its lofty site like a watch-tower in the wilderness. The Wyllys family, who gave their name to this fair domain, was one of wealth and distinction in Warwickshire, and held for several generations high offices in the government of Connecticut. An aged widow was now its sole representative, dwelling almost alone, amid antique portraits, tall, regal chairs, and worn Turkey carpets—herself an affecting relic of faded grandeur. The large house, with its low-browed apartments, has been since renovated, modernized, and removed, but was to me more interesting in its dilapidated condition, as a feudal monument, uttering the voice of other days.
Wert thou the castle of the olden time,
Thou solitary pile?—a beacon-light
To the benighted traveller?
Thy lone brow
Peered in baronial pride o'er pathless wilds,
And waters whitened by no daring sail,
While to the roaming red man's eye thy pomp
Was as a dream of terror. Now thou stand'st
In mournful majesty, as if to mark
The desolation of a lordly race,
Or, like a faithful vassal, share their grave.
Farewell! farewell!
A loftier dome may rise,
And prouder columns blot thy time-stain'd walls
From the slight memory of a passing age.
Yet some there are, who deem thy mouldering stones
Dearer than sculpture's boast, where musing thought
