tocracy of Salem, having lost their occupations, while the younger and more active generation, like so many of their neighbors along these coasts, have taken to shoemaking and other industries. The population is standing almost still at twenty-eight thousand. The most noted man of Salem was George Peabody, born in the suburb of Danvers, and his remains rest here. This suburb changed its name to Peabody, and in the Peabody Institute, which he founded there, Queen Victoria's portrait, her gift to him, is kept as a sacred relic. Among other prominent natives of Salem have been General Putnam, Nathaniel Bowditch, William H. Prescott, and Nathaniel Hawthorne.

The East India Marine Hall is the most noted institution of Salem-a fine building on Essex Street, filled with a valuable Oriental collection gathered during the many voyages made by the mariners of the town, and also having a Natural History Museum, showing the development of animal life. In the Essex Institute is contained the original charter given by King Charles I. to the colony of Massachusetts Bay. There is also carefully kept near by the original "First Church," built in 1634 (for the organization formed in 1629), and of which Roger Williams was the pastor before the Puritans banished him. When the expanding congregation afterward built a larger church, this curious little house, with its high-pointed roof, diamondpaned windows, and gallery, which is revered as the shrine of Salem, was removed to its present place, and is carefully preserved. In Essex Street is also the old "Roger Williams House," a quaint, low-roofed structure, with a little shop in front, which has acquired additional fame as a relic of the witchcraft days, for in it was held the court that tried the witches who were afterward taken to the baretopped Gallows Hill, on the outskirts of the town, to be put to death. This witchcraft delusion began in the Danvers suburb in 1692, and it soon overran most of New England. During more than a year the persecutions continued,

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and nineteen proven witches were put to death, while one, under the ancient English law, was pressed to death for standing mute when told to plead. Old Cotton Mather, the zealous historian and divine, was among the leaders in the movement against the witches, and when the frenzy was at its height a large part of the Salem people fled in panic from the town.

THE EXTREMITY OF THE CAPE.

Beyond Salem harbor the north shore stretches far away toward the north-east down the cape, with its oldfashioned fishing-towns in a transition state under the modern stimulus of Boston villa-life, that brings in all kinds of strange architecture to enhance the picturesqueness of Beverly and Manchester-by-the-Sea. The oldtime trawlers and harpoon-men and skippers of Cape Ann are agog at the change made in most things here by this recent invasion of fashion and artistic building, though they don't object to the way in which it has put up the price of town-lots beyond anything ever imagined even in the best days of the fisheries. At Beverly lived Nathan Dane, the eminent New England jurist.whose memory is preserved in Dane Hall, the Harvard Law School. Beverly also, in these degenerate days for the fishermen, keeps in the swim by giving much attention to shoemaking. The magnificent headlands and splendid beaches of this coast have been making it more and more attractive to the summer visitor, so that it is spotted with clusters of villas. Crags overhang and rocks encompass them about, while behind, the land rises into the dreary hills making the backbone of the peninsula, which is well called “the ridge of rocks and roses," terminating in the gaunt headland of Cape Ann. This cape is a mass of sienite, forming low hills, over the surface of which the rock is generally exposed to view, the fields being strewn with boulders, many of large size, while beds of pure white sand inter

1

vene. There are quarries worked, and the sand and granite are extensively exported, much of the latter coming to Philadelphia for paving.

