A fine road, with exquisite views, leads a few miles southward to
Lenox, the "gem among the mountains," as Professor Silliman called it,
standing upon a high ridge at twelve hundred feet elevation, and
rising far above the general floor of the valley, the mountain ridges
bounding it upon either hand, being about five miles apart, and having
pleasant intervales between. There is a population of about three
thousand, but summer and autumn sojourners greatly enlarge this, when
throngs of happy pilgrims from the large cities come here, most of
them having their own villas. The crests and slopes of the hills round
about Lenox are crowned by mansions, many of them costly and imposing,
adding to the charms of the landscape. At the head of the main street,
the highest point of the village, stands the old Puritan
Congregational Church, with its little white wooden belfry and a view
all around the compass. This primitive church recalls many memories of
the good old times, before fashion sought out Lenox and worshipped at
its shrine:
"They had rigid manners and homespun breeches
In the good old times;
They hunted Indians and hung up witches
In the good old times;
They toiled and moiled from sun to sun,
And they counted sinful all kinds of fun,
And they went to meeting armed with a gun,
In the good old times."
Far to the northward, seen from this old church, beyond many swelling
knolls and ridges, rises Old Graylock, looking like a recumbent
elephant, as the clouds overhang its twin rounded peaks, thirty miles
away. From the church door, facing the south and looking over and
beyond the village, there is such a panorama that even without the
devotion of the inspired Psalmist, one might prefer to stand in the
door of the Lord's house rather than dwell in tent, tabernacle or
mansion. This glorious view is over two valleys, one on either hand,
their bordering ridges covered with the fairest foliage. To the
distant southwest, where the Housatonic Valley stretches away in
winding courses, the stream flowing in wayward fashion across the
view, there are many ridgy hills, finally fading into the horizon
beyond the Connecticut boundary. The immediate hillside is covered
with the churchyard graves, and then slopes down into the village,
with its surrounding galaxy of villas, among which little lakes glint
in the sunlight. It is no wonder that Fanny Kemble, who lived here at
intervals for many years, desired to be buried at this church door,
for she could not have found a fairer resting-place, though Henry Ward
Beecher, another summer sojourner, in his enthusiasm expressed the
hope that in her life to come she would "behold one so much fairer
that this scenic beauty shall fade to a shadow."
The earliest settlements in this part of the Berkshires, then a
dangerous Indian frontier, were in 1750; and a few years later, when
peace was restored, lands were bought and two towns started, one
called Mount Ephraim and the other Yokun-town, after an Indian chief.
The Duke of Richmond, whose family name was Lenox, had taken strong
ground in favor of the American colonists, and in gratitude these
towns, when subsequently incorporated, were called, the former
Richmond, and the latter Lenox. The duke's coat-of-arms hangs upon the
wall in the village Library of Lenox. In 1787 Lenox was made the
county-seat of Berkshire, so continuing for eighty-one years, and its
present church was built in 1806, replacing an older one. It began to
be a summer resort at the beginning of the nineteenth century, and
became fashionable after Fanny Kemble, then the great celebrity,
visited it about 1838, and stopped at the "Berkshire Coffee House,"
setting the fashion of early rising by requiring her horse to be
saddled and bridled and promptly at the door at seven o'clock in the
morning, for a daily gallop of ten or twelve miles before breakfast.
Lenox has now developed into so much wealth, fashion and luxury, that
it is known as "the Newport of the Berkshires." Its one long village
main street contains the Library and hotels, and in all directions
pleasant roads lead out to the hills and vales around, which are
developed in every way that wealth and art can master. The broad and
charming grass-bordered main street, under its rows of stately
overarching elms, leads southward down the hill among the villas. The
deep adjacent valleys, with their many and varied knolls and slopes,
give such grand outlooks that dwellings can be placed almost anywhere
to advantage, most of them being spacious and impressive, their
elaborate architecture adding to the attractions.