IN ascending the Hudson River, its eastern hill-border for many miles
was the blue and distant Taghkanic range, which encloses the
attractive region of Berkshire. When the Indians from the Hudson
Valley climbed over those hills they found to the eastward a
beautiful stream, which they called the Housatonic, the "River beyond
the Mountains." This picturesque river rises in the Berkshire hills,
and flowing for one hundred and fifty miles southward by a winding
course through Massachusetts and Connecticut, finally empties into
Long Island Sound. Berkshire is the western county of Massachusetts, a
region of exquisite loveliness that has no peer in New England,
covering a surface about fifty miles long, extending entirely across
the State, and about twenty miles wide. Two mountain ranges bound the
intermediate valley, and these, with their outcroppings, make the
noted Berkshire hills that have drawn the warmest praises from the
greatest American poets and authors. Longfellow, Whittier, Bryant,
Hawthorne, Beecher and many others have written their song and story,
which are interwoven with our best literature. It is a region of
mountain peaks and lakes, of lovely vales and delicious views, and the
exhilarating air and pure waters, combined with the exquisite scenery,
have made it constantly attractive. Beecher early wrote that it "is
yet to be as celebrated as the Lake District of England, or the
hill-country of Palestine." One writer tells of the "holiday-hills
lifting their wreathed and crowned heads in the resplendent days of
autumn;" another describes it as "a region of hill and valley,
mountain and lake, beautiful rivers and laughing brooks." Miss
Sedgwick, who journeyed thither on the railroad up the Westfield
Valley from the Connecticut River, wrote, "We have entered Berkshire
by a road far superior to the Appian Way. On every side are rich
valleys and smiling hillsides, and, deep-set in their hollows, lovely
lakes sparkle like gems." Fanny Kemble long lived at Lenox, in one of
the most beautiful parts of the district, and she wished to be buried
in its churchyard on the hill, saying, "I will not rise to trouble
anyone if they will let me sleep here. I will only ask to be permitted
once in a while to raise my head and look out upon the glorious
scene."
To these Berkshire hills the visitors go to see the brilliant autumnal
tints of the American forests in their greatest perfection. When
copious autumn rains have made the foliage luxuriant, much will remain
vigorous after parts have been turned by frosts. This puts green into
the Berkshire panorama to enhance the olives of the birch, the grayish
pinks of the ash, the scarlets of the maple, the deep reds of the oak
and the bright yellows of the poplar. When in such a combination,
these make a magnificent contrast of brilliant leaf-coloring, and
while it lasts, the mantle of purple and gold, of bright flame and
resplendent green, with the almost dazzling yellows that cover the
autumnal mountain slopes, give one of the richest feasts of color ever
seen. This magnificence of the Berkshire autumn coloring inspired
Beecher to write, "Have the evening clouds, suffused with sunset,
dropped down and become fixed into solid forms? Have the rainbows that
followed autumn storms faded upon the mountains and left their mantles
there? What a mighty chorus of colors do the trees roll down the
valleys, up the hillsides, and over the mountains!" From Williamstown
to Salisbury the region stretches, the Taghkanic range bounding it on
the west, and the Hoosac Mountain on the east. The northern guardian
is double-peaked Old Graylock, the monarch of the Berkshire hills, in
the Taghkanic range, the scarred surfaces, exposed in huge bare places
far up their sides, showing the white marble formation of these hills.