ored with squares of white and black marble,
whence a flight of steps led to the little boat chained to one of the
rocky piers. Along the entire length of the terrace a line of giant
poplars lifted their aged, weather-beaten heads, high above all
surrounding objects,--ever on the _qui vive_, looking seaward,--trim
and erect as soldiers on dress parade, and defiant of gales that had
shorn them of many boughs, and left ghastly scars on their glossy
limbs.

Tradition whispered, with bated breath, that in the dim dawn of
colonial settlement a rude log hut had been erected here by pirates,
who came ashore to bury their ill-gotten booty, and rumors were rife
of bloody deeds and midnight orgies,--all of which sprang into more
vigorous circulation, when, in laying the foundations of the
boat-house piers, an iron pot containing a number of old French and
Spanish coins was dug out of the shells and sand.

Melancholy tales of stranded vessels and drowned crews, of a
slaver burned to the water's edge to escape capture, and of charred
corpses strewn on the beach, thickened the atmosphere of legendary
gloom that enveloped the spot,--where the successive demise of
several proprietors certainly sanctioned the feeling of dread and
superstitious distrust with which it was regarded. That the
unenviable celebrity it had attained was referable to local causes
generating disease, appeared almost incredible; for, if miasmatic
exhalations rose dank and poisonous from the densely shaded humid
house, they were promptly dispelled by the strong, invincible
ocean-breeze, which tore aside leafy branches and muslin curtains, and
wafted all noxious vapors inland.

A committee of medical sages having cautiously examined the place,
unanimously averred that its reputed fatality could not justly be
ascribed to any topographical causes. Whereupon the popular nerve,
which closely connected the community with supernaturaldom, thrilled
afresh; and all the calamities, real and imaginary, that had afflicted
"Solitude" from a period so remote that "the memory of man runneth not
to the contrary," were laid upon the galled shoulders of some
red-liveried, sulphur-scented Imp of Abaddon, whose peculiar mission
was to haunt the "piratical nest;" and, in lieu of human victims, to
addle the eggs, blast the grape crop, and make night hideous with
spectral sights and sounds.

To an unprejudiced observer the hills seemed to have gleefully clasped
hands and formed a