BRAMSHILL 247 



fine-leaved Heath spreads a crimson carpet 

 over the ground beyond, and the blue distance 

 shimmers in the hot sunshine, what of Spring ? 

 Spring at Bramshill is an enchantment when 

 the Horse Chestnut spires earlier here than 

 anywhere else for miles round show white 

 against the mellow brick of the noble old house. 

 When the May trees in the dip beyond the 

 cricket ground are white as snow, among the 

 tender pinks and browns and greens of young 

 leafage on Oak and Birch, Lime and Spanish 

 Chestnut, and the ancient Crab trees and wild 

 Cherries are in blossom ; when the little brown 

 turtle-doves, intent on nests and nestlings, coo 

 and flutter through the Fir forest, whose young 

 shoots show glaucous green at the point of every 

 bough ; or earlier still, when, down the steep 

 hillside beyond the woodyard, we come upon 



" A host of golden Daffodils," 



covering an acre's space, fringed round with pale 

 Primroses below the lofty trees. Is not Spring 

 after all the most perfect moment of the year ? 

 And Autumn ? When the long gallery and 

 the north front are veiled in crimson and flame 



