BRAMSHILL 243 



appear over the greensward of the cricket 

 ground, through the vista of yet another 

 avenue of huge Beeches, recently rediscovered 

 and cleared. 



How enchanting a Summer's day is at Brams- 

 hill as one paces the terrace that lies in deep 

 shadow along the south front, between the two 

 arcaded garden halls at each end under the 

 projecting wings of the house. The scent of 

 sun-baked wild Thyme and Heather fills the 

 air, and mingles with that of the Musk that 

 comes up through every interstice of the paved 

 pathway under the windows of the lower state- 

 rooms, and of Sweet-briar growing below the 

 terrace wall. As we pass through the arcade 

 at the east end, and emerge by an arched door- 

 way on to the troco ground, we may still see 

 the wooden balls and long iron-cupped poles 

 with which the lords and ladies of King James's 

 day played troco ; and in the centre of the turf, 

 smooth as a billiard-table, the iron ring through 

 which they pushed the heavy balls still stands. 

 How the Roses grow on the walls that shelter 

 the troco ground from north and east. A big 

 plant of Grace Darling is in full flower some 



