roll away, far 
 away. It is all beautiful up here among pastures green 
 by the side of waters still. 
 
 125 
 
The Mahopac Golf Club 
 
 (HE Mahopac Golf Club was organized 
 July 29, 1898, with thirty-seven members. 
 The following officers were elected: 
 Daniel T. Bradley, president; Elie L. 
 Pouvert, vice-president; Edwin C. 
 I Deusenbury, secretary and treasurer. 
 
 The first course was a short one, consisting of six holes, 
 and was opened in the following August. The club was 
 duly incorporated February 3, 1899, and in April of the 
 same year the entire Herrick property was leased and 
 the small farm house on the premises used as a clubhouse. 
 
 In 1891 the directors of the club gave up this property 
 and leased a portion of land from the old Putnam Land 
 Company. A nine-hole course of 2,730 yards was laid 
 out and opened for play the same year. A handsome club- 
 house was built, which was opened in August of the 
 same year. Subsequently the club leased the entire prop- 
 erty of the Putnam Land Company at Lake Mahopac. 
 The present membership is one hundred and fifty. The 
 grounds are constantly being improved and the course is 
 now lengthened to 3,005 yards. The present officers are: 
 E. C. Deusenbury, president; A. B. See, vice-president; 
 Imlay Benet, secretary; Frank A. Patteson, treasurer. 
 The course is at the north end of the lake, just beyond 
 "Graymanse," the summer home of Mr. Dewitt Smith. 
 It is beautifully situated among some fine, old trees that 
 lift above a green knoll which reaches down to the little 
 stream that flows from Wixom's pond to the lake. 
 
 This is not only a picturesque, but a historic site also. 
 The Mahopac Improvement Company had planned to 
 
 126 
 
lay out this entire elevation into a city park, with walks 
 running out to a circular drive as spokes run out to the rim 
 of a wheel. At the center or hub of this landscape wheel, 
 and just about where the clubhouse now stands, was to 
 be the City Hall. A beautiful dream, but what a difference 
 in the morning. 
 
 
 ^L 
 
 w^mm^^m^^^L, .> 
 
 i-^ '^f£\^ ^jf".' 
 
 '«.-^ «>■*•%- 'M 
 
 THE GOLF CLUB HOUSE AND FIRST TEE 
 
 127 
 
o 
 
 w 
 z 
 
 < 
 
 z 
 o 
 
 H 
 U 
 
The New Town 
 
 [HE industrial and commercial life at 
 Lake Mahopac is not gigantic in its 
 proportions. While fragmentary and 
 scattered in its parts, yet these parts, 
 like all parts, have a center from which 
 they radiate, and that center is the "new 
 town" over the railroad. 
 
 The old town of Mahopac was. not a thing of beauty, 
 and if a joy to some people, it was not to be for ever. 
 When the legislation was enacted at Albany providing 
 for the condemnation of property standing within two 
 hundred feet of all streams that fed the Croton River, the 
 doom of the old village was sounded, for it stood in the 
 Croton watershed and through its center a little stream 
 trickled. It was a great day for the lake and its environs 
 when the torch was applied and the flames started and 
 the village was no more. Great for two reasons: 
 
 1st. The old town was gone. It was not even a blessing 
 in disguise. Goldsmith's deserted village is a forlorn 
 picture, distressing and mournful, but even it was to be 
 preferred to the old town with six dwelling houses and five 
 saloons, and the railroad running through its center at 
 right angles with the stream. 
 
 2d. The second blessing that the flames brought was the 
 possibility of a new up-to-date village, providing every- 
 thing in the line of modern conveniences that one can get 
 in the city. 
 
 When the flames that consumed the old village had gone 
 out, the great problem was "where shall the new town be ?" 
 Many sites w^ere chosen, but no one could be found to 
 
 129 
 
o 
 
 w 
 a: 
 
 c 
 
 O 
 
 o 
 
finance the proposition. Just when it seemed as if the citi- 
 zens would have to emigrate as the red-faced proprietors of 
 these lands had done in other days, General Edwin A. Mc- 
 Alpine came to the rescue and financed the entire scheme. 
 Just beyond the railroad there is a gentle rise in the land 
 which forms a fine elevation overlooking the dale below. 
 Here streets were opened, walks laid out, fences built and 
 a new modern town built. General McAlpine built some 
 fifteen or twenty fine cottages. Modern in all their equip- 
 ments, with running water and electric lights, they make 
 very pretty and comfortable homes and are only three 
 minutes from the lake. The town has a new school, a new 
 town hall, new hotel, and, in fact, everything in it is new. 
 There are many vacant lots in this village among the 
 pretty cottages, and some day, when they have been 
 bought and houses built on them and trees planted around 
 them, the new town of Mahopac will be a credit to thelake 
 and a joy to all those who live in it. 
 
 There is a large department store on Main Avenue, 
 owned and run by the Westcott Bros. In 1884 the West- 
 cott Bros, opened up a store in the old town; later the 
 partnership was dissolved and Mr. Milan Wescott con- 
 tinued the business alone. Mr. Westcott is the father of 
 the commercial life roundabout here. When General 
 McAlpine opened up the new town Mr. Westcott pur- 
 chased several lots from him and has built the largest 
 structure in the town. He now has a fine store and his 
 goods are highly praised by all. He has also been the 
 postmaster for years. Recently his brother, who was 
 formerly in business with him, has returned, and the busi- 
 ness is reorganized and known as Westcott Bros. 
 
 Mr. Agor, who ran the market in the old town, also 
 purchased lots from Mr. McAlpine, and runs a well- 
 conducted business opposite that of Mr. Westcott. When 
 
 131 
 
everything has been said, it can readily be seen that Gen- 
 eral McAlpine conferred a great blessing on Lake Mahopac 
 and on the homeless citizens of the old town when he 
 financed the proposition and threw open his handsome 
 property for the site for the new village. 
 
