NORTH SHORE BREEZE and Reminder 15 
but the ill-gotten gold has again mingled with the dust 
and has never been found. 
Only a few years back that part of the moor known 
as Flat Point where now is a thriving summer colony 
was only a pasture. On a summer’s day one might stroll 
over the ledges and thro’ masses of fragrant wild roses, 
the hum of the bees being the only sound to reach his 
ears, save the lowing of the cattle. 
Of the three islands Thatcher’s is best known as its 
lights are the last landmark of America seen from steam- 
ers bound for the old country. The ships pass some 
eighteen miles outside. 
Straitsmouth island is the most beautiful, its rugged 
cliffs being full of the most gorgeous colorings. And 
across the Gap on Gap Head the rocks rising sixty feet 
Or more above the ocean are inspiring because of their 
ruggedness. 
As one pictures in his imagination the beauty of the 
whole moor before a summer cottage was built upon it 
he cannot but think that man does indeed mark the earth 
with ruin. And standing on the cliffs some day in the 
autumn when the sea runs wild the words of Byron come 
to his lips: 
Roll on! Thou deep and dark blue ocean, Roll! 
Ten thousands ships sail over thee in vain. 
Man marks the earth with ruin 
His control stops with the shore; 
Upon the deep the wrecks are all thy deed, 
Nor doth remain a shadow 
Of man’s ravages save his own 
When—for a moment like a drop of rain, 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan 
Without a grave; unknelled, uncoffined and 
unknown! 
It was from these rocks some thirty odd years ago 
that a young man named Rogers was swept away by the 
surf. ‘Those who have never seen a wild tempest on the 
coast can hardly believe that the water can dash so high. 
But watch a “line” storm in September and what wild- 
ness and anger one beholds. Man has the land under 
control. Only God can still the sea. 
Passing by more rocks and cliffs we soon are on the 
Headlands with the little inner harbor of Rockport lying 
below. ‘The other side of the harbor, Bearskin Neck as 
it is called (see Rockport history for the story), looks 
very picturesque and quaint. Picturesque, altho’ a stock 
word used rather too much in descriptions, is the only 
word which will appropriately describe the fish houses 
and the granite piers, for they do make an unusual picture. 
The staunch little fishing craft lying idly at the wharves 
with nets drying on the masts, the shacks behind and in 
the remote background the shore at Pigeon Cove—where 
VIEW FROM “THE ARCHES” SHOWING THE 
SHEPARD HOME, 
in America can be found a spot more unspoiled by the 
“spic and span” of so-called modern enterprise? 
How beautiful the town ot Kockport 1s nestled in the 
valley, its church spires landmarks tor miles out at sea. 
One of these spires, that of the Congregational church, 
was the target tor British cannon during the war of 1812, 
the original cannon being now mounted in the ‘Town hall 
yard. 
We walk through the streets of the town quaint and 
crooked, pass by colonial houses across the beautiful little 
beach and through a beautiful willow road and we again, 
approach the quarries. We look into the deep pit and 
can hardly realize that so much stone has been removed 
in less than go years. We will visit them some day and 
learn more about the industry. 
Through Pigeon Cove, past its pretty little harbor 
and along the coast we walk until we reach Halibut point, 
the extreme end of Cape Ann. No place on the entire 
coast would have been more suited for a hotel and a 
beautiful summer colony, but alas! it is too late. With 
drill and dynamite man and his industry has blown away 
the beauty and opened great holes from which he takes 
granite. 
Man does indeed “mark the earth with ruin” but 
as we look over the water, now wild, now calm, the same 
ocean that saw the birth of first man, still unconquered 
and unconquerable, we are glad that man’s control does 
indeed “‘stop with the shore.” 
On a clear day one may see the coasts of three states, 
—Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Maine—from this 
point. How we would like to take a sailboat and cruise 
along the coast. 
As we continue into Lanesville the sun is slowly 
sinking below the hills across the bay. . A sunset seen 
from a mountain top is a beautiful sight, but to those 
who have seen the sun sink below the horizon of the 
water the former loses by comparison. ‘The myriad col- 
ors of the sky reflected in the water beneath, sparkling 
and bright, the tired fishermen sailing their craft home- 
ward silhouetted against the western sky, what a picture 
of peace! ‘The salt breezes fan our cheeks and blow our 
hair. And as we watch the fading daylight, one by one 
the stars light in the heavens, the rosy moon climbs over 
the tree tops, and across the bay lamps are being lighted. 
We rest from our journey and all the world stops labor. 
All is quiet save the ocean which never rests, but night 
and day, years, centuries and aeons continues its battle 
with the shore. 
(Note—Next week the article will deal with one or 
more spots of beauty which have been touched upon only 
in a general way.) 
PURCHASED BY A, W. PRESTON, AT SWAMPSCOTT., 
