USA > Pennsylvania > Montgomery County > Historical sketches : a collection of papers prepared for the Historical Society of Montgomery County, Pennsylvania, Volume I > Part 14
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problem to geologists, but to the historian a spot of rare inter- est, in that it was the last Indian reservation in Montgomery county.
The road now makes an abrupt turn, and, leaving the fields, approaches another region of dense woodland. Stand- ing back from the roadway, with only the creek and a meadow between, is another old-time stone mansion. This, in pre- Revolutionary days, was the residence of one Harrison, the proprietor of a slave plantation; for, little as we may care to acknowledge it, human slavery once existed in Pennsylvania, and in Lower Merion. Harrison's ambition was to hold "a. hundred niggers," but he was never permitted to realize this, as the hundredth always died, leaving him but ninety-nine. The souls of " Harrison's niggers" are said to haunt the whole Harrison, or as it is generally written, Harriton, domain. But the same house has other claims to distinction. Later, it was occupied by Harrison's son-in-law, Charles Thomson, Secre- tary of Colonial Congress. This much, relating to Thomson, is well known; it is not so generally known that he was the first American translator of the Bible; that the translation was made in this antique Lower Merion mansion; that Thomson's version, now strangely forgotten, is one of the most accurate in existence; and that he accomplished the task entirely unaided.
From the same point of view, crowning a not-distant emi- nence, a height forming part of the semi-mountainous eleva- tions near Conshohocken, may be discerned yet another of these antique stone mansions, a remarkably fine one, which its present occupant, Wayne MacVeagh, has had the good taste to improve without destroying its old-time character. This was once the residence of the celebrated Judge Richard B. Jones, the last survivor of the officers and crew of the frigate Philadelphia, taken prisoner by the Algerines. Later it was occupied by the Rev. Dudley Tyng, one of a family of advanc- ed thinkers; Dr. Anita V. Tyng, of the same race, is to-day one of the most famous of women physicians. The present
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owner of Brookfield, as the place is still called, is no less dis- tinguished than his predecessors.
Did we neglect to notice that one of William Penn's mile- stones, with three balls, still stands, here along the edge of the woods? Shall we enter the dense forest upon our left? If we do, we shall find the low-walled, Harriton family cemetery, filled with graves overgrown by wild flowers, and marked by gray or brown stone tablets, with a few marble ones discolored by age. Here were interred the remains of Charles Thomson; . from this little, secluded burying-ground his body was felon- iously stolen by his non-Quaker relatives, and carried to Lau- rel Hill. Here lie the bones of many of Thomson's connec- tions, of the Morris family, living members of which now pos- sess nearly all of the land in the immediate vicinity. These same Morrises, with all of those prominently known in Lower Merion and Philadelphia, belong to the identical race which gave to the world, as well as to our country, the illustrious Robert and Gouveneur Morris.
But a few steps further on, and we come to another grave- yard,· but one more modern in aspect, with smooth, white marble tablets, and tall, somewhat pretentious monuments. We would call it only an ordinary country grave yard, were it not for the fact that upon one side of it stands a very primi- tive-looking edifice, Quaker-like in its extreme simplicity. We are not surprised to learn that, in age, this building is nearing the close of its century; that it is a relic of the days when the Baptists were a despised sect, content to seek the wilderness, and call their unpretending places of worship " meeting-houses," just as their neighbors, the Friends, did. The modern grave- yard has grown about the still cherished "Lower Merion Bap- tist Meeting-House." But it is no longer in the wilderness, although the woods about it are nearly intact; it fronts upon the newer continuation of the Gulf road, which, within the last decade or so, has become the northern boundary of the now fashionable town of Bryn Mawr. This newer continuation, itself long since become venerable in age, extends from the old Lancaster road, or Indian trail, near the present Haverford
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College station, to the corner of this Baptist grave-yard. Besides the meeting-house, the only other antique building which it passes is the stone cottage of Fishburn, the miller, already spoken of; this is opposite the stables connected with Bryn Mawr hotel. From the grave-yard the old and new Gulf roads are continuous, and they make a sudden turn, at least the old road does, toward the right, crossing Mill creek, which it has followed for about two miles. As it bends, it · touches the corner of the extensive property once owned by the Humphreys family, and lately purchased by Dr. Joseph W. Taylor, upon which to erect suitable buildings for a college for women. Dr. Taylor did not live to see these buildings completed, but we, to-day, may behold, towering in solid magnificence, the granite walls of Taylor and Merion halls, whose doors shall soon stand open, inviting all ambitious, studious young women, throughout the world, to come to Lower Merion and receive the same advanced education offered to their brothers elsewhere. Can you travel, as you have just done, in fancy, along the old Gulf road, and deny that the sight of these halls, at the close of your journey, appears as a grand climax? For what have the objects, which I have pointed out upon our way, said to you? nothing to confirm my declaration that the history of the Gulf road, of Lower Merion, and of the world, were one?
