76 A YEAR IN A LANCASHIRE GARDEN. 



There are some lines in Morris's Earthly 

 Paradise the very best lines, I think, in the 

 whole poem which speak of some old men's 

 last peaceful days, as 



" like those days of later autumn-tide, 

 When he who in some town may chance to bide 

 Opens the window for the balmy air, 

 And, seeing the golden hazy sky so fair, 

 And from some city garden hearing still 

 The wheeling rooks the air with music fill 

 Sweet, hopeful music thinketh, Is this spring? 

 Surely the year can scarce be perishing. 

 But then he leaves the clamour of the town, 

 And sees the withered scanty leaves fall down ; 

 The half-ploughed field, the flowerless garden plot ; 

 The full dark stream, by summer long forgot ; 

 The tangled hedges where, relaxed and dead, 

 The twining plants their withered berries shed, 

 And feels therewith the treachery of the sun, 

 And knows the pleasant time is well-nigh done." 



Was picture ever more truly painted ? and any 

 day it may be true for us. 



Our Apple harvest has been over for nearly a 

 fortnight ; but how pleasant the orchard was while 

 it lasted, and how pleasant the seat in the corner 

 by the Limes, whence we see the distant spire on 

 the green wooded slopes. The grey, gnarled old 

 Apple-trees have, for the most part, done well. 

 The Ribston Pippins are especially fine, and so is 

 an apple, which we believe to be the King of the 



