14 NORTH SHORE BREEZE and Reminder 
the rugged old North Shore highway from Boston in a 
stage coach. The modern ‘‘summer resident’’ rides to 
his ‘‘dilatory domicile,’ more often than otherwise, in 
his private car costing a small fortune with all the 
attendant luxuries for travel. 
Such captains of industry of the country as the 
railroad magnate, Judge W. H. Moore of New York; 
Washington B. Thomas, head of the sugar corporation ; 
Henry Clay Pierce, the St. Louis wire and oil magnate ; 
Mrs. E. C. Swift, widow of one of the founders of the 
ereat meat corporation; Wm. M. Wood, head of the 
American Woolen Company; F. L. Higginson, R. T. 
Paine, Jr., Wm. Stewart and John T. Spaulding, Mrs. 
Lucius Manlius Sargent, daughter of T. Jefferson Cool- 
idge of Boston, are names to conjure with in the 
country’s industrial, social and philanthropical prog- 
ress. They are all located today on Paine Place, Pride’s 
Crossing, the former Isaac Prince farm. $6000 would 
not buy a house lot even of the city size on Paine 
place today. Mansions and estates valued at millions 
distinguish the modern Paine Place. Its entrance is 
opposite the most unassuming Pride’s depot. Hand- 
some, carved stone pillars head the entrance to Paine 
Place. Beautiful rhododendron bordered walks, con- 
crete drives, sylvan loveliness, vistas of sea and beach 
together with the wonderful gardens of the estates in 
all their floral beauty, all combine to make it an ideal - 
summer locality. 
The great show place of all the Beverly resorts is 
the H. C. Frick mansion at Pride’s. This annually 
proves a special point of interest to all tourists.. Mr. 
‘rick developed his estate in the beginning from the 
estate of Dr. Russell Tyson of Chicago. He enlarged 
his holdings until the estate embraces many acres on 
both sides of the street. ‘‘Hagle Rock,’’ as it is called, 
embodies all the luxuries, up-to-date arrangements, etc., 
that millions can provide. So long as ‘‘Hagle Rock’’ 
exists in Pride’s, Beverly will be justly famous as the 
ideal home for multi-millionaires of whom Mr. Frick 
is one of Beverly’s most enthusiastic and loyal admirers 
of her scenic and health-giving attributes. 
The names mentioned in this article are but a par- 
tial list of the numerous distinguished people, who have 
sought out Beverly and made her such a noteworthy 
and valuable city in national history. Diplomatic and 
social Washington is practically now transported to 
Beverly and her neighboring shores each season. To- 
gether with her other prominent representatives from 
the leading social centers of the country Beverly has a 
distinction all her own. It is not a passing one but as 
in the past a historical one. Beverly indeed owes 
much to her pioneer summer residents from Boston. 
Cape Ann as a Tourists’ Haven 
A Walk Along the Coast 
BY W. LESTER STEVENS 
OW many thousands and perhaps millions of years 
the conflict between the persistent sea and the stolid 
rocky shore has been going on only the Creator knows. 
And how many races of man will come and go witnessing 
the eternal warfare, our imaginations are too feeble to 
tell. 
It is but a yesterday in the calendar of the ages hardy 
Norsemen heard the mad sea thunder against the inmov- 
able cliffs, it is but an hour since Captain John Smith, 
Champlain and Captain Kidd became spectators of the 
grand battle, and yet each hour has seen some advantage 
to the sea. A pebble torn loose from the cliffs, a wound or 
fisstire slowly . growing larger, are trophies of the 
conflict. Stubborn as may be the resistance of the bold 
shore, yet slowly and ceaselessly the mighty onslaught 
of the sea is ever carving the rocks into fantastic and 
curious shapes and ever wearing them away. 
To witness that battle and to behold the wonders that 
the seas of ages have performed we take a trolley to 
East Gloucester and thence by foot journey to Eastern 
point, prepared for a day’s outing along the coast. 
On the extreme point is Mother Ann. This curious 
natural stone carving as of a woman half reclining, sug- 
gests a female Prometha, who for some unforgivable 
crime against the Gods has been doomed to be chained at 
the edge of the sea for an eternity while the surfs are ever 
biting and chafing against her ankles. 
It is a curious formation of rock with almost a sug- 
gestion of the supernatural; and still it is not as beautiful 
as it is unusual. Immovable, silent, awesome, even grand, 
but withal painfully cruel. 
We leave Ann to her solitude and pass by a lagoon 
separated by only a narrow strip of land from the ocean 
and soon come to the rock strewn coast of Bass Rocks. 
There are no Mother Anns or other curious carvings 
here, but there is beauty in every ledge and _ boulder. 
Here is a moss-covered ledge, gray and green and here 
one of a burnt sienna color while near-by is a boulder of 
yellow ochre color. How beautiful are the colors of the 
rocks. No paints that come in tubes can do them full 
justice. , 
It is calm today, but the rocks are nevertheless on 
their guard, waiting for the sea to again muster her 
forces for another onslaught. 
A walk along the rocks brings us within a short time to 
Little Good Harbor beach with the marshes nearby and 
the woods as a background, and at Long Beach we find 
the same scenery. Creeks winding among the marshes 
with serpentine coils lazily empty into the ocean. Over- 
head the gulls sail in silent flight and crows “caw” as 
they circle to their nests in the pine trees beyond the 
marshes. What places of beauty these woods can reveal. 
to us will necessitate a visit some other day. 
We have crossed the beach and are now on the focky 
moor off the coast of which are the islands which Cap- 
tain John Smith called the “Three Turks,” to commemor- 
ate a battle years before with three Ottomen. ‘They are 
called today Thatcher’s, Milk and Straitsmouth islands. 
Thatcher’s was named after Anthony Thatcher, a resident 
of Marblehead, who was shipwrecked with several others 
on the rocks of the island in the year 1635 (The story is 
interestingly told in the History of the Town of Rock- 
port). Milk island was so named because cattle were 
formerly pastured there and Straitsmouth, because of its 
location. 
One would never associate piracy with Milk island 
and yet legends tell us that either here or on the very moor 
over which we walk is buried the treasure of Captain 
Kidd which he never reclaimed. Search has been made, 
