gloomy; form close and pyramidal, and it was held by the Orientals as an emblem of mourning and death. It was used by the Egyptians for coffins and mummy-cases, and has been known to last eleven hundred years. It is cut up into boards and shingles in the South, and has become an important article of commerce, being used largely for railroad-ties and many building purposes. The Petre pear-tree, sent over from England by Lady Petre to John Bartram in 1760, still stands at the south end of the old mansion, and bears delicious fruit. On each side of the lawn, in front of the old stone house, are two noble boxwood-trees sent from Smyrna, Turkey, to Mr. Bartram by the Earl of Bute one hundred and thirty-four years ago. Excellent specimens of the firs and the pine are adja"The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee, the firtree, the pine-tree, and the box together, to beautify the place of my sanctuary; and I will make the place of my feet glorious" (Isaiah lx., 13). cent. Bartram's Garden was bisected by the passage of the old Philadelphia, Wilmington, and Baltimore Railroad; but enough remains on the southern bank to preserve its solitude. A deep excavation hides the iron track from this charming and quiet retreat. The spot was pointed out to us where the Washington Arbor once stood. Here Washington and Franklin, in their frequent visits to the Botanic Garden, used to sit enjoying the delightful scenery about the luxuriant banks of the Schuylkill. The magnificent enclosure abounded in fine fruits, upon which the Revolutionary contemporaries of Bartram often feasted. In Mr. Eastwick's study was a cannon-ball fired a century ago from a British man-of-war near the Delaware. One of Bartram's guests called the attention of Washington to this relic, with the remark, "General, this is a different kind of fruit from that which you get here." "Yes," was the reply," and much more difficult to digest." The stone used by Washington at his door way upon the edge of the sidewalk in Sixth Street, below Market, Philadelphia, upon which he stepped when he alighted from his coach, presented to Mr. Eastwick by a friend, is among the interesting relics of this antiquated spot. In fact, the whole place is as redolent of the Revolution as of science and philosophy. That which lends a peculiar charm to Philadelphia and its vicinity, and to the Centennial, is the constant presence of the memories of the last twenty-five years of the last century-the period beginning, say, in 1770 and closing in 1800. William Bartram figured in the generation beyond that; but whether you look to the west or to the east, to the north or to the south, within a radius of forty miles of Philadelphia, you are literally walking among the living recollections of the Revolution. The defeat of the Hessians at Red Bank, New Jersey; the crossing of the Delaware, and battle of Trenton; the battles of the Brandywine and Germantown; the massacre at Paoli ; Chadd's Ford, Fort Mifflin, and the encampment at Valley Forge; the British occupation of the city; the Continental Congress; the convention which framed the Constitution of the United States; the Presidency of General Washington; and the figures of all who contributed to the romance and the reality of these shifting scenes, foreigners and natives-pass before you in a panorama of unspeakable majesty. Such were the thoughts that occurred to me as I stood one fine day on the beautiful hill on the west bank of the Schuylkill first occupied by William Bartram, the farmer botanist, afterwards in possession of a private citizen, Mr. Eastwick, whose bright and white palatial villa, built in 1851, a short distance from the old dwelling, presents a striking picture, with its lofty tower and battlements, and rampant lions keeping guard over the entrance and ornamenting the fine plateau which overlooks the river. A captivating chapter might be written from this review of the past, to show what has been done for humanity, civiliza tion, and regulated liberty since John Bartram moved from Chester County to the banks of the Schuylkill in the year of our Lord 1728; but I leave this grateful task to other hands or to another occasion. NEARLY THREE THOUSAND ACRES DEVOTED TO THE PEOPLE. LONG before the purchase of the great park which bears its name, Fairmount had a national reputation. It was as well known in other states as Independence Hall. Its lovely waterworks were almost the first in America; and yet, strange to say, though visited and extolled by strangers, they had not, in 1842, secured their deserved admiration at the hands of the people of Philadelphia. That beautiful city was first supplied with water in 1799. It is said that William Penn selected Fairmount as his residence, and even gave it its name, precisely as the king gave Penn's name to the State of Pennsylvania. To use