from the most barbaric to the most enlightened. The side door of the Conservatory opens into the 

 late Countess's Private Garden, altered several years ago from its first plan by Mr Nesfield. This 

 Garden contains a curious and interesting memorial of two sons of genius, who sung so sweetly and 

 so well the language of the heart. Earl John on visiting Petrarch's house at Argua gathered and brought 

 to Alton some bunches of Ivy, which the Poet Moore, while engaged on Lalla Rookh at Mayfield, near 

 at hand, and being a frequent visitor during that time at Alton Towers, planted against an iron chair in 

 a corner of this Garden. It thrives well, and the form of the chair is preserved by clipping the Ivy 

 as often as necessary. The Garden is of an Italian character, and contains some fine specimens of sculpture 

 by Nys, who flourished at Rome in 1721. There is also a fountain which formerly stood in the wood, 

 with three tazzas or basins, the lower one supported on carved lions' paws ; a copy of the Warwick Yase 

 in marble, on a tripod stand of the same material ; a David strangling the lion, and a Flora in white marble. 

 There are likewise two beds with broad borders of Box embroidery, representing the Rose, Shamrock, and 

 Thistle, and filled in with appropriate coloured gravel. It is further ornamented with a large monogram 

 of the letter S, in box, by Mr Nesfield ; and some irregular lines of the descriptive and sober Irish Yew. 

 After traversing a beautiful trellis walk of great length, covered with luxuriant creepers and flowering plants, 

 at the end of which is a small Oratory, richly furnished, where the late Countess often retired for religious 

 meditation, we saunter leisurely back to the Terrace Garden, to watch the shadows gathering around, and 

 the last beams of the sun playing on the summit of the distant Weever Hills. At an angle of the wall 

 there is a small watch-tower, and on going up to it, we were almost startled to find ourselves suddenly 

 before so sturdy a representation of the iron-clad sentinel of feudal times. As we stood beside this 

 figure, and beheld the realities of genius clothing the hill-sides, and stretching far away into the valley, 

 in forms distinct and varying, but ever picturesque ; and when we remembered what it had been less than 

 half a century ago, bleak, sterile, and lonely, we involuntarily turned to the small Greek Cupola, and 

 in the words so forcible and truthful, which flash forth the memory of him whose bust thus stands in 

 the midst of his labours, we exclaimed, " Truly, indeed, has he made the desert smile." 



