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Brown-tail Pest. 
Last week we took occasion to speak 
of wood drives and the effect the 
opening up of many of the old wood 
roads back of Manchester and Beverly 
Farms would have on the value of 
real estate, which isat present hidden, 
as it were, from sight. This week, 
perhaps, it will not be amiss to say a 
few words on the care of the drives 
‘we already have. 
It is of the brown-tail moth we 
would particularly speak. Just how 
far this pest will goon the North 
Shore, of course, is hard to tell. But 
one thing is sure; unless something: 
is done soon our beautiful, shady 
drives and attractive wooded hills will 
be as unattractive and repulsive as 
the once beautiful groves and drive- 
ways of Medford and Malden, where 
the brown-tail has made great havoc. 
Our North Shore drives and woods 
are two precious for us to permit any- 
thing of this kind. Yet it will surely 
come unless steps are taken in time. 
The Horticultural society at Man- 
chester is forming plans for conduct- 
ing a vigorous campaign against the 
pest, anda noble move it is on their 
part, too. Their work should receive 
liberal endorsement on the part of 
every resident of the North Shore, 
both by personal work and by gener- 
ous contributions to the fund which 
they are soon to start. 
Guests Depart. 
The hotel season is over, and how 
quiet it seems at Magnolia. With all 
its dullness, it was a very pleasant 
season, and the many who have been 
at the various hotels during the sum- 
mer will be greatly missed upon the 
beach and the driveways hereabouts. 
Though the cottagers will still re- 
main for a time, Magnolia will soon 
settle down into the quiet and une- 
ventful life of the country village. 
Nothing will remain to remind one of 
the summer’s gaiety save the closed 
hhotels and the money that has been 
left here by those who have sought 
recreation for a season in this most 
‘picturesque spot. 
For a time there will be a lull, while 
the residents seek rest from the sum- 
mer’s work and get ready for their 
season of pleasure and recreation. 
NORTH SHORE BREEZE 
11 
First Banquet of the 45th, 
[Written for the BREEZE.] 
*Neath Carolina’s moss-draped pines 
In the winter of sixty-two, 
The Massachusetts forty-fifth 
Had work cut out to do. 
They marched to Trenton on the Trent 
To burn the bridge of wood, 
Together with the old tide mill, 
That by the river stood. 
And while the smoke was curling high 
They opened wide the sluice, 
And the wheels buzzed round amid the flames 
And roared like the very deuce. 
Their work of destruction complete, 
They went into camp for the night; 
Many were foot-sore and weary, 
And all were famishing quite. 
The army’s usual rations 
Of junk and old hard-tack, 
Was very poor food for soldiers 
Who had marched thirty miles with a pack. 
To forage was strictly forbidden, 
But Davenport, their good cook, 
Had an idea budding in his mind 
Not found in the Orderly’s book. 
At midnight the stewing and frying 
And the savory smell in the air 
Gave proof that there’d been something 
doing ° 
That the Major declared was unfair. 
A porker was fast disappearing, 
And each man had a full haversack, 
And their bellies were bulging with viands 
Much better than army hard-tack. 
When Sturgis, their stern but loved Major, 
Came stealthily into the game, 
With the smell of the pig in his nostrils, 
Declaring to steal was ashame. 
Of the cook he demanded an answer 
Why orders were thus disobeyed, 
But Davenport had not been stealing, 
And was not the least bit afraid. 
“ T bought it,” he promptly responded, 
“Of a contraband down by the river.” 
“What did you give?” cried the Major. 
He replied, “‘ Sir, I gave the liver.” 
This reply was a poser for Sturgis, 
But a smile took the place of his frown, 
And Davenport still holds the record 
For bearing the pork. market down, 
Sept. 14, 1904. —G. E. W. 
September, 
TOLSALLY Cz 
Now the autumn winds are sighing, 
And the summer birds are flying, 
You can trace their passage clearly 
Through the soft September sky ; 
And our hearts are saddened by it, 
Oh we never can deny it, 
As we feel the deep depression 
That is made by each “ good-by.” 
Never more with winsome Saliy 
On the velvet turf to rally, 
When the band is softly playing, 
And the sun is in the west; 
Yet to reminisce and sadden 
Friendly hearts we need to gladden, 
Seems a very poor employment, 
And I leave to you the rest. 
For, when winter storms are raging, 
There be memories most engaging 
Of the days we’ve spent in sporting 
In the sunny summer sea, 
So with glad things to remenber, 
Even dreary old November 
Shall not damp the rising spirits, 
Or the joy of you and me. 
KATE RESTIEAUX, 
Whisperings, 
The following charade, which de- 
serves publication, was handed me a 
few days ago: 
My first my second doth possess, 
And in it takes its tea; 
My third is human, but no less 
Than seems my first to be. 
My whole’s a spot of loveliness 
That nestles “ by the sea.” 
* * * * 
It is remarkable sometimes what a 
cat will do when circumstances are 
pressing —cat sense, I suppose you 
callit. Tuesday, as I was walking 
down toward the station at Beverly 
Farms, my attention was attracted to 
a dog barking in the street beside me. 
Looking up I saw a little French ter- 
rier prancing in a circle about a foxy- 
spotted feline crouching on the con- 
crete. In an instant another dog was 
on the scene; another and _ then 
another, till there were six dogs all 
barking and yelping in a circle about 
that poor cat. -But, like a brave 
monarch, Miss Pussy held her ground. 
Not a muscle moved. She simply 
crouched there on the ground. Her 
would-be murderers were soon driven 
away, and the cat made her way back 
to her customary stand in Marshall’s 
drug store. 
It was certainly nothing but her 
good sense that saved her life that 
day. Perhaps she had been through 
the performance before. At any rate 
she evidently knew that retreat meant 
defeat — and possibly her life — while 
a strong and defiant stand won the day 
for her. 
* * * * 
My attention was called a few days 
ago to the condition of Everett street, 
in Beverly Farms. I am told the 
street, which is a little over 1200 feet 
long, and is one of the most frequently 
traversed in the village, hasn’t a single 
street light-on it. I am told, also, 
that since the street was laid out, in 
June of 1881, not $500 has been ex- 
pended on it in repairs, and this, too, 
in view of the fact that more than 
that amount in the way of taxes comes 
from Everett street every year. In 
looking through the assessment book, 
published in 1893, I find the taxable 
real estate alone on that street 
amounted to over $34,650. It surely 
seems as though the city could at 
least afford a light to guide its heavy 
taxpayers safely over the rough and 
poorly kept streets at the Farms. 
* * * * 
I heard a good fish story the other 
day, which I am led to believe is a 
true one. A young man, who has not 
been accustomed to living on the sea- 
shore, while visiting some friends in 
Manchester, bethought himself a fish- 
ing trip down the harbor before his 
