The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1891-08-26
MRS. THAxTeR's ISLAND HOME.

How She Has Made the Rocks of Apple
dore blossom the Rose.
Today the Shoals are given up to the
Laightons and their summer guests.
They are the sole owners of the entire
group, and their great hotels and the
adjoining cottages represent a property
of half million dollars. The Laighton
family is closely identified with the isles.
About half a century ago Thomas Bell
Laighton was defeated in New Hamp-
shire election. His wounded pride and
thwarted ambition led him to eschew
his kind. He removed from Portsmouth
to the islands, and he never returned to
the mainland. His grave marks the
heart Of Appledore.
He was man of stalwart form, great
intelligence and force of character, and,
withal, "a good hater," such as DR..
Johnson, would have loved. He was a
devoted father, and gave daily lessons to
his children, Oscar, Cedric and Celia.
1t was strange isolation in which they
passed their youth, but nature is by no
means the least desirable Of tutors. The
two sons had shown great business saga
city in making the islands famous as a
summer resort.
The daughter says, II came here when
five years old, and lived with no society,
no school, no church, till | married at
sixteen and left the islands, only to re-
turn with each succeeding summer"
Her husband was Levi Thaxter, the
prophet of Browning to America. When
schoolgirl / heard him lecture on
Browning. and / have never forgotten
the rich thought which his deep insight
so ably set forth. Mrs. Thaxter is best
less wide than other songsters, surely the
sea has never found an interpreter more
picturesque or colorist more subtle.
The pulse Of the tide throbs through all
her poems. She has also written a
charming book.
Among the cottages grouped around
the big Appledore hotel is an unpreten-
tious but roomy one, before which is a
wonderful garden. Such a glory of color
was never elsewhere coaxed out Of New
England's unfriendly soil. Indeed, it's
a bit of tropical splendor that rewards
Mrs. Thaxter's care, for she is up with
the birds and devotes the early hours to
her flowers. One happy morning it was
my good fortune to pay her visit. Be-
yond the vine covered porch is the large
room where she receives, at once studio,
library and salon. The hard wood floor
is spread with soft green rugs, and the
dull green wall is lined, row upon row,
with pictures, bits of Venice or Florence,
photographs of the paintings of old Ital-
ian masters, portraits and sketches, and,
dominating all, "a strong figure drawn in
charcoal by William M. Hunt.
On the floor, leaning against the grand
piano, were many spirited water color
sketches just sent in by Childe Hassam.
On tables, windows, mantel, everywhere,
were flowers. Tall cylinders with grace
full peoples, blue bowls heaped high with
red roses, glasses filled with delicate
sweetbrier and great masses of nastur-
tiums or the yellow California peoples
made an indescribable wealth of color.
In the midst, Mrs. Thaxter in a pale
gray gown, silver star in her snow
white hair, the tan of the sea on her
cheeks and the blue of the sky in her
eyes.
Beside her on the deep sofa piled with
cool green cushions sat the widow of a
famous musician, whose violin was loved
from the tiords of Norway to Massachu-
sets bay. Opposite was professor from
Cambridge, who recited poetry in
voice deep but sympathetic, and near
him a distinguished pianist, whose IA
ther devoted his life to setting hymns to
music. AS the conversation drifted on
Mrs. Thaxter gave us an interesting de-
scription of her visit to Mary Cowden
Clarke and her meeting with Browning.
Afterward she read us some of his let
tiers, and then, at the professors request,
the epitaph Browning wrote for Mr..
Thaxter's grave.-lsles of Shoals Cor.
Worcester (Mass.) Spy.