THE

stranger a barren and uninviting picture. Hemmed in on either side by low, rocky isles, studded with scraggy pines that have long defied old Atlantic's blasts, it must have been a dreary and disappointing sight, indeed, to the little band of voyagers who were seeking a home in the new world over two centuries ago. Many treacherous sand-bars reach out to the circuitous channel that extends seaward a mile or more, and numerous wrecks along shore bear evidence of their hidden dangers. Before the age of skilful pilots and steam fog-whistles, the mariner must have had a busy time with his lead in threading this watery pathway, unaided by a single sign or sound from shore. A few days' sojourn among the charming bays and inlets dispels all feelings of lonesomeness, and unfolds a scene of continued interest and keen enjoyment. On a pleasant morning, from the summit of any hilltop the view is delightful. Scores of crafts, from

Copyright, 1886, by Bay State Monthly Company. All rights reserved.

197

the saucy mackerel-catcher to the huge three-master, are leaving their anchorage under the shadows of Sequin, and the lofty white

shaft of the lighthouse above
looms clear and grand against the
sky. At the weirs along the river
fishermen are pulling in their nets,
which glimmer with their night's
catch. The bustling little tugs,
with half a dozen "icers" in tow,
are struggling nobly against the
tide. The merry shouts of bathers
on Popham beach mingle with the
roar and rush of the incoming tide.
The dark pine-clad hills trending
northward form a fitting back-
ground to the scene.
A fine gov-

ernment light on Pond
Island guards the en-
trance to the river.
The cliffs on the ocean
side are quite precipi-
tous, and rise to a
height of sixty feet,
over which the spray
is dashed in severe
storms. Why it was

named Pond Island has always been a mys-
tery, for the drinking-water even is caught
from the showers that fall upon the light-
keeper's roof. From the summit the island
slopes to the western shore, where a small
cove affords the only landing-place, and in
rough weather great skill is required in em-
barking safely. We were informed that
the island furnished pasturage sufficient
for one cow, but, from a close observation,
it was evident that she must be content
with two meals a day, or get an occasional
donation from the meadows on the main-

land. Twice a year the district inspector makes his rounds,

and, during the week previous to his visit, the entire family devote all their energy in scouring and polishing, until everything about the place, from the doorknob to the lenses, fairly sparkles with brilliancy. On these occasions, the light-keeper is seen in his best mood, and is the perfection of politeness and urbanity, for then a hope of reäppointment is betrayed in every movement. Across the channel, Stage and Salter's Islands, and the Georgetown shore, forms the eastern boundary of the river, and is the home of numerous camping and fishing parties during the summer. Here the artist may find many rare bits of picturesque scenery that are almost unknown. Further up the river, on the left, Hunnewell's Point with its magnificent beach stretches away for miles to the west. At its northern extremity stands Fort Popham, named

It was

after the first English explorer who visited the coast. erected some years ago, but has never been completed, and, as proven, the government saved money by neglecting it. Imposing and impregnable as it might have been then, it would now offer but a feeble resistance to the onslaught of modern naval warfare. Numerous pyramids of cannon balls are scattered about within the enclosure, and many old-fashioned guns have been rusting away in peace for the past decade. The interior of the fortress is grass-grown, and two lonesome sentinels in faded regalia guard this useless property, and draw their regular wages from generous Uncle Sam. They are very important in their manner, and allow no intruders on the premises. A few years ago two Harvard students ventured within the sacred walls, and one of them was fatally shot by the over-zealous officer. Popham Beach has become a favorite summer resort within the past few years, and boasts two hotels, and daily mails, and steamers to the outside world.

Fishing forms the chief industry among the natives, although, in years past, when the shipping of ice became extensive on the river, and brought immense numbers of vessels here, piloting at once became a great source of profit. In those days bright visions of wealth suddenly dazzled their eyes, but the bonanza soon faded, for the advent of the tug-boats dispelled their dream, and ruined their financial calculations. The fishing-smacks then tossed idly at their moorings for weeks at a time, and the straggling garden patches among the rocks passed unnoticed, while the owners were rowing seaward in search for incoming vessels. Oftentimes they embarked in their wherries soon after midnight,

and early morn found them five or six miles from shore. Everybody suddenly developed into an experienced navigator, and curious schemes were originated in the endeavor to outwit each other. This vocation is no longer profitable, and the natives have relapsed into their former monotony. So far away from the sound of a church-bell, it would be no easy matter to tell when the Sabbath morn arrives, were it not for the radical change that comes over these hardy 'longshoremen. The clatter and jingle of the ponderous family razor, as it flies back and forth on the timeworn strap suspended from the kitchen mantlepiece, is the first signal that ushers in the day. The change is an outward one at least, for then the "biled" shirt with high dickey, the long-tailed black coat, and ancient "stovepipe" take the place of the familiar reefer and sou'wester. The low hum of hymns is heard, and

refrains from "I want to be a Daniel" float out on the air.

Grad

ually increasing in volume and earnestness, the voices swell into a quaint and weird melody. From all directions small boats are crossing river and bay to the little red school-house at Popham. Moved, we confess, more by curiosity than by any thirst for religious consolation, we joined the procession. Gathered within

the cheerless room, unadorned, save here and there by wretchedly-executed prints of early patriots who would scarcely be recognized by their own friends, old and young alike presented a distressed and penitent appearance.

All thoughts of the beautiful world outside were overshadowed by the feelings of doubt and fear within. In the absence of a regular preacher, each one, beginning with the eldest and grayest of the flock, poured out a pitiful story of

sins, and prayed for strength to

guide their uncertain steps. The lamentations grew louder and stronger, and the tears flowed fast and free, and the little ones shook with fear at the dismal picture unfolded to their already terrified minds. Finally, overcome by their highly-wrought excitement, they subsided into a prolonged and painful silence, broken only by sobs and moans. Passing out from the dismal service to the green meadows that stretch away to the sea, our little party gave a sigh of relief, and the air seemed purer, and the sky brighter than ever. On our return we passed one of the worst self-accused sinners busily hauling in the cast catch from his weir along the shore. Tears still stood upon his furrowed cheeks, while religiously apologizing for his seeming wickedHis excuses were lavish with regret, but we could but feel that his sincerity was less than his love of the mighty dollar.

ness.

A few years ago the natives were thrown into a state of the greatest excitement by the discovery of valuable deposits of feldspar on one of their rocky farms. The news spread quickly along the river, and the presence of capitalists in their midst lent ad