ENVIRONS OF PROVINCETOWN.

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were unfurnished with tackle for capturing them. This deficiency has since been amply made up by their descendants; since, as Mr. Sumner informs us, "the American whale-fishery commenced at Cape Cod, where it was carried on entirely in boats, which put off whenever a signal was given, by persons on the look-out from an elevated station, that a whale was seen to blow." Occasionally they are even taken close on shore, and "the appearance of a whale in the harbour is the signal for a general stir among the five hundred graceful five-hand boats that line the circling shore of the Bay." The Pilgrims were equally unfortunate in not taking any cod, which is found in abundance outside the harbour, at the season of their arrival.

Provincetown is the last place upon the Cape. It is almost cut off from the world; the access by land being tedious and difficult, though a small steamer offers an easier communication with Boston during the summer months. Its single street of frame houses is built on sand, and overhung by sand, and approached by sand, and altogether has a wild, singular, out-ofthe-way appearance. Yet it is a thriving, enterprising, little place. Its hardy inhabitants are almost all fishermen or sailors, and their fishing boats are perfect models.

I spent the whole morning in a solitary ramble over the hills and glades behind Provincetown, which are in many places wild as when the adventurous feet of Standish and his companions first explored these recesses. Often losing sight of modern buildings, the sea alone was visible through the fringe of trees, and the scene was the same as when, two centuries ago, the whole of the northern states was a wilderness tenanted only by the roaming Indian, and when the lonely "Mayflower," bearing the seed of a mighty nation-a small band of English exiles, animated by religious enthusiasm-rounded the point, and found shelter for her precious freight in the calm waters of the harbour.

After fully satisfying my curiosity, I remounted the stage, and

retraced my way to Plymouth, sleeping the next night at Wellfleet. After supper, I observed a beautiful little girl about twelve, deeply engaged in the perusal of a book, which I asked her to allow me to look at, supposing it might be perhaps "Robinson Crusoe," or "Sandford and Merton," if not a work of a still more edifying tendency. But oh-Shades of the Pilgrims what was my consternation! when, with a beaming countenance, she presented me with the "Mysteries of Paris," exclaiming withal, "that it was a very pretty book, and had only one murder in it!" To the pure all things are pure, and it was evident this little creature could understand but a very small portion of this demoralizing production; but the incident showed how wide a revolution in the state of the community must have happened since the Pilgrim days.

The deep veneration with which every memorial of the Pilgrims is regarded by their descendants, has led to the erection of a building in which to preserve and hand them down to posterity. Accordingly, on the 1st of September, 1824, the corner-stone, containing historical inscriptions, of a building called "Pilgrim Hall," was laid at Plymouth with religious ceremonies. It is a plain, substantial structure, but the style is inappropriate, the portico being of Grecian Doric; and it is to be hoped that it may be hereafter replaced by an edifice in the architecture of the period. Within is a miscellaneous collection of articles, some having but little connexion with the Pilgrims; many, however, are genuine and interesting relics, and the chief of these we have here represented.

Before entering the Hall, it may be well to observe, that there has existed since 1769 the "Old Colony Club," who met annually to commemorate the landing of their forefathers, and promote social intercourse. They kept up their meetings till the stormy period of the Revolution, when political differences led, in the year 1773, to a dissolution of the Society. To this defunct