 THE SUMMER HOME OF MR. WM. HOUSE 
 
 132 
 
PART III 
 
 THE SUMMER HOTELS 
 
Q 
 < 
 
 M 
 
 H 
 W 
 
 > 
 
 < 
 O 
 
 w 
 
 h 
 
The Dean House 
 
 IMONG the pioneers of the summer 
 hotel business at Lake Mahopac was 
 Amzi L. Dean. At the southwestern 
 part of the lake, near the outlet, was the 
 old Abigail Clark farm. Later a large 
 part of this farm became the property of 
 Devoe Bailey, one of the largest land owners in this 
 
 THE DEAN HOUSE 
 13.5 
 
THE DEAN HOUSE COTTAGB 
 
 part of the country. It is said his possessions at one 
 time reached to the Westchester County line. This 
 tract of land along the southwestern part of the lake 
 he left to his son, William Bailey, who subsequently sold 
 it to James Seeley. In 1852 Mr. Amzi L. Dean bought it 
 and built a modest boarding house upon it. Like similar 
 places at this famous resort, his business prospered well, 
 and he began to enlarge his boarding house until it 
 became a veritable summer hotel with a large patronage. 
 When the elder Dean died he left this handsome piece of 
 property with its patronage to his sons. Later Mr. A. H. 
 Dean became the sole proprietor and owner of the now 
 famous Dean House. 
 
 Mr. Dean is progressive and up to date in his methods 
 
 136 
 
AND LAWX FROM THE LAKE 
 
 of running a summer hotel for the comfort and pleasure 
 of his guests. He has improved the buildings inside and 
 out until nothing further in this respect can be desired. 
 Tennis courts and other playgrounds are situated among 
 the cottages and under the trees, the place is charming to 
 the eye and restful to the body. It is an ideal place to 
 while the summer away. To one passing by it seems like 
 a sweet, secluded spot where some lassie might wait the 
 coming of her lover. It has a large, beautiful, evergreen 
 hedge shutting it off from the highway. Some fine, old 
 specimens of the forest lift themselves with leafy garments 
 over the lawn. Such a lawn! Beautiful, green, sloping, 
 reaching down to the very lake's edge and wading out 
 into its blue w^aters. And these handsome trees throw 
 
 137 
 
pictures of shadow and light on the grassy slopes until the 
 whole effect is charming and fascinating to the extreme. 
 
 None could wish for a more quiet and restful place 
 than this hotel with its dreamy and sentimental sur- 
 roundings at the southern end of the lake. Three beautiful 
 cottages are nestled among the trees on the lawn. Some 
 artistic boat houses are lying low along the shore and 
 overhanging the waters. The whole affair looks like a 
 little villa by the sea, where lovers of the finer arts and 
 higher life retire for quiet meditation and holy inspiration. 
 
 Mr. Dean has a first-class hotel and understands his 
 business well. With a house thoroughly equipped with 
 all modern conveniences, delightful music, charming 
 walks and drives round about, courtesy at every corner, 
 his patrons are thrice blessed. 
 
 THE W.'^LK TO THE LAKE 
 
The Thompson House 
 
 I ANY, many years ago in one of the weekly 
 issues of a local paper appeared these 
 two notices: 
 
 "Nathan L. Thompson has opened a 
 shop on the south shore of the celebrated 
 Lake Mahopac, where he offers for sale 
 ready-made hats of his own manufacturing cheap for 
 cash." 
 
 "WANTED. — The subscriber wants an apprentice to 
 the HAT making business; a lad of i6 or 17 years of age 
 of steady habits and one who can come well recommended. 
 Inquire of N. L. Thompson, Lake Mahopac." — Septem- 
 ber 9, 1846. 
 
 Mr. Thompson had come from the State where they 
 made wooden nutmegs, and sold them for the genuine 
 article, to New York State to make good hats and sell 
 them for cash. He built up a large business along the 
 shores of the well-known lake and became one of the 
 prominent citizens of the place. This was before the 
 charms and beauties of Lake Mahopac had become 
 universally known, and before the tourist and traveler had 
 journeyed this way to any large extent. 
 
 Nathan L. Thompson, Jr., a son of the elder Thompson, 
 also came from Connecticut, and bought a lot of about 
 five acres by the lakeside. These five acres were a part 
 of the original Drake farm. Elias Mabie, who lived in the 
 early part of the nineteenth century, had originally owned 
 this land. He sold it to Henry S. Baldwin, from whom 
 Mr. Thompson bought it. Mr. Thompson built a small 
 boarding house on his newly acquired land and began 
 
 139 
 
ENTRANCE FROM THE STATION 
 
 the business. Owing to the situation of the place, and 
 his own careful habits, he soon built up a thriving business. 
 Consequently he was compelled to build an addition to 
 his hotel. His business continued to grow, and he con- 
 tinued to build until he had accommodations that enabled 
 him to entertain 300 guests. On July 6, 1869, a fire 
 broke out and destroyed the mammoth building. 
 
 Mr. Thompson was not easily discouraged or daunted. 
 He had built up a large business and he meant to keep it. 
 Accordingly he began to rebuild at once. This second 
 hotel was much larger and more convenient than the 
 first. This new building enterprise not only enabled him 
 to retain his old-time patronage, but brought to him much 
 that was new. 
 
 In the year 1883 Mr. Emerson Clark bought this 
 property from Mr. Thompson, and since that time has 
 been the proprietor and owner of the Thompson House 
 at Lake Mahopac. He has made many improvements, 
 adding to its conveniences, enlarging its capacity, until 
 to-day it can accommodate over 400 guests. 
 
 This hotel is situated right on the shore of the lake. 
 
 141 
 
The view from the front piazza is across and over the 
 waters of the lake to the hills beyond that are lifting in 
 the distance. It is on the boulevard that runs around the 
 lake, and a constant stream of handsome carriages and 
 automobiles pass right by its doors. It is about one 
 minute's walk to both the Northern and Harlem Railroad 
 stations. 
 
 Mr. Clark understands the summer hotel business 
 thoroughly. He leaves nothing undone to make his guests 
 feel happly and homelike. The service in every depart- 
 ment is unexcelled. He has a numerous and useful coterie 
 of assistants. 
 
 The building has a cool, airy piazza, 25 feet wide and 
 400 feet long, running its entire length, overlooking the 
 lake. Hundreds of people come to this big hotel every 
 summer and are highly entertained, and go their way 
 praising the efficiency and courtesy of the management. 
 
