Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1867-03-13
ae(iseellamu.
Down fsy the Sea.

There Is a lonely old house situated close
down by the sea. III one of the most seclud-
ci, yet lonely hooks, not far from one of
the most noted resorts on the seaboard an
old gray stone house, showing the marks OF
the many wild storms which have beat up
on il IN all the long wears which have
passed over it; house whose barreness
and desolation are enlivened but little bv
the heavy-trailing ivy which creeps over a
portion OF it, and in which many wild birds
build their nests Old as it is, it seems
never to have been nished.-rather to
have been left without any of the last
touches which complete building, and TO
have thus stood Tor many years, with the
wild winds and storms of the coast beating
against it. Here and there a shutter is
torn from it, hinges, and lies where it fell
under the window. The point is entirely
gone from cornice and coIonnade, and the
floor Of the latter, which had never been
painted, is old and worm-eaten The
grounds about are an intricate tangle of
bruShwood. Flowering shrubs which had
been planted here and there have grown
mp into wild and unshapely trees Rose
bushes and wild vines choke up the paths,
and the gates. and fences are broken and
diapidated. There l. one path, which
leads down to the beach which has been
kept open, and has, apparently been often
trodden; but apart from this there seems
to be- but little sign of life around the old
gray house. There j.. indeed one red
curtained window upon the side which
looks out to sea, and here bright light Is
alwav, burning al night. and all night, and
the sailors have learned to watch for it as
for signal and the place is known to
them a. the Lone-Star House Let us
watch around the house, and perhaps it
viii have story to tell.-such places often
DO have lonely and deserted as they seem
stories often full enough of human love and
heart-brcak. 1t looks as though it might
be haunted" say the gay parties who ride
by it from the fashionable resort few
miles away Yes. and there Is no doubt
but what it l.
til houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses Through the open doors
Fnantom~ unseen upon their err;tnds glide
With feet that make no noise upon the floors
II l. growing sunset now. and the sky is
hlo>soming most @loriouslv with many
colored clouds, a. out Of the door of the old
house a woman glideS and takes the beaten
path to the beach. y great rough and
shaggy dog follows her, and the two to-
gether walk thouehttully along. They go
down where the great waves are tumbIine
and tossing upon the rocks. and pace rap
idly up and down the shore, looking far
out over the green waters with their fleecv
crowns of foam. She Is a woman of mid
dIe-age, verging near upon forty. one would
say, tall, and straight as an arrow, with
large. untathomable gray eyes and mass
i've coronal of glossy hair, streaked here
and there with gray. She wears a cheap,
dark dress but She has handsome scarlet
shawl around her shoulders, of the most
superb tint OF which You can conceive :;
and >he looks like a woman who would
love rich and gorgeous colorng; and, in
deed. it * one of her passions In dra-
pcries, in articles of dress where such
colors are admissible. and more than all in
flowers and leaves, she loves the deepest
and richest tints. Every nig ght the sunset
i a revelation to her. She studies the
gorgeous castles and cathedrals of gold,
which are builded In the western heavens
with glory which the temple of Solomon
could never attain and she watches, from
her little turret window up in the old gray
house yonder, every morning for the rising
of the great high-priest in his garments
resplendent. There was, indeed, some
thing warm and rich and tropical in her
blood, albeit 1t sprung from the cold New
England fount. She reminded one, as
much anything. Of
' The wondrous valley hidden in the depths of Glou-
Full OF plants which love the summer blooms of
warmer attitudes.
Where the Arctic birch is broided by the tropics
And the sver-starred magnolia lights the twilight
of the pines
She walks upon the beach till the sunset
has burned low in the red west, and then
takes the path back to the house When
about halfway across the garden, she
turns off a little from the main patti, and
putting back the bushes with her hands,
makes her way for few PAGES and stops
a little grave,-a child's grave,-tufted
thick with purple pansies, sprinkled with
white daisies. She sits down for moment
beside it. plucks one or two spires of grass
which have sprung up among the flowers,
then hurriedly leaves it, calling her dog
after her, and going into the house, where
the light soon shines in the seaward- looking
window The woman's name is Agnes