It is among these granite rocks of the cape, deeply indented, about four miles south-west of its extremity, that we find the harbor of the chief New England fishing-port -Gloucester. This well-protected and capacious harbor is safe in all weathers and easy of access, having a sufficient depth to float the largest vessels. Its inmost recesses are guarded by Ten-Pound Island, and it is usually filled with fishing-smacks. There are twenty-five thousand people living here, but the prevalent odor of salt fish has not prevented the fashionable invasion of villas and summerhouses that is such a conspicuous feature throughout the north shore. Yet, unlike so many of the other places, Gloucester has not been led away from the fisheries by the tempting allurements of Massachusetts shoemaking. It sturdily clings to its cod and mackerel trades, and is by far the leading port in the number of its fishermen and vessels and the value of the catch, while its manufactures are almost entirely confined to articles pertaining to the fisheries. It has seventy wharves and six marine railways. In the compactly built and handsome town surrounding the harbor and among the adjacent granite hills are concocted shrewd methods of securing fish despite the international entanglements of the vexing fishery question. But this fascinating trade is full of dangers, and Gloucester loses many lives and vessels every year, so that it has the fatal celebrity of containing the largest population of widows and orphans of any city in the United States. It was here in 1713 was built the first vessel of the favorite American rig known as the schooner, a class of easy navigation now making up the largest portion of our merchant marine. It has always been a great school for the sailor, and the tone and temper of its people show that it hopes to keep on with the fisheries, come what may. Beyond this model

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fishery-town is the extremity of the cape, where the ponderous rocky buttresses have been broken down by the Atlantic to form another small but well-sheltered harbor. Upon its shores, at an elevation of about ninety feet above the sea and standing about six hundred yards apart, are the two fixed lights of Cape Ann, the well-known beacons marking the great headland thrust out into the ocean which makes the northern limit of Massachusetts Bay.

XXXI.

GOING DOWN EAST.

FOR a good while we have been steadily journeying toward the rising sun, and ever on the search for that mythical and elusive region known as "Down East." We of Philadelphia are accustomed to regard the land beyond New York as the veritable "Down East." But when we got among the Connecticut Yankee notions, and inquired if we were in the true locality, the people looked doubtful and pointed farther onward. Likewise in Massachusetts we are still chasing the golden treasures underlying the end of the brilliant rainbow arch, for the natives look wise and tell us the true "Down East" is still farther toward

the rising sun. Now we pass beyond the great headland of Cape Ann, yet bent upon the search: it is beyond us. Samuel Adams Drake tells of putting the momentous question to a Maine fisherman who was getting up his sail on the Penobscot: "Whither bound?" Promptly came back the answer: "Sir, to you-Down East." This mythical land we thus ever pursue, and it ever eludes us; but enough has already been learnt on this tour to conclude that the true "Down East" must be far beyond the New

England border, and among the "Kanucks" and "Blue Noses" of the Canadian maritime provinces.

Resuming the Eastern journey beyond Cape Ann, we cross the broadening North River out of Salem, and pass among the wooden houses and shoe-factories of its ancient suburb of Beverly, with their environment of truck-gardens, and the high reservoir on the hill to the south-east, where Salem stores her water-supply drawn from Wenham Lake. This noted ice-producer, with its capacious icehouses, is near the railway, while upon the ocean front spread the splendid beaches of Beverly, Manchester, and Magnolia. Then we cross the valley of Ipswich River, with the pretty town covering both sloping banks, with scattered cottages among the foliage, and having the graveyard perched on the opposite hill-a region of green fields and prolific orchards, seeming almost like an oasis amid the desert of sands and rocks left behind us. Not far in the interior is the town of Andover, where the thrifty fathers of the Church, having bought the domain from the Indians' "for twenty-six dollars and sixty-four cents and a coat,” established the noted theological seminary of the Congregational Church, where its ablest divines have been taught in what has been called "the school of the prophets." Here on "Andover Hill" abstruse theology has been the ruling influence since the opening of this century, and intense religious controversies have been waged, some three thousand clergymen having been graduated. The seminary buildings, the local guide tells us, cause visitors to wonder "if orthodox angels have not lifted up old Harvard and Massachusetts Halls and carried them by night from Cambridge to Andover Hill." Ipswich, too, has its seminary, but it is for the opposite sex, although fully as noted. One reason we are told for the popularity of Ipswich Female Seminary is that it tends to soften the rigors of study, for this is the place "where Andover theological students are wont to take unto themselves wives of the daughters of the