 A GATHERING ON THE THOMPSON HOUSE LAWN 
 142 
 

 I 
 
 O 
 
 o 
 
The Forest House at Interlaken 
 
 )HE western shore at Lake Mahopac is 
 extremely interesting and beautiful. It 
 possesses all the wild ruggedness of the 
 mountain and the sweet charm of the 
 lake. There are some fine studies over 
 here hidden in the oak, spruce and hem- 
 lock belt that girdles the shore. Wild flowers, ferns and 
 mosses, delicate and beautiful in their growth, are found to 
 a very large extent on this far side. The irregular and 
 unique surface formations with big trees, growing out 
 from among big rocks and huge boulders, are full of 
 interest and study. It is in the midst of this woodland 
 splendor and rugged simplicity lifted above some rocky 
 formation overlooking Lake Mahopac to the east and 
 Kirk Lake to the west that the Forest House is pleasantly 
 located. It was built at Interlaken by Mr. Rorke and 
 formally opened and run by him. Since his demise 
 the management has been conducted by his sons, A. L. 
 Rorke and F. R. Rorke, jointly. The house is situated on 
 a handsome piece of property that lifts itself boldl)' and 
 quite abruptly from the waters of Mahopac and slopes 
 away gently in rocky cliffs and wooded terraces to the 
 waters of Kirk. These grounds, containing more than 
 forty acres, have been laid out into a beautiful park, half 
 cultivated, half wild, in the center of which is the house 
 itself. "Acres of lawn and numerous beds of flowering 
 plants are everywhere in pleasing contrast with bold 
 clusters of rocks, groups of trees and other features of 
 natural beauty which have been left unchanged." 
 
 That part of the lawn lying between the house and the 
 
 144 
 
lake is an interesting geological study. Rocks of all sizes 
 and shapes, all kinds and classes, lying thus through all 
 the ages as if to hold back the waters should they under- 
 take to override the land. Along the shore in front of the 
 house, while rugged and rocky, is still artistic and beautiful. 
 Forts, summer houses, rocky, rustic seats, private nooks, 
 all stretching along the riprap wall and following the 
 winding walks as they follow the serpentine shore, make 
 the grounds picturesque and charming to the extreme. 
 The view here, looking to the east, is straight across the 
 lake to the other shore, around "Petra" and "Canopus" 
 
THE FOREST HOUSE FROM OVER THE TREETOPS 
 
 islands and over "Hoguet Point." Looking to the west 
 it is over the sloping woodlands, and the blue waters of 
 Kirk Lake, to the hills and mountains in the distance — 
 rolling away, far away. 
 
 The house itself is new in structure, beautiful in design, 
 modern in equipment and splendidly furnished through- 
 out. On its wall are hanging copies of some of the master- 
 pieces in the various art galleries of Europe. There are 
 numerous suites of drawing rooms on the first floor 
 separate yet connected. There is a splendid piazza some 
 400 feet in length and 25 feet in width. All in all, this is 
 a model summer hotel under the management of two 
 congenial young men, whose courtesy and kindness has 
 won the admiration of all who sojourn at the Forest 
 House for the summer. 
 
 146 
 
The Viault Cottage 
 
 jHE Viault Cottage is one of those 
 charming little homes so often found in 
 the country where families and a cotorie 
 of friends like to gather and pass the 
 summer away. But rarely is such a 
 congenial and pleasant place found by 
 any lakeside, where the waters are gently lapping the shore 
 by day and by night, as this summer boarding cottage. 
 Beautifully situated is this little cottage on the eastern 
 shore of the lake among some tall trees whose branches 
 lift themselves above the grassy lawns of the cottage and 
 shade those who love to roam and loiter under them. 
 As to convenience, it is ideally located. Five minutes is 
 the walk to either railroad station and also to the post 
 office. It is next door to the Episcopal Church, and is 
 right on the boulevard around the lake. 
 
 The house itself is equipped with all modern con- 
 veniences, including electric lights. It has a fine boat, 
 livery and tennis courts, and is nearest to the golf links of 
 any of the hotels or boarding houses. It is a delightful 
 place for the summer. 
 
 The courtesy and attention that the good matron, Mrs. 
 L. Viault, and her efficient daughters bestow upon their 
 patrons make them feel that they have "come home to 
 visit" rather than "gone out to board." 
 
 147 
 
o 
 < 
 
 O 
 (J 
 
 H 
 
 P 
 < 
 
 
 
PART IV 
 
 MAHOPAC ISLANDS 
 

 THE WINDING AND WEAVING SHORE LINE OF CANOPUS ISLAND 
 
Canopus Island 
 
 |HIS island has borne many names, "Big 
 ' Island," "Merrick's Island," "Black- 
 berry Island," "Grand Island" and 
 "Canopus Island." This last name 
 seems to be the most appropriate, because 
 among the big rocks on this island the 
 bones of the old Indian Chief Canopus are supposed to 
 be resting. 
 
 The island originally was bought by Addlph Philipse 
 from the Indians. After the Revolutionary War it was 
 bought by William Smith from the Commissioners of 
 Forfeiture. It was sold and resold until the Westchester 
 County Bank bought it. In 1870 Dr. Gregory bought it 
 from the bank. During these many sales John Jacob 
 Astor bought the interest of the heirs of Mary Morris, 
 attacked the sale by the Commissioners of Forfeiture, 
 brought suit to recover the land and forced the State of 
 New York to repurchase it from him in order to confirm 
 the title given by the Commissioners of Forfeiture. 
 
 In 1 881 the island was purchased by the Mahopac and 
 Cornwall Iron Company for ;^40,ooo. The iron mine 
 was operated for many years. The old shafts, piles of 
 iron ore, landing and road to the mine shaft are still 
 interesting features of the island. At the landing, partly 
 sunken, can be seen the old steamboat that the company 
 used to convey their ore to the mainland. Later the island 
 was sold under an execution against the iron company to 
 Henry White, who conveyed it to Harriet George, and who, 
 in turn, conveyed it to Richard Mock, from whom Mr. 
 Robert E. Farley, the present owner, purchased it in 1904. 
 
 151 
 
c 
 O 
 
 < 
 u 
 
 u 
 o 
 
 35 
 
 C 
 O 
 
 s 
 
Since the Indians held their last grand council, about 
 the middle of the eighteenth century, on this island and 
 then left these parts forever, it has not been inhabited 
 save by the birds and beasts that roam at their will among 
 its rocks and over its wooded heights. When Mr. Farley 
 bought it he began to lay plans for a dwelling in its midst. 
 Accordingly he built a bungalow on its northern shore, 
 and made many other improvements such as pump house 
 and tank, gas system, boat-house, laid out rustic walks 
 winding among the trees, with resting places here and 
 there. He has also laid 1,500 feet of submarine cable, 
 and thus is in touch with the mainland by telephone con- 
 nections. 
 