To me, these objects spoke of Welsh Friends leaving their homes for conscience's sake, and bringing with them, to the very hills and valleys which I had explored, the beautiful, musical name of Merion, as a sweet reminder of other hills and valleys beyond the sea, the story of an exodus thus being, not for the first time in history, told in one word. Flight from home, for conscience's sake, belongs as much to Lower Mer- ion as to Palestine, to Thomas Wynne as to Moses. These objects spoke of new homes founded in the wilderness with faith in God, of treachery and tyranny defeated in the efforts to preserve these homes to posterity, of the American apostle of peace, and the misfortunes of himself and family in later years, but whose fame shall endure forever, in spite of misfor-
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village, the home beautiful of the future will be in just such a country village; city crowds, city noises, city smoke, city filth, and city poverty being things of the past; and then it will be said of Lower Merion that she was far in advance of her age in relegating all such things to the forgotten barbarities.
At Rosemont still stands a semi-modern cottage, in which Longfellow lived during Centennial summer, and in which he wrote his poem upon old Radnor church, which, although founded by the same Welsh settlers, is too far over the Dela- ware county line for Lower Merion to claim. For the same reason we can not embrace Villa Nova College, though it barely escapes us; nor Haverford College, although we do boldly grasp its beautiful granite gates, the posts of which are memorial stones, celebrating a semi-centennial. Lower Mer- ion, then, encourages her sons to enter the halls of learning founded by her own founders, the Quakers; if she does not precisely bid them enter, at Villa Nova, the domain of the Catholic church, she more than makes up for her neglect both at Merion and at Overbrook; for, between these stations upon the Pennsylvania railroad stands a splendid pile of architecture known as the theological seminary of St. Charles Borromeo. Lower Merion can not afford to deny her Catholic citizens. One of these is everywhere quoted for Lower Merion, as Stephen Girard is for Philadelphia. Dennis Kelley, an illiter- ate Irishman, came to the township with a pack upon his back, and began his career by weaving carpet in the loft of a spring house near Ardmore, pushing his finished wares to Philadel- phia in a wheel-barrow, for sale. He died a millionaire. He it was who developed the water power of Cobb creek, thus reaping the gratitude of Delaware county, as well as Mont- gomery; he it was who made property valuable in the south- eastern corner of Lower Merion, near the Delaware and Phil- adelphia county lines. And Dennis Kelley is not the only poor man who won wealth in Lower Merion.
If we desired to pass, in reality, as we have done so rap- idly in fancy, from Rosemont to Overbrook, and vicinity, it would probably be by way of the Pennsylvania railroad,
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or the Lancaster turnpike road, already alluded to. From all of the old roads branch off many by-roads, nearly as ancient, but the exact date of whose laying out is not popularly known. The Schuylkill early had a highway along its banks, and from this road others soon deflected into the interior of the town- ship, following the streams up through the ravines. Among the newest roads are the avenues opened to reach certain stations upon the Pennsylvania railroad, giving rise to the singular fact that while that portion of Lower Merion near the Schuylkill has changed very little within the memory of the present generation, that near the Delaware county line has become so altered within the last ten years that an old resident would scarcely recognize it, except by its prominent natural features. Hence, the red-and-yellow scarf, from Rosement to Overbrook. But it is a mistake to suppose that this linear, fashionable, suburban town is just what it appears in every sense-the mushroom creation of the Pennsylvania Railroad Company. Bryn Mawr, it is true, had this august corporation for its sponsor in baptism, but the site chosen for the proposed ideal village had crowding upon it Humphreystown and Pos- sumtown. The hamlet at Haverford is an outgrowth from the Quaker college, founded fifty years ago. Libertyville, or rather Wynnewood, is probably the oldest settlement in Penn- sylvania. Ardmore, formerly Athensville, is very little younger. Merion was a name and a station, known and recog- nized before Elm or Bryn Mawr. So it will be seen that, although the Pennsylvania railroad, with wealth and fashion, dominates, this part of Lower Merion still preserves its tradi- tions; the railroad found as much as it created. The new has not yet quite driven out the old. The grand homestead of the Humphreys family still stands, in all its antique splendor, in the very midst of Bryn Mawr's palaces. Side by side with one of the prettiest stone cottages in Ardmore, may be seen a picturesque old barn, beautifully embowered in graceful Vir- ginia creeper and scarlet-blossomed trumpet vine.