his own language, on the 5th of January, 1681, "This day my country was confirmed to me by the name of Pennsylvania, a name the king would give it in honor of my father. I chose New Wales, being, as this, a pretty hilly country; but Penn being Welsh for a head, as Penmaen-mawr in Wales, and Penrith in Cumberland, and Penn in Buckinghamshire, the highest land in England, they called this Pennsylvania, which is the high, or head woodlands, for I proposed Sylvania, and they added Penn to it; and though I much opposed it and went to the king to have it struck out and altered, he said 'twas past, and would take it upon him; nor would twenty guineas move the under-secretaries to vary the name, for I feared lest it should be looked on as a vanity in me, and not as a respect in the king, as it truly was, to my father, whom he often mentions with praise." To-day Fairmount Park comprises nearly three thousand acres, including one hundred and fifteen springs of water, thirtyfour thousand trees between eighteen and twenty-seven feet in circumference, seventy thousand under eighteen, and two hundred thousand of hard-wood shrubs and vines. It is a combination of the remains of the primeval forests as they stood in the days of the aborigines, and of the old historic mansions as they stood in the days prior to the Revolution. Of these, the most conspicuous for its beautiful location, interesting memories, and peculiar architecture is Belmont, within a short walk of the Centennial grounds, from the portico of which you have a clear, full view of the city of Philadelphia to the east, the near River Schuylkill, the distant shores of West Jersey, and the Delaware, shining, on a clear day, like a silver ribbon on their border. Girard College, less than two miles away, reveals its noble proportions; and the great Cathedral on Eighteenth Street, near Race, with the new magnificent Masonic Temple at Broad and Filbert, lifts its proud tower above the multitude of spires of the great metropolis-the outgrowth of the little village planted by the illustrious English Quaker in the year of our Lord 1682. Richard Peters, the uncle of the great judge, after whom he was called, purchased a portion of the ground on which Belmont now stands in 1750, and in 1772 conveyed it to his nephew Richard. William Peters, the father of the judge, purchased in 1762 other portions, and conveyed them to his son in 1774. The Peters monogram, "P. W. P.," is cut in a marble slab set in the wall of the main building, now over one hundred years old, still preserved, with few alterations, a monument of the good old times when it was the seat of refined hospitality, and the resort of the famous men who founded our government, formed our institutions, and fought for them through seven long years. Here Richard Peters was born in June, 1744, one year before his father's house was finished, and here he died on the 22d of August, 1828, at the great age of eighty-four. He must have been an unusually prepossessing man, if I may judge by his grandson, Frank Peters, whom I knew well fifteen years ago, a singularly agreeable and fascinating person. He had inherited the dazzling wit of his grandfather, and, when in the mood, his handsome face and figure, the sweet tones of his voice, and the contagion of his laugh were irresistible. Never shall I forget his description of the negroes who rode the two celebrated horses in a great Southern race, nor his story of the return of the Englishman, after a long voyage, to the pleasures of home. He died too early, and I shall always remember the happy hours I spent in his company. He was a regular visitor to my editorial den, and his smiling face and happy jokes brightened many a gloomy day. His grandfather, Richard Peters, was the associate and friend of Washington and his contemporaries; and Belmont, the present headquarters of Fairmount Park, and the place of rest after a survey of the Centennial grounds, was the scene of their frequent meetings after the toils of the day in the noise of the politics and intrigues of the distant city. If f you visit Belmont, as you are sure to do when you come to Philadelphia, you will sit in the broad hall with its small dormitories, high wooden mantels, window-frames with small imported glass, and broad fireplaces, and you will instinctively bring back the age of the Revolution. The father of Richard Peters was a royalist, and returned to England before the war, and died there. The son remained, and ignored social, family, and business ties for the sake of his country. He was Secretary of the Board of War during the Revolution, Delegate in Congress from 1782 to 1783, and Judge of the District Court (appointed by Washington)—a position he held for thirty-nine years, and died in commission. He was a patriot, legislator, and jurist, and a pioneer in the agriculture |