has been haunted by a sort of ill-luck. It has never
been able to make the best of itself. There was a time when its harbour
bade fair to rival the harbour of New York, and when its inhabitants
fondly believed that all the great ships of the world would find refuge
under the splendid shadow of Rhode Island. And when this hope was
disappointed for ever, Newport still possessed in herself all the
elements of beauty. Whatever exquisite colour and perfect situation
could give, was hers. What more can the eyes of man desire than green
lawns and an incomparable sea? And there lies the old town to link the
prosperity of to-day with the romance of yesterday. And there grow in
wild profusion the scented hedges of honeysuckle and roses. And all of
no avail. The early comers to Newport, it is true, understood that a
real cottage of wood was in harmony with the place. They built their
houses to the just scale of the landscape, and had they kept their
own way how happy would have been the result! But beauty gave way to
fashion; wealth usurped the sovereignty of taste; size was mistaken for
grandeur,--in a word, the millionaire disfigured Newport to his whim.

And so it ceased to be a real place. It became a mere collection of
opposing mansions and quarrelsome styles. If the vast "cottages," which
raise their heads higher and higher in foolish rivalry, were swept away,
no harm would be done. They are there by accident, and they will last
only so long as a wayward fashion tolerates their presence. Battery,
on the other hand, cannot be abolished by a caprice of taste. It is a
village which has its roots in the past, and whose growth neither wealth
nor progress has obscured. Above all, it possesses the virtue, great
in towns as in men, of sincerity. It has not cut itself loose from
its beginnings; its houses belong harmoniously to itself; and it has
retained through two centuries the character of the old colonial days.
Nor is it without an historical importance. Great names cling about it.
The men of Battery fought on many a hard-won field against French and
Indians, and, retired though it be from the broad stream of commerce and
progress, it cannot dissipate the memory of loyal devotion to the crown
and of military glory.

Its hero is Sir William Pepperell, soldier and merchant, whose thrift
and prowess were alike remarkable. The son of a Tavistock fisherman, who
pursued fortune in the New World with equal energy and success, he still