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Mr. Dana and Mr. Brackett had rooms in the old tavern on the south side of Pigeon Cove Harbor, then kept by William Norwood, Jr. Mr. Bryant sojourned in the "Old House" with John Wheeler, at that time its owner. In later summers Mr. Dana chose the "Old House" as his tarrying place, the seaside inn having been discovered and occupied by families from one neighborhood in Boston. Mr. Bryant soon bought a seashore home, near Flushing, on Long Island, and did not again visit Pigeon Cove. Mr. Dana continued his visits a few seasons, and then built a summer house for himself on the south shore of our Cape, within the limits of Manchester. Though both were in manner reserved and retiring, they yet crossed the thresholds of some of the homes in the village, and of others sequestered in the woods near the village, and so discoursed with the inmates of these abodes that their words are still recalled and repeated with pride and pleasure. A chance meeting with Mr. Dana on a fair day in the shade of the pines, or on a stormy day on the shore of the sea, was a benediction; for, in either case, in choice words and pleasant tones he interpreted the look and voice of Nature. Listening to his talk of Washington Allston, after the going down of the sun till into the morning hours of one and two, was an experience of deepest and most enchanting entertainment. A starry summer night with a poet whose " temples, wan and gray," had long worn a glorious crown,

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with a sage of song, telling the rare story of the great artist, cannot pass from the memory into the realm of things forgotten. The low room in the "Old House," dimly lighted by a wick soon to flicker in the socket and go out, was illumined in such wise that there was no need of lamp or taper to lend it radiance.

One selection from Mr. Dana's poems will not be here out of place. It shall be

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The boat goes tilting on the waves;

The waves go tilting by ;

There dips the duck, ― her back she laves; O'erhead the sea-gulls fly.

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She smiles; thou need'st must smile on her;
And, see, beside her face

A rich, white cloud that doth not stir.
What beauty and what grace!

And pictured beach of yellow sand,
And peaked rock and hill,
Change the smooth sea to fairy land.
How lovely and how still!

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The number of summer visitors so increased, that Mr. Norwood left the tavern on the south side of the Cove, and opened a house in a pleasanter situation, six hundred yards up the ascent, on the north side. At first he and his accomplished wife had rooms for a few families only; for their house was but of the common style in New England, fifty and sixty years ago: square, with large chimneystack in the centre, roof front and rear sloping

from the chimney to the eaves equally, and the front entrance between the two front rooms. But this house was enlarged to accommodate newcomers with the old, till it became the building of many gables which we see in our artist's representation. After Mr. Norwood's death, Mrs. Norwood remained in it many years as the hostess still, successfully fulfilling the duties of her place, and winning the respect and commendation of the large number from all quarters of the land who tried the comfort and entertainment of her homelike abode.

Several other homes of the neighborhood also entertained strangers; so that Pigeon Cove, though not departing from simple, unfashionable ways, donned a habit somewhat new, and became widely known as a watering-place.

Gentlemen, whether with or without families, came to Pigeon Cove, not to waste their substance. and wear their life out in excesses and follies, but for rest and quiet and healthful pastimes; for ocean-view and seaside ramble; for good air from over the brine, and healing whiffs from the balsamic pines; and for all the pure and sweet pleasures which can be had where rural and marine attractions and charms are so singularly and happily brought together. Clergymen and many of their intimate friends were accustomed to spend their summer vacations here. They came from all the Christian communions; but to dwell to

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