At about four miles from the city, a gardener named Pierce has taken up his abode on the summit of a high and on all sides nearly precipitous hill, immediately surrounded by similar elevations, but separated from them by very deep ravines. Through one of these, encompassing two sides of the hill, rushes a clear, active little river, such as a trout-fisher would glory in, only that its banks in this neighbourhood are everywhere sentinelled by trees of willow, dog-wood, laburnum, &c. whose flowery arms entwined within each other shadow the clear water, and protect from the lure of the angler its finny inmates.
Across this ravine lies the ordinary path by which the future stranger, who is an amateur of Nature's painting, will seek to gain one of those fair scenes she has lavished much care upon.
No bridge connects the little domain with the busy world, from sight or sound of which it is isolated as absolutely as was the valley of Rasselas; but, slowly winding down an abrupt, thickly-shaded forest path, you at once break through this "leafy skreen" upon the ford, on the opposite side of which, a little to the right, lies the gate leading into the garden.
Pushing your horse boldly through the stream,—for, though noisy, the bottom has been cleared, and is not usually over knee-deep,—you dismount, and open the only barrier. Right above you stands a rude stone dwelling, stern and square of outline, and in no way suited or in keeping with the graceful trees and shrubs whose rich verdure shadow its rough walls. Towards this you press onward and upward, until the natural platform on which the dwelling is placed be gained; when the view of and from this spot will well reward you for a ride through a secluded forest country, the freshness and wildness of which have already pleased you, especially if you are, as I happily was on most of my visits here, accompanied by companions at once fair and intelligent.
Upon this little platform the grass is always of rare verdure for this country. Immediately in front of the dwelling four or five forest trees of the finest kind fling their branches athwart the entrance; and, a few yards removed, around the foot of a venerable elm, is spread a variegated carpet of daisies and other pretty flowers, whose colours the Persian loom might be proud to imitate for a prince's divan.
A few garden-seats are placed here and there for the ease of visitors; and here have I often sat whilst Mr. Pierce was arranging a bouquet,—an art, by the way, and no mean one, in which he excels,—and looking about on the well-sheltered spot, have thought of my poor old friend Michael Kelly's ballad, until I have fancied him "alive again," and breathing over the folds of his ample cravat,
"And I said, if there's peace to be found in this world,
A heart that is humble might look for it here!"
But there is no peace to be found in this world; so, after indulging a few wild fancies, that come quickly in such places, I quitted this, as I have done a hundred other like oases in life's desert, to wander again about the busy world and jostle with the worldly:
"We feel pangs at parting