Identifier: zigzagjourneysin01butt (find matches)
Title: Zigzag journeys in the White city. With visits to the neighboring metropolis
Year: 1894 (1890s)
Authors: Butterworth, Hezekiah, 1839-1905
Subjects: World's Columbian Exposition (1893 : Chicago, Ill.)
Publisher: Boston, Estes and Lauriat
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

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the outlook from it commands the mostpicturesque waters in New England. The Kickemuit River is partic-ularly beautiful, seen from these flowery and orchard-shaded highlandson a mid-summer day. One of Massasoits Springs was on thisriver, and the great legend of the Northmen is connected with theMt. Hope Bay. We will give this legend later in verse. A ride ofa few miles, out of Bristol or Warren, would enable the visitor toRhode Island to view from these Back Road farms, or from Mt. Hope,the old Pokonoket country, which has the oldest traditional history inAmerica. Here it is supposed that the Northmen landed, and herecertainly is the ancient burying-grounds of the Indian race. Near THE FOLK-LORE SOCLE TVS QUEER STORIES. 85 Massasoit Spring in Warren, R. I., Roger Williams spent the famouswinter of his exile, intent on the problems of soul freedom, and theseparation of church and state. King Philip must have been a boythen. It is proposed to erect a memorial of Massasoit at this spring.
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UTAH STATE BUILDING. A very curious legend is associated with the Darby episode. Wedo not know how well it is founded, but we give it here: — The men whom he had deceived tarred and feathered him. Inthis disgraceful garment of woe, looking like a gigantic half-pluckedbird, he ran away, and found shelter for the night in the cellar of oneof the quiet farmsteads. The next morning the or0od woman of the house had occasion to 86 ZIGZAG JOURNEYS IN THE WHITE CITY. go down into the cellar. Her soap barrel, pork barrels, and probablycider barrels were there. A dark place is an old-time New England cellar,— dark and damp,with an earthy smell. Lights burned low there. Our good woman probably passed around the foundation walls ofthe great chimney, where was a flue for ashes, passed the potato-binsand turnip covers, and, with peering eyes, looked down on one of themany platforms for barrels. Cellars were haunted places. There was an awful story of awoman who murdered her husband, and hid his

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