These bits of wrack and waste, mingled with sun-whitened seaweed and eel-grass, imparted to the classic shores that indescribably marine flavor which is an everlasting memory to each wandering son and daughter of the coast of Maine. The faint odor of tar, the subtle aroma of dripping kelp, the mingled bouquet of various submarine growths and shore-born things have followed these far-wandering nomads to the uttermost parts of the earth.

She hated every evidence of feminine weakness or gentleness, scorned the pretty arts of needlework, and commented with acerbity on the dress and manners of the village maids… “Their riggin’ costs more than the hull”…