Stranica 332 [332]
Peek PoroMaAc AND: KAPPAÁAPANNOOK
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Now the formal entrance is on the river, and looking
through the spacious hall, an open door gives a glimpse of such
beauty that you must hasten through to see the fulfillment of the
promise. A flagged terrace with two sentinel box clumps, Just
where the steps go down, is shaded by the spreading branches of
an ancient tree. Sweet scents of flowers, the drowsy humming of
bees, and the swift dart of a bluebird from the wistaria vine,
truly, one could dream dreams and see visions in such a spot.
No wonder that the famous ghost of Chatham walks here some¬
times at night, when all the world is sleeping.
Beyond the terrace, the trim box-bordered walks reveal a start¬
ling mass of bloom, where delphinium, lemon day lilies, and holly¬
hocks vie with others in a riot of color, their brightness enhanced
by the background of dark evergreen. Here and there a bit of
white wall or a little white gate shows through, leading off to
mysterious places—perhaps to the dairy, perhaps to the smoke¬
house, perhaps to the servants’ quarters. Quaint rose trees line
the paths, many of white iris, daffodils, violets, and all of the early
flowers bring each year their promise of eternal spring.
Though with the passing of the years, Chatham has stood a
silent witness to the history of our country, it still stands so serenely
that its life seems to have just begun. Through the loving care
of its present owners, its youth is renewed, and today one sees the
brightness of its tomorrow in the glory of its yesterdays.
ASHTON FITZHUGH WILSON.
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