 The island itself is as fine a piece of property as can be 
 found in all the state. Its highest point is in the center, 
 1 1 1 feet above the waters of the lake round about. As 
 one approaches this island from any side it looks like a 
 mountain of green lifting itself up out of a sea of bliie 
 whose waters roll around its base on every side. There 
 are some big rocks piling themselves up on it. They 
 seem to lift themselves up from the earth, up among 
 the treetops and then they come tumbling and falling in 
 broken ledges and scattered fragments some forty or 
 fifty feet to the paths below. Such dignity and character 
 these rocks possess ! One would think they were the lineal 
 descendants of those stony giants Horeb and Kadesh 
 that Moses smote with his rod of iron until they poured 
 forth their refreshing streams to the tired and thirsty 
 multitude. 
 
 Some fine old giants of the forest are lined up here, too, 
 lifting their heads and craning their necks to catch a view 
 of the world on the other side of the circling mountains. 
 The names of these old fellows are Oak, Hickory, Chest- 
 nut, Hemlock, Tulip, Maple, Locust and Beech. Mr. 
 
 153 
 
o 
 
 K 
 
 w 
 S 
 S 
 
 w 
 
 a 
 < 
 
 D 
 
 a< 
 O 
 
 o 
 < 
 
 Id 
 
Beech has a progeny greater than Old Gideon, with his 
 seventy sons, and they are magnificent specimens, too. 
 "Beech Lane" runs down the backbone of this island 
 from shore to shore. 
 
 Canopus Island has a beautiful shore line. It is broken 
 here and joined there by projecting points of land, reaching 
 in careless symmetry one beyond the other out into the 
 lake. It turns and twists, winds and circles, this way, 
 that way, and finally returns to its starting point. As one 
 circles this island, riding in a canoe, he is charmed at every 
 dip of the paddle. Along the shore the trees, with their 
 heavy foliage, lean far out over the waters and are pictured 
 in the depths below. 
 
 The seclusion and shade of these overhanging trees 
 are daily sought by the guests of Mahopac, who, reclining 
 in their lake craft, pore over pages of fiction where the hero 
 and heroine are finally married. They have called this 
 eastern shore of Canopus the " Library." As one continues 
 to drift on over these blue waters, around the rocky and 
 irregular outline of the island; leaf, cloud and mountain 
 charm the eye and delight the soul. 
 
 Canopus Island has always been a matter of great 
 interest to Mahopac because it was the home of the 
 Indian king who ruled the Wappingers in these parts. 
 An Indian atmosphere from time immemorial has always 
 enveloped it. "In Myths and Legends of Our Own 
 Land," by Chas. M. Skinner, Canopus Island is the 
 place of attack by Joliper and his white followers. It 
 was also from the high rocks on the' island that Omoyao 
 and Maya, when pursued to the last ditch, locked in 
 each other's arms in mutual love, flung themselves to a 
 common death. Here the last council was held. 
 
 The poet Lee has put in verse the address of Can- 
 opus: 
 
 155 
 
Once the airy curtain lifted, and the shadows, rolHng back, 
 Shadows of the years that hover o'er the lake of Mahopac, 
 Showed me Indian warriors gathered in the wooded island dell 
 Which the rocks, all worn and moss-clad, and the waters guarded well. 
 
 Then upon the ledge above them rose an aged, yet stalwart form, 
 
 Like some monarch of the forest bending never to the storm; 
 
 Rose the Chieftain of the Island with that bearing of a king 
 
 Which the pride of birth may strive for, but the soul alone can bring. 
 
 Turned his eagle gaze upon them, and with voice as clarion clear 
 Waked the dreamers and the waiting, wearied maiden sleeping near. 
 "Rouse, Mahicans, sons of heroes! keep your ancient honor bright; 
 I have seen you in the battle — ye were lions in the fight. 
 
 "I have seen you in the council, when the watch-fire lit the glen 
 And the clouds of war hung o'er us — ye were all undaunted then. 
 When the faggots blazed around you, all defiant in your pain 
 I have heard you chant your death song — Chieftains, now be men again. 
 
 "Snake or traitor hissed that whisper. Sell your forest, there is rest 
 On the banks of the Mississippi, on the prairies of the West. 
 Who the craven counsel utters ? Let him in the firelight stand. 
 Nay, he dares not, crouching coward; palsied be thy trembling hand. 
 
 "When the paleface, rushing on thee, grasps thy hatchet and thy bow. 
 Hark, the Spirit: Stand, Mahicans; guard your forest, meet the foe 
 By the memory of our empire, by the mounds along the bank, 
 Where our fathers hear the moaning of the river Kitchawanc. 
 
 "Brothers, gird you for the struggle breast to breast and eye to eye ; 
 
 Let us swear the oath of glory — one to conquer, one to die. 
 
 Sound once more your ancient war-cry; sound it from the mountains 
 
 steep. 
 Where the eagle hath her eyrie and the rocks their vigils keep. 
 
 "Twice ten thousand shouts shall answer from the river to the sea. 
 Dare not falter! Fear is failure! Craven hearted, will ye flee? 
 Go yet on the darkening future, read the sentence of your doom 
 As in letters of the lightning, traced upon a scroll of gloom. 
 
 "Go! the Western tribes shall meet you, ye will be an handful then, 
 And shall perish in your weakness — perish from the minds of men 
 Like your rushing highland river, in its mountains wild and free, 
 In the ocean lost forever. Thus shall be your destiny." 
 
 156 
 
Beauty Isle 
 
 HIS island has also had several names. 
 Originally it was known as Little Island, 
 later Fairy Isle, and now it bears the 
 name of Beauty Isle. This island was 
 sold by the Commissioners of Forfeiture 
 to Wm. Falconer. In 1823 he sold 
 to Henry Slote; "also another piece called an island, 
 at the south end of the Great Pond and commonly called 
 Little Island, estimated to be fifteen or sixteen rods north 
 from Abel Smith's house and about the same distance 
 west from Levi Bailey's land, containing one acre and 
 fifteen perches, deemed to have become forfeited to the 
 people of the State by the attainder of Roger Morris." 
 Henry Slote sold the same premises to Aaron Carman, 
 who sold it to Mrs. Ganung in 1859. 
 
 She has beautified and adorned it until now it is one 
 of the gems of the lake. It is connected with the main- 
 land by a single span and is circled by a drive laid out 
 along the very edge of the waters and separated from them 
 by a stone wall. Two large British lions guard the 
 entrance to this fairyland and tell the passers by that 
 her ladyship came from across the sea. It is a romantic 
 and sentimental spot, a fitting place for the abode of 
 Mrs. Ganung, its present owner. 
 
