The Middlebury register. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1850-1882, 1867-03-26
MISCELLANY.
From Northern Lights.
DOWN BY THE SEA.

| stCiuucb, 1ct iOOhS, nOt
one of the most noted resorts on the sea-
board; an old gray stone house, showing
the marks of the many wild storms which
have beat upon it in all the long years
which have passed over it; house
whose barrenncss and dcsolation are en-
livened but little by the heavy trailing IVY
which creeps over portion OF it, and in
which many wild birds build their nests.
Old as it is, it seems never to have
been finished, rather to have been left
without any of the last touches which
complete building, and TO have thus
stood for many years, with the wild
winds and storms of the coast beating
against it. Here and there shutter is
torn from its hinges, and lies where it fell
under the window. The point IS entirely
gone from cornice and collonade, 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. Flowcring shrubs, which
had been planted here and there, have
grown up into wild and unshapely trees.
Rose bushes and wild vines choke up the
paths, and the gates, and fences are
broken and dilapidated. There is one
path, which leads down to the beach,
which has been kept open, and has, ap-
parently, been often trodden; but apart
from this there seems 10 be hut little sign
OF life around the old gray house. There
is, indeed, one red.curtained window
upon the side which looks out to sea, and
here a bright light is always burning at
night, and all night, and the sailors have
learned to watch for il as for signal
and the place is known to them us the
Lone Star House. Let us watch around
the house, and perhaps it will have a
story TO tell, such places often do have,
lonely and deserted iss they seem stories
often full enough of human love and
heart. break at looks as though it
might be haunted say the gay parties
who ride by it from the fashionable resort
II few miles away. Yes, and there is no
doubt but what it is.
"All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses. Through the opon doors
Phantums unseen upon their erTands glide
With icet that make no noise upon the floors"
1t is growing sunset now, and the sky
is blossoming most eloriously with many
colored clouds, as out of the door of the
old house II woman glidcs and takes the
beaten path TO the beach. A great rough
and shaggy dog follows her, and the two
together walk thoughttully along. They
20 down where the great waves are
lumbllng and tossing upon the rocks and
pace rapidly up and down the shore,
looking far out over the green waters
with their feccy crowns of foam. She is
II woman of middle age, vcrging Lear
upon forty, one would say, tail, and
straight as an arrow, with large, unfath-
omablc gray eyes and "A massive coronal
Of glossy hair, strcaked here and there
with gray. She wears a cheap, dark
dress but she has a handsome scarlet
shawl around her shoulders, OF the most
superb tint of which you can conceivc
and she looks like Il woman who you'd
love rich and gorgeous coloring AMI,
indeed, it is one of her passions. In dra
pcrics, IN articles of dress where such
colors are admissible, and more than all
in flowers and leaves, she loves the deep
est and richest tints. Every night the
sunset is n revelation to her. She studies
the gorgeous castles and cathedrals of
gold, which are buildeI in the western
heavens with glory which the temple of
Solomon could never attain; and she
watches, from her little turrct window
up in the old gray house yoLder, every
morning for the rising of the great high
priest in his garments resplendent. There
was, indeed, something warm and rich
ana tropical in her blood, albeit it sprung
from the cold New England lount. She
reminded one, as much as anything, of
"The wsndrous valley hidden in the depths of
Gloucester woods,
Full Of plants which love the summer blooms OF
warmer lattues.
Where the Artic birch is braided by the tropics
hOwerV vines,
And The ,ilyer-starred magnolia lights the twilight
OF the pines"
She walks upon the beach till the sun
set has burne', low in the red west, and
then takes the path back to the house
When about half way across the garden,
she turns off little from the man path,
and, putting back the bushes with her
hands, makes her away tor few PAGES
and stops at little grave,-a chid'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 womap's name is Agnes Wayland,
and here she has lived alone for now
nearly twenty years, alone, except once
in while of a summer she takes quiet
boarder or two, who see little of her and
know less, and of whom she esteems it a
great pleasure TO be well rid, when the
autumnal equinox comes on. Winter and
summer, in storm and sleet, rain and
shine, she stays shut in the dim old
house all day, and emerges only towards
evening for her walk upon the beach, and
her peep at the little grave, with its COW
erlet of pansies in summer and its white
Jrapery of snow in winter. Upon the
night OF which have been writing, she