The+History+of+Easton+pp.+7-9

Dictionary **﻿ The History of Easton ** **Pages 7 - ﻿ 9 **  WHEN the people of Easton contemplated erecting their first Court House, in 1753, a large number of petitioners in other parts of the county sent a remonstrance to the Provincial Assembly against building the Court House in Easton. One of the reasons assigned for their opposition was that the hills were so high and steep as to endanger one's life to approach the village. But the ground of their objection is the source of Easton' s topographical beauty. No stranger of taste ever visits Easton without being charmed with the hills and valleys and shining rivers, ever changing in grandeur as the observer changes position — like the varying glories of the kaleidoscope. The want of system in these mountains greatly adds to their beauty.

When wandering around the College buildings on Mount Lafayette, the eyes catch the distant ranges of mountains, which greet the vision in whatever direction we turn. Yonder, to the west, stretch the Kittatinny or Endless Mountains, just far enough removed to be covered with the bewitching haze of Summer, enveloped in the gentle tints of ethereal blue in the clear atmosphere of Winter; while standing in front of the President's ma﻿nsion, just below us, where the Lehigh empties its waters into the Delaware, start the Lehigh Hills, stretching with a gentle curve toward the west, at whose base the river winds its way, and when reflecting the sunlight, or the rays of the full moon, looks like a silver ribbon skirting the landscape. And near the same spot starts a range of hills on the right bank of the Delaware, at whose base the limpid waters of this historic river wend their way toward the sea, and both river and hills, gently curving to the north, are lost behind other hills on the left bank.

If we ascend Mount Olympus, the highest point in the Chestnut Range, just north of the College campus, we catch a glimpse of the river approaching from the north, running through gaps in the mountains, quite as beautiful in their wildness as the far-famed Water Gap, thirty miles away. From this Olympian height expands a scene of beauty rarely witnessed. A few years ago a gentleman passing through Easton had his attention arrested by the combination of mountain and river, and remarked: "He was familiar with the valley of the Rhine, but he had never witnessed anything more beautiful than this." Men will go to Europe, climb the Alps to get a glimpse of scenery not more beautiful than that which greets the eye of the beholder from the summit of this American Olympus.

But the mountains encircling the old site of Easton are they against which the remonstrants, in 1753, hurled their anathemas. The level surface around the Square was the extent to which William Parsons limited the future town. On the northwest stands Mount Jefferson, which received its name from the fact of a great celebration that took place upon its summit in 1800, in honor of the election of Thomas Jefferson to the Presidency. An ox was roasted on its top, and the excavation is still visible. On the north is Mount Lafayette, so named in honor of the son of France, the friend of Washington and America. On the southwest is a height ascended from Fourth street, up Lehigh street, by a series of steps, to Fifth street, from which we continue to ascend until we reach a position south of the Court House. This is of equal altitude with the other two mountains, and has been called "Court House Hill."

Before 1739, when David Martin built his ferry house at the foot of Ferry street, the whole scene was covered with a growth of bushes. These beautiful rivers rolled along with their gurgling music under the forests overhanging their banks. There was little to disturb the profound quiet, which reigned supreme, except the sighing of the winds, the rustling storm, the singing of birds, the loud-crashing thunder, or the war dance, or the loud war-whoop of the savages. On Mount Lafayette, on the heights where South Easton stands, or on the banks of the Lehigh, could be seen the smoke curling through the treetops from the fires of Indian camps ; or one might have caught a glimpse of a fleet of canoes descending the Delaware and Lehigh, filled with the dusky children of the forests. This was the garden of the Lenni Lenape, chosen for its beauty, the convenience of its rivers, which afforded easy communication with the interior of the country, and as they came down either river they found a landing-place for their canoes on a long point extending far out toward the right bank of the Lehigh. This point has long since been washed away, though the name still remains — "The Point."

Not only was this locality chosen for its beauty and convenience, but for the abundance of game which roamed through these valleys and along these mountain sides. The historian of the Moravians tells us that the Indians would catch two thousand shad in a single day at Bethlehem, and at the junction of the rivers their efforts would be equally successful. This scene in its wildness was the capitol of the noble Delaware Tribe. There were no stately Gothic temples, nor lofty Corinthian columns, where these dusky lords of the forest would legislate for the nation's welfare; but there were umbrageous frescoings arched on lofty columns, reared by the hands of the Great Spirit, beneath whose shade the Indian mother could lull her babe to sleep as she sung the rude war songs of her people, while the fierce warrior formed his plans of battle and sharpened his weapons for the deadly onset. But these scenes have long ago passed away. No matter how kindly the red man was treated, nor how well the white man paid him for his land, the moment the white man began to buy the soil, the doom of the red man was sealed. We pick up here and there an arrowhead, open a mound filled with the bones of their dead, only to remind us that the powerful people which once owned these fertile lands, lofty mountains and majestic rivers have passed away, and the places which knew them know them no more forever.

These beautiful forests were their temples, reared by hands divine. Under their shadows they found a peaceful home, a place for their council-fires, their quiet repose, and amusements of savage life. Upon the banks of these beautiful rivers the young learned the art of war, the warrior painted for battle, and the aged quietly passed the evening of life and peacefully passed to the eternal hunting-grounds of their fathers. These people were as happy in these sylvan homes as the denizens of Fifth avenue, and quite as proud. Their wants were simple and easily met; their ambition was limited and easily gratified. They were firm friends, but implacable foes; they rarely forgot a kindness or forgave a wrong.

This was the place assigned for the City of Easton. On this narrow peninsula, hemmed in by these mountains, by the Bushkill, Delaware and Lehigh, is the place which William Parsons assigned for the city of the future.

by Uzal Conduit, 1885