 ]m 
 
Petra Island 
 
 [his island was bought by James Cock 
 from the Commissioners of Forfeiture 
 in 1782. "Being all that island in the 
 Great Pond called Hueston's Pond, 
 known and distinguished by the name 
 of Hueston's Island, estimated to be 
 about six acres, more or less." Besides being called 
 "Hueston's Island" it has been called "Mabie's Island," 
 because Peter Mabie bought it from James Cock. It has 
 been called the Hay Stack Island, because of the symmetry 
 with which it rises from the waters. But the name it has 
 borne for many years is Petra. The surface of the island 
 is very rocky and stony, and whoever gave this name to 
 it no doubt had in mind the Greek word meaning rock 
 or stone, petra. Recently Mr. Robert E. Farley, who 
 bought Canopus Island, also purchased of General 
 McAlpine Petra Island. It is a circular isle lying out in 
 the very center of the lake and is very heavily wooded. 
 It would be a fine place to cage some wild animals. 
 Should they escape from the cage they would still be 
 prisoners, and yet they might also be rulers of the domain. 
 On the north shore are some fine old rocks. One of them 
 bears the likeness of a human face, and it has always 
 been called "Washington's Face." By a long reach of 
 the imagination one can see the features of the great 
 patriot. How this ever happened is a mystery, unless 
 Mary Philipse after the engagement was broken off 
 came out here and in her sorrow and solitude carved 
 his likeness in the big rock on Petra shore. 
 
 158 
 
PART V 
 
 MAHOPAC'S 
 RELIGIOUS LIFE 
 
THE METHODIST PARSONAGE 
 
The Methodist Episcopal Church 
 
 )HEN Washington's troops had stormed 
 the heights at Yorktown and Cornwallis 
 had surrendered; when England's proud 
 flag was trailing in the dust, and her 
 armies were disbanded, then constitu- 
 tional liberty came as Heaven's blessing 
 to the sons of America. But the Methodist Episcopal 
 Church was working to give to the sons of men a higher 
 freedom than that which any king or government might 
 bestow. The followers of this church had read in the 
 Scriptures, "Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall 
 make you free." "Whom the truth makes free is free, 
 indeed." This church then strove to scatter the seed of 
 this Divine freedom over all the land. Her representatives 
 were sent into all the colonies. 
 
 Freeborn Garrettson and his assistants traveled up the 
 Hudson River Valley and thence over the hills eastward 
 as far as the Croton River. These itinerant preachers 
 found many homes open to them as early as 1789. Among 
 them was that of Lieutenant-Governor Van Cort- 
 landt near Lake Mahopac. He was a great help to 
 these early preachers in their efforts to teach the Word 
 of God. At first, prayer meetings were held around in the 
 different houses, then open air meetings were conducted in 
 public places when the weather permitted. Subsequently 
 a circuit was organized known as the Cortlandt Circuit. 
 This circuit took in a large area. Lake Mahopac was one 
 of the preaching stations it included. 
 
 The society here was duly organized and meetings 
 begun on July 14, 1822. The first trustees of this old 
 
 161 
 
historic Methodist Episcopal Church were Leonard D. 
 ClifF, Aaron Picker and Piatt P. Smith. A piece of land 
 was given to this Methodist Society by Nathaniel Crane. 
 This tract of land included the present site of the church 
 and reached all the way down to the lake shore, including 
 that handsome site now occupied by the Roman Church 
 and rectory. Among the early members of this church 
 was a certain John Drawyer. He must have been one of 
 those specimens of humanity that is always trying to get 
 more out of life than he puts into it. Be that as it may. 
 He certainly got a great deal out of this unsophisticated 
 ecclesiastical society, for he succeeded in persuading the 
 trustees in selling to him all that portion of the land lying 
 between the "old" road which ran to Carmel and the 
 lake shore. Here was a fatal mistake of this society. We 
 marvel at the lack of foresight and business sagacity on 
 the part of those early trustees of this church. Their 
 visions of Heaven must have been so clear that they could 
 but poorly see things on earth. The present church was 
 built about 1826, and there it stands to-day; anchored 
 among the tombstones of the departed dead. Had that 
 blunder in real estate not been made, the present Methodist 
 Society would doubtless have its church and parsonage 
 on the lake shore with its sloping lawns reaching down 
 to the blue waters as they come with their perennial 
 freshness rolling toward the land. When the writer was 
 pastor of this parish he made a strenuous effort to correct 
 the error of these early trustees, and finally purchased for 
 his church this tract of land. But when the deed was to 
 be delivered it was discovered that it had "taken the wings 
 of the morning and was dwelling in the uttermost parts 
 of the earth," at least as far as the writer was concerned. 
 The parish includes Union Valley Chapel and 
 also the Mount Hope Methodist Episcopal Church, 
 
 162 
 
situated at "German Flats" or the "Mines." The Union 
 Valley Chapel was built and dedicated in i860 for the 
 purpose of accommodating the people who lived a long 
 distance from the church at the lake. For years this chapel 
 was the religious home of a large, live, active society. 
 Meetings held here have been the means of turning many 
 a soul from wrong to right; from error to righteousness. 
 At present it has a hard struggle to keep alive, principally 
 because New York City has taken the land and homes of 
 its constituency (since they were in the Croton water- 
 shed). The people have gone and the church has been 
 greatly crippled in its work. 
 
 The Mount Hope Church was organized on March 4, 
 1876, at a schoolhouse in District No. 3. The first 
 trustees of this church were Robert Barker, Darius 
 Hopkins, Andrew F. Smith, James Sprague and George 
 W. Potts. This church is situated to the northwest of the 
 lake and beyond Kirk Lake. Hills and mountains lift 
 on all sides, giving an appearance of an amphitheatre, 
 with the little church down in the arena. And its life, 
 doubtless, has been one of conflict. For its support it is 
 dependent on the agricultural folk roundabout. Some 
 time ago some people came up from New York City and 
 discovered a vein of iron ore near it. A company was 
 organized, some houses went up, and the little church 
 prospered wonderfully. One night the mines caved in 
 and its history of growth and development suddenly came 
 to an end. 
 