Suppose we return from our wanderings to the Merion Meeting-House. A by-road passes the grave-yard, and also
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the modern, wicked race-track, Belmont park. The same road, by winding ways, leads down toward the Schuylkill, running near the Merion Academy, quite a venerable seat of learning, though long degenerated from its first estate to an ordinary public school. The General Wayne tavern, once occupied by General Wayne himself, and preserving much of its ancient character, stands, as we have seen, the nearest neighbor of the meeting-house, opposite the entrance to Church road, leading to Haverford meeting. And just beyond that road is a fine old mansion, the property of the Thomas family. Have you forgotten how long we sat in the garret-window of my old home? While there, did you notice among the relics piled high upon the floor, a human thigh bone? That bone once belonged to a British soldier, who met his death upon this same Thomas property.
The house, during the Revolution, was occupied by a rough, coarse family, named Wilson. They, however, pro- fessed to be patriots, and showed their devotion in the most uproarious manner. While Washington was encamped in the neighborhood, two British soldiers were taken prisoners, and two of the Wilson boys were set as guards, immediately in front of their own home. Thus engaged, the mother of the Wilsons, a powerful virago, rushed out, and with an oath demanded of her sons why they did not kill their prisoners. They said that they were obeying orders. Thereupon the woman seized the bayonets from her sons' hands, and pierced both of the British soldiers through their hearts. The whole family were obliged to flee, to escape Washington's indignation. The soldiers were buried out in the middle of the road. Time passed; people began to think this an improbable story, until, when the Pennsylvania railroad opened its first route, and dug into the road-bed to lay its tracks, the bones of the soldiers were unearthed, and neighbors for miles around gathered them up for relics. The human thigh bone which you saw was one of these.
Just here, along the side of this widened and piked Indian trail, do you see that row of square blocks of stone, set in reg-
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ular order, about a yard apart? These are the remains of the first road-bed made by the Pennsylvania railroad, in the days when stone blocks, instead of wooden logs, were used to sup- port the tracks. If you trace the road-bed by these blocks, you will find it very different in direction from the present route. Going westward, we see that it follows the Indian trail past the General Wayne, past the Merion Meeting-House, past the entrance to William Penn's road, and through Liber- tyville. This little village has long remained in its present state; ever since the railroad was moved half a mi e south to the present Elm station, every inclination to growth has been checked. Perhaps this may help account for the fact that Lower Merion, salubrious and populous as it has always been since known, was long characterized by a singular absence of villages-the difficulty of ingress and egress. The few settle- ments were so small as to scarce deserve the name. Merion- ville, Libertyville, Athensville, Academyville, West Manayunk, Merion Square and Humphreystown, were all that were worth mentioning; and only Athensville and Humphreystown have, to any extent, grown. We know them as Ardmore and Bryn Mawr. Looking back, they see what we all see now, that, largely because their prayer that the railroad might keep away from them was not answered, they, to-day, are not Liberty- villes. But why is Libertyville so called? Because, in the midst of indifferent neighbors, this little village at one time in its history raised a liberty pole. And why, until recently, was its cross-country rival, Merion Square, termed, in derision, the War Office? Because rough characters were permitted to live among peaceable citizens, constantly embroiling them in petty squabbles.
