A NORTH-COUNTRY HALL 65 



to prepare it for summer finery, often bring cold 

 more searching than midwinter, there are basking 

 places among the velvety alleys and under the hoary 

 walls of Levens garden where one may forestall 

 the solstice. 



There is a smell of impatient vegetation in the 

 air; the blackthorn has veiled itself with a chilly 

 haze of bloom; already there are patches of timid 

 verdure on the hawthorn hedges ; beneath them the 

 cuckoo-pint has shot up groves of glistening blades, 



1 And along the tracks, like troubled sprites, 

 The dead leaves whirl along.' 



But the brightest gleam in memories of early spring- 

 tide in Westmoreland comes from the daffodils. 

 Copsewood glade and roadside bank, mill meadow 

 and village orchard, upland lawn under limestone 

 crag, all are decked in the fairy livery of green 

 and gold. One may drive for miles through this 

 fair champaign and never lose sight of Lenten lilies 

 in wreaths or scattered clusters, in links or shining 

 sheets. 



Even in this county, rich as it is beyond most in 

 examples of old English halls, Levens stands by 

 itself in the unaltered character of both house and 

 surroundings. One is even disposed to complain of 



