4 NORTH SHORE BREEZE and Reminder 
a feeling of sympathy? Do not the mosses which cling to 
the roofs of these old houses always make them seem 
objects of reverence? 
To the left and right as we follow the land are 
broad fields dotted with stacks of new mown hay and 
we feel like scattering dignity to the four winds, and toss 
and turn and somersault in the haycocks. Our picture 
is completed by a load of hay approaching us, behind 
which a herd of cattle follow, nibbling what falls off 
behind. 
Still following the lane it is not long before we come 
to a path which leads to 
SprucE Hut 
which did not receive its name from the specie of trees 
which grow there, they being all hemlock and _ beech. 
No more beautiful place exists on Cape Ann, or for 
that matter, for many miles. In the peaceful hush and 
awesome grandeur one feels a something that words can- 
not express. ‘The gnarled grotesque shapes of the tree 
trunks, the lichen-covered boulders with clinging ivy run- 
ning over them, the very stillness! What words can de- 
scribe? That which makes it deepest impress cannot be 
expressed; the sublimities of nature one can only appre- 
ciate through feeling. But if words could describe, then 
the words of Bryant would apply to the feelings engen- 
dered by this grove: 
The groves were God’s first temples 
Ere man learn to hew the shaft and lay the 
architrave 
And spread the roof above them, 
Ere he framed the lofty vault to gather 
and roll back the sound of Anthems 
In the darkling woods 
Amongst the cool and silence 
He knelt down and offered to the Mightiest 
Solemn thanks and supplication. 
Relucantly we leave the woods and once more we 
enter the path. Retracing our steps for a short distance 
we cross over a wall.and stand for a moment on the 
Sprit Rock 
from which is a varied vista of field, woods and lanes 
bounded by stone walls. Following the path we cross 
another lane and enter the Beech Grove cemetery. We 
have no sense of depression for this burial ground is so 
beautiful with its shade tfees that it seems like an Elysian 
field where meet the paths of yesterday and unborn to- 
morrow. ‘The cemetery is situated on a hill at the base of 
which is a beautiful pond “placid as a mirror” and stretch- 
ing away to the southwest is a broad meadow. ‘Through 
this flows a brook near whose edges are brakes and reeds 
swinging back and forth in the breeze. Cattle are drink- 
ing from the brook and flitting around them are cow birds. 
The whole reminds one of a painting by Van Marcke or 
‘Troyon. 
Following along a road built across these marshes we 
pass through a typical New England farm yard (Over- 
look arat with its rocky pasture surrounding. Stone 
walls follow at the sides of rutted roads and under shady 
oaks and lead to the swinging gate which may be found 
in every New England village. 
are once more in the street (High street) one of the many 
shaded streets of the town. 
Varied as has been the picture it has caused us to 
appreciate more than ever that there are 
Tongues in trees, 
Sermons in stones, 
Books in running brooks, 
And good in everything, 
for those who care to listen to the sermons or read the 
open page of nature. 
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