13 ' 



presenting in the springtime a brilliant and fascinating 

 spectacle, as in a descriptive line by the Poet : 



"The lawn, a carpet all alive." 



To myself, these lovely and classic grounds and the 

 immediate vicinity have a deep interest and special charm, 

 for it was here that my father laboured amongst the flowers 

 during the time of Wordsworth, exactly half a century ago. 

 Brantwood, Coniston, is another charming place, 

 especially in the springtime, old English perennials pre- 

 dominating almost everywhere : lithospermum, with its 

 intense blue flowers ; narcissus, anemones, lilies, aubretias, 

 columbines, and a choice collection of alpine strawberries. 

 Naturalised ferns snch as the royal, beech, oak, and lady 

 grace the shady corners ; whilst, in the grove adjoining; 

 are lilacs filling the air with their s\veet perfume. Azaleas, 

 roses (tea, and hybrid perpetual), the poet's narcissus, 

 primroses and lilies flowering upon the grassy slope, of 

 which the poet writes : 



" Comes there from that bright flower blooming 



In the shadow of the grove, 

 Rapture all thy grief consuming, 



Waking all thy soul to love." 



On the hedgerows sloping to the lake, crimson rambler 

 and old Scotch yellow roses are rambling over the rustic 

 fence in perfect grandeur, whilst the golden poppy 

 (meconopsis Cawbrica) illumines the margin of the lake. 

 The surrounding woods and lanes were rapidly acquiring 

 their summer garniture. Primroses, violets, mosses, and 

 ferns bedecked the hedgerows, whilst larks, linnets, black- 

 caps, and thrushes filled the woods and meadows with their 

 joyous melodies. 



" The woods were filled so full with song, 

 There seemed no room for sense of wrong." 



And as we emerge from the abode of this great thinker, 

 writer, and philanthropist, we cannot but feel inspired by 