 The first parsonage of this parish was bought of' 
 William Pinckney, April 7, 1866. It was situated on the 
 Old Croton road, about a mile from the village. Later a 
 second parsonage came into the possession of the church. 
 This second home for the pastor contained about five 
 acres of land and forty apple trees, an ideal spot for a 
 
 163 
 
summer vacation, but it was poorly equipped for winter's 
 winds, and was located too far from the present church 
 for convenience. During the pastorate of Rev. U. G. 
 Warren the official board passed a motion to sell it. Such 
 sale was effected while J. S. Tredemrick was pastor. The 
 Rev. R.H. Kelly has built a handsome parsonage equipped 
 with all the modern conveniences; a work that should 
 have been done twenty-five years ago. This new home is 
 near the church and the lake. The life and thought of 
 the church are in much better condition now than formerly. 
 We hope and pray that it may do a large work among 
 men and be the Beacon Light that will guide many a 
 soul as it journeys along the pathway of life. 
 
 THE METHODIST CHURCH WITH COLONIAL COLUMN 
 
 164 
 
The Protestant Episcopal Church 
 
 [HIS church was organized at Lake 
 Mahopac August 26, i860, by the 
 election of the following: Selah Van 
 Duzer and G.Mortimer Belden,wardens; 
 William Perry, Lewis Ballard, Archibald 
 S. Van Duzer, James A. Patteson, 
 Reuben D. Baldwin, B. T. Camp, George A. Crissey 
 and August Reed, vestrymen. The Rev. Phineas Man- 
 ning was the officiating clergyman and presided at this 
 election of officers. The first services of this new society 
 were held at the "Horton Cottage," just south of the 
 Gregory House. Between the organization of the society 
 and the building of the church, services were held in 
 various places. Sometimes they were held in one hotel, 
 sometimes in another. The Methodist Society also loaned 
 to them the use of their chuch occasionally. In the month 
 of August, 1867, the Rt. Rev. A. N. Littlejohn, Bishop of 
 Long Island, was a guest at the Dean House. When 
 Sunday came he and the faithful members of the young 
 society took to boats and canoes and religiously paddled 
 to what is now known as Canopus Island. They took an 
 organ with them, and here among the trees, far up in the 
 rocks, forming sort of an amphitheatre, they conducted 
 divine services. The Bishop preached and Dr. Geo. W. 
 Warren, the celebrated organist of St. Thomas Church, 
 furnished the music. 
 
 The present church is a memorial by Egisto P. Fabbri 
 to his brother Enesto, who died at Lake Mahopac July 3, 
 1883. The cornerstone of this church was laid September 
 5, 1883, by Bishop Seymour, of Springfield, Mass. The 
 
 165 
 
THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH AND RECTORY 
 
church was consecrated by Bishop Potter, of New York 
 City, on April 21, 1884, under the name of the Church of 
 the Holy Communion. It is said that this is the first 
 church that Bishop Potter consecrated. 
 
 The following have been the rectors: Rev. Matthew A. 
 Bailey, Rev. Uriah T. Tracy, Rev. Henry T. Tatlock, 
 Rev. John W. H. Weibee, Rev. August Ulman, the Rev. 
 Frederick Greaves and the Rev. Eli D. SutclifFe, the 
 present rector. Mr. SutclifFe took charge June 10, 1894. 
 Several memorials have been contributed by friends of 
 some of the old staunch members who have toiled and 
 passed on to other shores. The belfry and bell is a 
 memorial to Oscar Green, a former treasurer of the 
 parish. The chancel window was given by Ludovic Benet 
 in memory of his daughter, Mrs. Edith Kentgen. 
 
 A tablet given by William A. Nash in memory of his 
 wife, who had come to Lake Mahopac for twenty-five 
 years. 
 
 A handsome window was given by his children in 
 memory of James A. Patteson, a staunch Virginia 
 churchman, who had come to the lake for forty summers 
 and was one of the original vestrymen. 
 
 In 1898 a rectory was built joining the church. 
 
 Mr. SutclifFe, the present rector, is an earnest, con- 
 scientious worker. The position that the church so 
 proudly occupies in the social thought and religious life 
 of Lake Mahopac is due to the persistent labor of this 
 man of God working in the name of the Master. 
 
 167 
 
The Roman Catholic Church 
 
 IHE Roman Catholic Church is the 
 youngest of all the churches at the 
 lake and, consequently, has not so much 
 history, and yet its constituency is 
 probably the largest. It was established 
 by Rev. John Dsulp. A lot was given 
 in the northern part of the old town by Reuben D. 
 Baldwin on December 5, 1866, and the church building 
 was erected and dedicated three years later. For twelve 
 years the parish was connected with the churches at 
 Brewster and Carmel. In 1882 it was divided and con- 
 nected with the church at Croton Falls. When the city 
 of New York condemned property in the Croton Water- 
 shed, the church edifice and rectory were included in such 
 proceedings. Father Murray, the present incumbent, 
 took the money received from the city and purchased a 
 large, handsome site on the lake shore and proceeded at 
 once to erect buildings thereon in keeping with the 
 character of the property. The church and rectory are 
 the finest at Lake Mahopac, situated on the boulevard 
 around the lake just north of the evergreen grove on the 
 eastern shore. The church has a strong local constituency 
 as well as a big summer following. Father Murray is 
 pleasant and congenial and is doing a large work and 
 building up a strong church at this famous summer 
 resort. 
 
 168 
 
THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH AND RECTORY 
 
PART VI 
 
 MAHOPAC'S INDIANS 
 
The Retreat from Mahopac 
 
 From "Myths and Legends of Our Own Land " 
 By Chas. M. Skinner 
 
 )FTER the English had secured the city 
 of New Amsterdam and had begun to 
 extend their settlements along the Hud- 
 son, the Indians congregated in large 
 numbers about Lake Mahopac, and 
 rejected all overtures for the purchase of 
 that region. In their resolution they were sustained by 
 their young chief, Omoyao, who refused to abandon on 
 any terms the country where his fathers had so long 
 hunted, fished and built their lodges. A halfbreed, one 
 Joliper, a member of this tribe, was secretly in the pay 
 of the English, but the allurements and insinuations that 
 he put forth on their behalf were as futile as the breathing 
 of wind in the leaves. At last the white men grew angry. 
 Have the land they would, by evil course if good ways 
 were refused, a^d commissioning Joliper to act for them 
 in a decisive manner, they guaranteed to supply him with 
 forces if his negotiatioris fell through. This man never 
 thought it needful to negotiate. He knew the temper of 
 his tribe and he was too jealous of his chief to go to him 
 for favors, because he loved Maya, the chosen one of 
 Omoyao. 
 
