The Sunday herald and weekly national intelligencer., 1891-08-02
ALONG THE NORTH SHORE.
RAMBLE AMONG SOME QUAINT
OLD PURITAN TOWNS.
The Easy Going shopkeepers of Marble
head and the Haunted Houses of
Salem-Beverly Farms Where Anglo
maniacs Rust in Solemn Style.
Correspondence of THE SUNDAY HERAnD.


Correspondence OF THE SUNDAY HERALD.
BEVERLY, MASS, July 31.--The ''North
Shore" to any ordinary American, suppose,
might call up visions of the bleak coast Of
Labrador, or be dimly associated in his mind
with the chilly islands of Baf1ins Bay. But
he who has the good fortune to be born an
American extraordinary, otherwise Boston
ian, knows that the "North Shore'' means
that part of Massachusetts Bay which lies
North of the Hub. 1t means to him the cool,
green simmer of the sea that he can reach by
an hours ride from the gilded dome of the
State House. 1t means Revere, the Coney
Island of Boston, where he may bathe in the
finest surf that breaks along the coast; where
he may sit upon hotel piazzas and drink cool
ing beverages, and watch the shining water
and, yes, unbutton his coat and waistcoat, if
he is the manner of man that requires that
license. 1t means Salem, the quaint, with
seven gabled houses galore, and legions Of
dark, witch-famed spots. 1t means Marble
head and Beverly, and all "the rock bound
coast" All of which may prove that the
modern Athenian takes somewhat provincial
view of the "North Shore,'' but no one can
deny that it Is charming one.
Marblehead is, perhaps, the quaintest of the
North Shore towns. There it is that no one
but native can, by any chance, succeed in
coming out at any point other than the one
where he started, or another exactly like it.
There it is that the inhabitants get sad
opinions of mankind, seeing them with dis
torted forms and grimacing faces, and all
because the Marblehead window panes are of
uneven glass. There it is that the stranger,
attempting to shop at noon is met by bolted
doors, and the fnformation that Mr.. Grimes
the storekeeper, has gone home to dinner and
won't be back until-such time as his repast
may be properly digested, the patient waiter
finds. The people of the neighboring towns,
influenced doubtless by jealousy Of some of
Marblehead's superior attractions in other re-
spects, mock at the towns lack of sidewalks,
and say that the true tMarbleheader'' never
walks anywhere but in the middle of the
street Across the harbor, the famous yacht
race track, lies "Marbehead Neck" with
hotels and summer houses One reaches it by
means of small but loud ferry boat from
fuckers Wharf-a ramshackle landing among
the old warehouses, to which one descends by
rlckety pair of stairs, Captain Tucker, the
jolly old tar who owns and mans the little
boat, is the most bronZed, most wrinkled
most twinkling- eyed and white bearded salt
on all the coast. To see him in the midst of
the most inland city would be to have Whit
OF salt air, and sight of the weather beaten,
unsightly old buildings on the pier. To hear
him speak would bring back again the splash
OF waves against the wharf, the drip of spark
ling drops from some uplifted oar the sound
nf waters rushing together behind his shrill
little ferry boat. On the "Neck'' are rocks
and cliffs where the sea foams between the
sides of a narrow cleft, and reyerberates in
hollow caverns. There are summer villas with
trim parks and lawns, whose we'll kept,
modish air is forever looking scorn upon the
crooked streets and rambling houses OF the old
town.
Bye and bye we come to Salem, city OF
witches and old Colonial mansions, where we
almost look to see the portly form Of the first
Governor come forth and move splendidly
among the trembling townsfolk. But a being
yet more imposing issues from the heavy door
way and moves toward the waiting carriage
my lady, with slightly uplifted chin and
naughty stare through her lorgnette After
all, the Governors dignity would pale before
that. we peer among the side streets, where
the gabled houses stand, and look for the
flower face OF Phoebe of the Seven Gables.
But all the fresh young faces, alack belong
so unmistakably to the year of grace 1891
that we give up the search and remember that
Phoebe and the artist and the ancient cousins
all sleep in some Salem graveyard. Our
guides show us few haunted houses, the
cross roads where some benefactor was
hanged, or some suicide lies buried, and we
shuddered appreciatiYely. But it is a relief
to come into the hustle and noise of modern
Salem with its stores and shoppers and iang-
ling horse car bells.
Across the river lies Beverly, fair old
town that was once a part of Salem. The
SlliOulNlt6 toll Vi bOlue uOleBck soul who
prayed that its name might be changed to
"Budleigh"-''a market towne in Devonshire,
and neere unto the sea as we are in this place,
and where myself was borne.' But the
powers that We're did not hear his prayer, and |
the Devon man did not succeed In getting a |
namesake for the English town "neere unto |
the sea-" But it is good TO know that our |
Puritan fathers could know the pangs of |
homesiekness. Near the station are those |
blots on the landscape which denote the march |
of progress-tall factories. Farther in are |
dwellings standing close to the sidewalk as in
the days when the fathers crowded together |
for defense against their Indian foes. Down
by the sea are pretty cottages and substantial
mansions, elm-surrounded and ne-adorned.
Here is curious wooden structure raised
few feet above the earth eolored gray by rain
and wind. The eYer-ready inhabitant informs
us that this is ''iish fake' where the fisher
men dry maekerel and cod. We Immediately
become aware of ''hshy'' odor, and escape
the neighborhood, Down there is gTim-look-
ing brick warehouse of ancient date. In rev
olutionary days, We are informed, sugar was
stored therein by merchants who refused to
received the currency Of the new government
IN payment Whereupon the women of
Beverly, arming themselves with brooms and
ranlra ral,,7 7,4l..,