The old railroad bed continues to follow the Indian trail, passing by a charmingly quaint stone cottage, nearly two hundred years old, in which William Penn at times resided, and kept some of his most valuable documents-at least, so it is said; hence the designation, Penn'cottage. The name is scattered about profusely, it seems. A certain massive boulder, upon the Haverford road near Overbrook, is called the Penn
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rock, from the alleged circumstance that here friend William once gathered a congregation of Indians, and stood upon the rock while he preached to them. This rock, however, is sev- eral miles distant from the old railroad bed, which joins the present one at Ardmore, a few yards east of the station. But a few yards west of the station, later improvements have again changed the direction of the railroad bed, so that at Ardmore is the only portion of the old bed still remaining part of the main line of the Pennsylvania railroad in Lower Merion. And, as we may see from the case of Libertyville, the fact of this little piece of railroad remaining unchanged has made and kept Ardmore what it is to-day -- the most beautiful of villages, the most delightful of homes to be found anywhere within a radius of ten miles of Philadelphia.
Trace the road bed east from the General Wayne tavern. For half a mile it follows the old Lancaster road, here contin- uous with the Indian trail, reaching the Ford road at Merion- ville. The old railroad here deflects, and follows the Ford road, the continuation of the Indian trail, past the row of cone- like cedars, once visible from the garret window of my ances- tral home. From this point to City avenue is a distance of but a few yards, and the old railroad passed into Philadelphia and continued upon its way through the park to the Columbia bridge. But, before reaching City avenue, the road bed led through a deep cut in a rocky hill, and this same deep cut, long abandoned by the Pennsylvania railroad, is now utilized by it for the route of the Schuylkill Valley branch.
And now we have approached within only a few feet of the spot at which the early white man first entered Lower Merion. This spot is now the property of the Roberts family. The Roberts domain extends, just as it did nearly two hundred years ago, from the Ford road to the Schuylkill. Its old name, Pencoyd, or Penquoid, has been applied to the iron works, with the newly-grown village, upon the river's edge, presenting such a picturesque aspect to the beholder upon the opposite bank, the tall chimneys breathing out fire and smoke against the dark green hills. Here were, for years, shad fish
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eries, the property of the Jones family. President George B. Roberts, of the Pennsylvania railroad, belongs to this same old Welsh race of Roberts. He it was who created the Schuylkill branch, and established Bala station upon the edge of his ancestral lands. Welsh names throughout Lower Mer- ion either survive, or have been revived, with praise-worthy taste. President Roberts applied to this station a name which would correspond with those of other Welsh names in the neighborhood-Bala, from Bala, in Merionethshire, Wales, from which the first American Roberts brought his bride. This name will, ere long, become doubly appropriate, for Merion- ville's, or more properly, Merioneth's, growing down along the Ford road to the station is only a question of time.
And now, have I come back to my starting point? Almost. The extensive domain upon the other side of Bala station has been in the Stadelman family nearly as long as the Roberts territory in theirs. This fact reminds me of many things. One is, that though I, myself, represent a race driven out of Lower Merion by modern invaders, I also represent in- vaders; my ancestors, early though they were, were not the first to claim the soil. English and Irish Friends followed Welsh Quakers and Episcopalians and German Lutherans; and such names as Jones, Roberts, Price (a modification of ap Rees), Bevan (an alteration of ap Evan), Humphreys (hun Fries, meaning, literally, from Friesland), Wynne, Super and Stadelman, have the chief claim to distinction. Almost contemporary with the Welsh were German emigrants from the Palatinate, fleeing also, like the Welsh, from persecution. By the year 1769, these Germans had so increased in numbers that they founded an Evangelical Lutheran church in Merion; and one of the first members of this church was a Stadelman, whose descendants still possess their ancestral home. But many of these German Lutherans lived just as far from their place of worship as the first Stadelman did.
"The little Dutch church " was a primitive edifice, almost literally in the wilderness, standing, as it did, on the old road from Merion Meeting to Haverford, called Church road from
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the German place of worship, and not from either meeting- house. The same antique structure remained, in the midst of its beautiful cemetery, half a mile beyond Ardmore toward the Delaware county line, until about six years ago, when it was pulled down, to be superseded by a more modern but less attractive church in the village proper. This, to the eyes of outsiders, seems the most foolish thing that the congregation ever did; but they have a history, of the heroic devotion of their forefathers, of which any congregation might well be proud. Thus early, it will be seen, were altars of religion con- secrated in Lower Merion, in more ways and in other names than one. I can not here give an account of any particular denomination or its growth, but will only remark that the first Episcopal church, the Redeemer, near Bryn Mawr, was an offshoot of old St. David's, at Radnor; and that Method- ism, while successful everywhere else in the world, never flourished in Lower Merion.