 At the door of Maya's tent he entreated her to go with 
 him to the white settlements, and on her refusal, he broke 
 into angry threats, declaring, in the self-forgetfulness of 
 his passion, that he would kill her lover and lead the 
 English against the tribe. Unknown to both, Omoyao had 
 overheard this interview, and he immediately sent runners 
 
 173 
 
to tell all the warriors of his people to meet him at once on 
 the island in the lake. Though the runners were cautioned 
 to keep their errand secret, it is probable that Joliper 
 suspected that the alarm had gone forth, and he resolved 
 to strike at once; so he summoned his renegades, stole 
 into camp next evening and made toward Maya's wigwam, 
 intending to take her to a place of safety. Seeing the 
 chief at the door, he shot an arrow at him, but the shaft 
 went wide and slew the girl's father. Realizing, upon 
 this assault, that he was outwitted and that his people 
 were outnumbered, the chief called to Maya to meet him 
 at the island, and plunged into the brush, after seeing that 
 she had taken flight in an opposite direction. The vengeful 
 Joliper was close beind him with his renegades, and 
 the chief was captured; then, that he might not com- 
 municate with his people or delay the operations against 
 them, it was resolved to put him to death. 
 
 He was tied to a tree, the surrounding wood was set 
 on fire and he was abandoned to his fate, his enemies 
 leaving him to destruction in their haste to reach the place 
 of the council and slay or capture all who were there. 
 Hardly were they out of hearing ere the plash of a paddle 
 sounded through the road of flame and Maya sprang 
 upon the bank, cut her lover's bonds and, with him, 
 made toward the island, which they reached by a pro- 
 tected way before the assailants had arrived. They told 
 the story of Joliper's cruelty and treason, and when his 
 boats were seen coming in to shore they had eyes and 
 hands only for Joliper. He was the first to land. Hardly 
 had he touched the strand before he was surrounded by a 
 frenzied crowd and had fallen bleeding from a hundred 
 gashes. 
 
 The Indians were overpowered after a brief and 
 bloody resistance. They took safety in flight. Omoyao 
 
 174 
 
and Maya, climbing upon the rock above their "council 
 chamber," found that while most of their people had 
 escaped, their own retreat was cut off, and that it would 
 be impossible to reach any of the canoes. They preferred 
 death to torture and captivity, so, hand in hand, they 
 leaped together down the cliff, and the English claimed 
 the land next day. 
 
 ' CANOPU3 " WHERE OMOYAO AND MAYA DIED 
 
 175 
 
An Old Indian Burying-Ground 
 
 T THE north end of the lake, beyond 
 "Longmead," the summer home of Mrs. 
 N. K.Averill,lyingsilently amongthe hills, 
 is an ancient graveyard. There is a won- 
 derfully high hedge lifting itself above 
 
 ! the old tombstones covered vv^ith lichen 
 and moss as if to keep back the sightseers from looking 
 upon tokens placed by loving hands over departed dead. 
 The site of this burying-ground is in the middle of the 
 old Hughson Farm, which later passed into the hands of 
 Lewis B. Griffin. Here many members of the Griffin 
 family are buried, as well as some of the old settlers and 
 pioneers of this wild country. The oldest inscription 
 found on the tombs is that of Michael Sloat, died August 
 4, 1815, age 58 years. The most recent burial recorded 
 by tombstone inscription is that of Phebe, wife of Benja- 
 min Griffin, died December 11, 1849, age 92 years. 
 
 As to the Indian part: They must have buried their 
 dead somewhere. We do know that they always 
 choose places for their dead near water and under big 
 trees, that they buried them in sitting posture and armed 
 them with bow and arrow. No place has been found other 
 than this that would correspond to these conditions. It 
 would be a natural place for the Indian to choose. Local 
 tradition has always had it that this was the exact spot. 
 This tradition was strengthened at least once, so an old 
 inhabitant told me. It was when a member of the Griffin 
 family was buried there. During an excavation for the 
 grave some human bones were found, not in prostrate, but 
 in upright, position. The skeleton held in his bony hands 
 
 176 
 
bow and arrow, as if he had been prepared for the long 
 journey to the happy hunting grounds beyond. 
 
 THE INDIAN BURYING-GROUND 
 
 177 
 
Mahopac's Indians 
 
 O TELL the complete story of Maho- 
 pac's red man in all of his goings and 
 comings, even after the great navigator 
 Hudson had passed through the Narrov^^s 
 and sailed up the North River, would in 
 itself fill a volume. He once owned this 
 beautiful lake and all its surroundings. He fished in its 
 waters and hunted along its shores. Sometimes when our 
 mentality is properly focused we can see an Indian brave 
 hurrying over the wooded heights on the western shore 
 following the trail of some wounded animal, or again, 
 gliding out in his canoe from beneath the overhanging 
 boughs and swiftly paddling to Canopus Island, where the 
 big wigwam village was. But all that is history now, for 
 the Indian is gone from these waters and islands that he 
 loved so well, and, in his passing, he has left behind him 
 the mere shadow of a name, corroborated by some 
 scattered and fragmentary relics. 
 
 The particular tribe that lived in these parts was 
 known as the Wappinger Indians. This was a tribal 
 division of a larger family known as the Algonquins. This 
 word Wappinger has departed from the original form. 
 It was supposed to be derived from the two Indian words 
 Wahum, east, and Aoki, land or place, meaning east- 
 landers. This term was applied to all those Indians who 
 migrated east from the Hudson River as far north as 
 Beekman's Patent. This word was sometimes spelled 
 Wappinous. This tribe was also called the River Indians. 
 These Wappinger Indians that lived around this lake 
 were larger in stature than other tribes. They were fierce 
 
 17S 
 
and savage, and in time of war were among the first to be 
 pressed into service by his Majesty. They were migratory 
 by nature and wandered as far north as Stockbridge, 
 Mass., where they had a large settlement and held 
 occasional councils of war. They also had a wigwam 
 village on the shore of Wequadnach Lake, in Litchfield 
 County, Conn., and another over what is known as Indian 
 Mountain on the shores of Silver Lake. 
 
 These Wappinger Indians were ruled by a certain 
 David Nimham, an old Indian king. His kingdom 
 extended wheresoever a Wappinger might wander. He 
 was as brave and crafty an Indian as ever drew a bow, 
 and lived at the headquarters of the tribe on Canopus 
 Island. 
 
