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[p. 30] avenue between them, which led from High street to the mansion and to the greenhouse in the rear. Those buildings and most of those trees have disappeared, and the grounds occupied by Mrs. Rowson's school (the most popular, perhaps, at that time in the country), are now in the possession of Mr. J. W. Tufts and the Episcopal Church. The apartment devoted to the Sunday-school of that church being almost upon the identical spot which the schoolroom formerly occupied.’ I quote again from her biographer a description of the location which one would hardly now recognize: ‘the house, near that of Gov. John Brooks, is delightfully situated on the left or eastern bank of the Mystic river, which winds through meadows of the deepest green to meet the sea. Built on the acclivity rising gradually from the margin of the stream, and commanding a charming view of the distant spires of Boston and of Cambridge, it seems intended as the appropriate residence of the muses and the graces. The approach to it from the road which here runs through a beautiful grove is by a long avenue of lofty trees, whose branches, interlacing, form a grateful shade. The ash, the elm, the pine, the linden, and the silver trees display their rich and varied foliage; the clambering vines and wild flowers shed their fragrance on the evening air, and the song birds, unmolested, sing their sweetest melodies. To this retreat Mrs. Rowson drew pupils, not only from this, but other states, and even from the British Provinces. Here she taught them those useful, varied and elegant accomplishments for which the ladies of the ancient regime were so happily distinguished; here she discussed the politics of the country with the eccentric Dr. David Osgood and the courtly John Brooks; here she wrote her pathetic story, “Sarah,” in which her own heart struggles are most touchingly portrayed; here she composed “The choice,” in which her beau ideal of terrestrial happiness is unfolded, and here beneath the arching vines, surrounded by her loving pupils in the summer evenings, she would vividly recount ’

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