History repeats itself, this we know. With a community composed of earlier and later comers, it was inevitable that there should be social rivalries, more or less fierce, just as we see to-day. We, who lived in the gray stone mansions, imagine that the residents of the red-and-yellow palaces are our upstart enemies, but there was a time when the occupants of plain log houses thought just the same of our fathers. For there were log houses in Lower Merion, and some of them still exist, scattered here and there. One, built about 1700, stood upon my grandfather's farm until 1876, and long served as a tenant house, but it was so disguised with boards and plaster that I never knew what the framework was until I saw it pulled down. There also stood an old wooden barn of about the same age, in which once hid two British soldiers, deserters, who wished to join the American army; they were discovered and aided by the Irishman who lived in the log house. So again, you see, the history of one farm is the history of Lower Merion, and the whole country. But, to return to social rival- ries. I have heard, indirectly, through a very old lady con- nected with the Stadelman family, that there was a time when
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all marketing from Lower Merion was carried to the city by women upon horseback, their butter and eggs and vegetables packed in saddle-bags. Two-wheeled carts, with muslin covers drawn with strings like a sun bonnet, created a small revolution; those who had the two wheeled carts looked down upon those poor creatures who were still obliged to put up with saddle-bags. The old lady from whom I derived my information was among the favored ones whom fortune per- mitted to drive a two-wheeled cart. How long ago that was may be guessed when I tell you that, upon one occasion as she drove into Philadelphia, down the Lancaster road to the Lancaster turnpike, thence on by the West Chester road to town, crossing the river at the place now occupied by Market street bridge, she discovered that the highwaymen had robbed the mail coach, and, near what we know as Sixteenth and Market streets, tied the passengers to the trees. Before going further, I would like to remark that it was a relative of this old lady, who, when a soldier at Valley Forge, obtained a furlough, came home, and occupied his time in making shoes for his comrades. His name was Jacob Latch, and he belonged to the same Latch family still occupying the land in Lower Merion, between the old Stadelman and Harvey properties.
But what extravagance when two-wheeled carts gave way to four-wheeled wagons. Then it was that my grandfather, in advance of many of his neighbors, was sniffed at as a haughty aristocrat because he drove to the city in a carriage with four wheels, drawn by two iron-gray horses. Such a turnout would look very ordinary beside the drags and tandems now seen dashing along our Lower Merion roads. Can we, to-day, realize that, upon both Lancaster pikes, the big, white-covered Conestoga wagon was a sight once very familiar? Pittsburg then was considered the extreme west, and everything in the shape of manufactured goods was "teamed" across the Alle- ghenies. I am not now stating to my intelligent readers a new fact, but I may be saying something new to many, in asserting that we have evidence in Lower Merion that this was the case, in the existence of so many old taverns, at regular intervals,
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all along both main roads, just as if a delegation of westward- bound, hungry travellers, was expected at every stage, at a particular hour. The first antique hotel, on the old Lancaster road, in Lower Merion, is the Black Horse, still in a good state of preservation, although no longer used as an inn; this is just over the city line, and is about half-way between Bala station on the Schuylkill Valley railroad and Overbrook sta- tion on the main line of the Pennsylvania railroad. The next is the General Wayne, before referred to, about a mile and a half further on; here for years was the only post-office for miles around. The third, of any prominence, was the Old Buck, now used as a summer boarding house; this was once the only post-office for the upper end of Lower Merion, as the General Wayne was for the lower; this large, imposing build- ing, with pretty, shaded grounds, is at the junction of the old Lancaster road, that is, the Indian trail, with the Lancaster turnpike. Beyond this there is no antique tavern within the limits of Montgomery county. Near by the Old Buck is a weather-beaten structure, erected many years ago, during the wave of popular excitement which spread over the country, through the efforts of the Washingtonians; it is still called Temperance Hall, though now used as a printing office by the Bryn Mawr News. A few rods to the eastward stood for a long time the picturesque, ivy-veiled, evergreen-embowered Church of the Redeemer, recently demolished. But around these, strange to say, has grown up a queer little Irish settlement, variously called Cork, Kilkenny and Irishtown. Still, it seems that even the poor are well off in Lower Merion; any one of these houses, if removed to another location, would, separately, be a neat, desirable residence.
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