 As has been said, these Wappinger Indians that lived 
 around the lake were of a savage and warlike nature. 
 They struck the first blow in the war against the Dutch in 
 1643, when they seized a boat coming from Fort Orange, 
 killed two men and took four hundred beaver skins. 
 Two years later a treaty was secured between the Dutch 
 and the various River Indians, among whom were the 
 "Wappinex." When the trouble arose between the 
 French and English in 1689 the Wappingers, or "Indians 
 of the long reach," showed their devotion to King William 
 by accepting an invitation to take part in the war. Accord- 
 ingly they journeyed up the Hudson River to Albany 
 and from there their Sachem and all the male members 
 of the tribe able to bear arms went to the field of strife. 
 Throughout this long struggle between the French and 
 the English these Mahopac Indians with their brothers 
 turned the tide of many a battle on the frontier, and 
 played an important part in the general results of the 
 war. When war broke out again in 1754 they moved 
 their families to Stockbridge, Mass., and went forth to 
 
 179 
 
the field of battle to fight for King George II. These 
 were to be their last battles for his Majesty on the other 
 side. 
 
 Lake Mahopac became widely known about the middle 
 of the eighteenth century, not only in the settled portions 
 of the colonies, but also in England, through the persistent 
 and untiring efforts of the old king Nimham and his 
 Indian representatives to regain possession of Lake 
 Mahopac and the surrounding lands, then held by the 
 heirs of Adolph Philipse. There are only a few perfect 
 transfer titles on record bv which the land of the red man 
 
 J 
 
 passed into the hands of the white man. Among these 
 perfect ones is the original deed by which certain lands 
 in Putnam County, including Lake Mahopac, were given 
 by the Indians, June i6, 1691, to Lambard Dorland and 
 Jean Seabrant. This deed is still in existence. The 
 purchasers of this tract of land did not obtain a patent 
 from the governor, but sold the tract the same year to 
 Adolph Philipse, a wealthy merchant of New York, who 
 was granted a patent by Governor Fletcher, June 17, 1697. 
 In 1763 a number of the Philipse tenants began to 
 persuade the Indians that they were the rightful owners 
 of these lands, and the Indian king at once began opera- 
 tions to regain his lost possessions. In the preliminary 
 trial the Philipse heirs won the case and the Indians were 
 ejected from their homes, but they continued to harass 
 the management and were a source of great expense to 
 the rightful owners. Since these suits at law were ineffi- 
 cient, for Nimham continued to give leases of the property 
 for a consideration, an appeal to the High Court of 
 Chancery, which was the Governor in Council, was 
 taken February 6, 1765. The Court of Chancery decided 
 against the Indians. But Nimham was a crafty chieftain 
 in ways of land litigation as well as in the methods of 
 
 180 
 
warfare. The prerogative of the Crown was held sacred 
 and final, but the Indians set up the argument that the 
 Crown's confidence in this grant had been abused. The 
 appeal opened as follows: "The petitions of David 
 Nimham, Jacobus Nimham, One Pound Pocktwo, 
 Stephen Crownham and other native Indians of the 
 tribe of Wappinger." 
 
 They claimed that from time immemorial and by 
 native right they had possessed the land. That certain 
 parties had encroached upon their lands, but they had 
 always been able to keep them back; when the war 
 broke out and his Majesty's kingdom was in danger, 
 they had left their homes and families and gone to fight 
 for his honors and acquitted themselves bravely. That 
 when they returned they found their homes taken and 
 their families in flight, etc. 
 
 This appeal was lost, but the Indians were not dis- 
 couraged. Nimham, the Sachem, and his associates went 
 to England and in person laid their claims before King 
 George for the restoration of their lands, but this petition 
 was denied, and the heirs of Adolph Philipse retained 
 possession. Soon, however, a greater than King George 
 was to decree that these lands were no longer the property 
 of those who had refused to declare themselves free and 
 independent of a throne beyond the sea, and they were 
 accordingly sold by Commissioners of Forfeiture, and thus 
 the lands in Putnam County round about Lake Mahopac 
 forever passed out of the hands of the red men into those 
 of the paleface. 
 
 When the old bell at Philadelphia sent forth its peals 
 for Independence King Nimham and his warriors around 
 the lake, about sixty in number, had an opportunity to 
 strike back at England's throne. This they did with a 
 bravery and valor that was worthy of their race in the 
 
 181 
 
days of its ancient glory. They were expert marksmen 
 and skilled in the arts of warfare. In the spring of 1778 
 they joined Washington's army and later fought under 
 Lafayette. In August of this same year King Nimham 
 and his warring band went forth to their last battle. This 
 engagement took place at King's Bridge, in the vicinity of 
 New York. On the first day of the battle the Indians met 
 and defeated the British under Colonel Emerick. Early 
 the next morning the British forces were ordered out. 
 The larger part of these forces were concealed on either 
 side of the stream that flows into the Harlem, while a 
 reconnoitering party was sent up the stream for the 
 purpose of leading the Indians into an ambuscade. King 
 Nimham and his band attacked the British, who re- 
 treated according to the plan. The Indians followed until 
 they reached the wooded ravine, when they refused to go 
 any farther, but began to fire at the redcoats in hiding. 
 At the same time the Queen's Rangers moved rapidly up 
 the surrounding heights. Major Ross attacked from the 
 other side and approached within ten yards of Nimham 
 and his men before he was discovered and then opened 
 fire. It was now that the Indians gave their famous war- 
 whoop and yell and tried to break through the encircling 
 forces. General Tarleton with his cavalry came galloping 
 down Cortlandt's ridge and fell upon them in the rear. 
 As they rode them down the Indians seized the riders, 
 dragged them from their horses and clubbed them to 
 death with their muskets, and thus the battle raged, the 
 red man and the white man in a hand to hand conflict. 
 Finally, when the old Indian chief saw the Grenadiers 
 closing in on him and all hope for personal escape gone, 
 he called out to his brave warriors to flee, but as for me, 
 "I am an aged tree, I will die here." In this fierce battle 
 the power of the Mahopac Indians was forever broken. 
 
 182 
 
Forty of their noble band of sixty were killed, and the 
 next morning, when day dawned and the sun lifted, there, 
 still and cold in death on the field that he had so valiantly 
 defended, lay the Indian king Nimham, the last sachem 
 of the tribe of Wappinger, whose headquarters had been 
 for more than forty years in the wigwam village on 
 Canopus Island at Lake Mahopac. 
 
 THE OLD PHILIPSE MAXOR HOUSE, NOW THE CITY HALL AT YONKERS 
 
 183