which the ocean for
ages had been rounding into perfect shape. This they did before they
went to Norman's Woe to enjoy, with a party of friends, an old-fashioned
picnic. While sitting on the rocks at Norman's Woe, Tom, at Bessie's
request, recited The Wreck of the Hesperus. She could never think of the
one without the other, the poet had so immortalized it.

They had several yacht sails, one day going as far as Marblehead Neck,
where they landed, and enjoyed the hospitality of the Club House. Their
swift return to Manchester in less than an hour's time was a great
pleasure. But the days were going, and they were yet to go round the
Cape. The day that was finally set for this purpose proved to be one of
the loveliest of the season. By nine o'clock they were driving through
the Manchester woods, where every now and then the sweet wild roses
greeted them by the roadside. As Mrs. Gordon looked in among the stately
pines she felt as never before the steady friendship of nature. The
thought rested her. These old trees were as true to her to-day as they
were years ago. She soon saw in the distance on Graves' Beach the house
which the poet Dana, as one of the first summer residents, had built
some forty years ago. This was still in the Dana name, and the one near
it was the summer-house of the poet's grandson and his wife, the
daughter of Longfellow.

Later they passed the Manchester poorhouse, with its good ocean-view,
and caught a glimpse of Baker's island. When they came to a small pond
by the roadside, separated from the salt water by only a narrow strip of
land, Mrs. Gordon recalled how, when it was owned by the town (it now
belonged to the Jefferson Coolidge estate), she and her brother used to
gather its pond-lilies with the pink-tinted leaves. They were thought to
be extra fine. Just before they reached the Crescent beach in Magnolia,
they saw among the trees on the right the summer home of James Freeman
Clarke. After pausing for a good look at Magnolia with its Hesperus, its
Sea-View hotels, and its pretty cottages in the distance, and passing
the boundary stone between Manchester and Gloucester, they found
themselves in the Gloucester woods. They drove leisurely along to enjoy
their fragrance. They passed the swamp where the magnolia plant grows,
away from its Virginia home. Bessie, the day before, had seen for the
first time in her life, in a garden in the village, its white fragrant
blossoms on a plant which had s