A TRIP TO HIGHLAND LIGHT. 



THE morning of the first of April dawned 

 like an Easter Sunday. The sky was clear, the 

 sun warm, the air soft and full of the smell 

 of spring. Taking the nine o'clock train from 

 the Old Colony Station we rolled swiftly over 

 the Quincy-Braintree levels with their wander- 

 ing brooks and flooded swamps, down towards 

 the sandy Cape country. At Bridgewater the 

 train turned toward the east, and by eleven we 

 passed the head of Buzzard's Bay, where the 

 Cape Cod Canal is some day to be cut through, 

 and entered upon the territory of the real Cape. 

 The railway follows the inner curve of the 

 Cape, the rounded cheek of Cape Cod Bay. At 

 Sandwich, where we saw the melancholy and 

 deserted buildings of the once prosperous glass 

 works, we began to gain glimpses of dark blue 

 water, with pale sand hills lining its shores. 



As we passed Barnstable and Yarmouth these 

 momentary off-looks to the bay became more 

 frequent. Between them, as we hurried through 

 patches of low woods, we surprised anglers mak- 

 ing the first cast of the newly opened season in 



