And now to Marblehead, by road or by rail as one chooses. Perhaps the pleasantest route is from Lynn or Salem by electric car. By either route, the ride is a pleasure, and although little remains to tell of Agnes in her girlhood, there is much that is quaint and picturesque; and to visit the old town is well worth one’s time. Arrived at Marblehead, the visitor walking down the main road to Orne Street, and ascending the hill to the old burying-ground, will see by the wayside the old houses, “set catty-cornered,” as the quaint old saying is, and the bright gardens. Now upstairs and now down run the streets, and likely enough the visitor will meet “many an old Marbleheader,” pictures in themselves. [Illustration] [Illustration] Just where the road turns to skirt the burying-ground at the left, is Moll Pitcher’s house. Whittier draws the portrait of our New England witch in one of his poems, handling her no more gently than he does her fellow-townsman, old Floyd Ireson. This house is the home of her youth; as a witch, she flourished in Lynn. I have often heard stories of her predictions, and one of my cherished possessions is a small square of yellow quilted silk, which once formed a part of Moll’s brave array. Across the way stood the Fountain Inn. Here, upon its site, and overlooking the harbor, are two cottages, in front of which is the well of the old hostelry, from whence Agnes drew the draught of water which she offered to Sir Harry. This fountain has been recently brought to light, and still refreshes the traveller as of yore. Beneath the apple-trees which shade it is found a restful seat, from which one may look out over a scene of singular beauty. As often as one looks upon this scene, it meets the eye with an added charm. We little realize the beauty of our sea. In summer time it is ofttimes as blue as the waters of the Mediterranean, a dark, intense blue, broken by purple patches, by beautiful streaks of emerald, dotted with warm, glowing rocks, and accentuated by snowy, foaming breakers. Below the hill, to the left, are some fishermen’s huts, surrounded by nets, drying in the sunshine, boats ashore, old lobster-pots, and anchors, all in picturesque confusion, ready to be sketched and painted. Away up above the well and the cottages, is the old burying-ground, with restful benches here as well. Here, one can look across the little harbor to old Fort Sewall, and here, just at the base of the fort, so says Mr. Bynner, is the probable site of the home of Agnes Surriage. [Illustration]