The central Presbyterian. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1856-1908, 1885-03-25

Maltese cross, bearing the name of Hart
ley Coleridge. Instantly there came to
mind that grey morning. when Mrs.
Wordsworth sent Jane" the we'll
known factotum of Rydal Mount-down
to the cottage of the sick man, over whose
life she had had such motherly care.
Mistress, think you maun go down
to him; for Mr.. Hartley is very bad"
So she went, and sat by the poor fell
low with his hand in hers, till the sad,
Intellectual life passed away.
William, she said, on coming home,
have promised poor Hartley that he
shall be laid close beside u.s." And 80
just outside of the iron railing he lies.
We went into the antique Norman
church, and read in the low porch this
card, which seemed to us touching and
appropriate:
Whoever thou art that enterest this
church, forbear not to put up brief
prayer for the minister and the congre-
cation who worship here; and, above all,
forget not to offer petition for myself"
The church is very quaint and ancient.
1t has large east window of fiue stained
glass and In the chancel were two very
antique chairs, black as ebony through
age, with their primitive carving worn
almost to smoothness. On the high back
of each we read the respective dates cut
in relief, a. D. COZ, and A D. 637. In
one OF the aisles is monument to Words
worth, surmounted by hte.size bust,
with long inscription testifying to his
virtues as neighbor and citizen, as we'll
as a poet.
1t pleased me to come suddenly upon
a tablet, with baS-reIievo head, erected
to Mrs. Fletcher, the beautiful and &C.
complished woman whose home in Edin-
burgh was the gathering place, fifty
years ago, for the wits and bright spirits
of that classic city; in short, its Holland
House. | sat down in her pew, and re-
called her account OF Wordsworth 8 death.
From the windows of Lesketh How, her
summer home, she could see the windows
of Rydal Mount
Are they closed this morning, Elsie ?"
she asked her maid, not having courage
enough to look for herself.
Yes, mistress, all are bowed"
All, well then he has gone IL
From a neIghboring mountain tarn a
sparkling beck dashes down, Just outside
the church.yard wall, and goes babbling
on till it loses itself in the lake near by.
At the pretty little Grasmere Hotel
we had charming luncheon, and then
took our carriage again to drive to Rydal
Mount. On the way, we passed Nab
Cottage, where Hartley Coleridge lived
and died. AT one point we came upon
a huge pile of rocks, with rude steps cut
upon one side. Here was the sacred
haunt OF the poet, where he used to sit
for hours grooming to himself, as he made
his verses. A short drive over roads as
smooth as floor, brought US to the foot
OF Rydal Mount. The ascent is long and
steep, but the beautiful road is complete
ly over-arched with tall trees. Words
worth s cottage (though tits two.storied
house of good dlmenslons) is Almost hId-
den from view by high surrounding walls,
thick hedges, and close clusters of foliage.
The people OF this north region seem still
to hold to the idea tat raids from the
Plcts and Scots may yet be looked for;
for there is not villa, nor dwelling of
any pretension, that IS not strongly gar.
risoned behind walls eight and some.
times ten feet high, icto winch admit
lance Is only had through barred iron
gates, ponderous enough to guard a draw
bridge.
As this property no longer belongs to r.
the Wordsworths, 1t is not open to the
so we contented ourselves with
peering through the gates into the pretty
grounds, and gathering few laurel
leaves in memory of him whose genius
will always consecrate the place.
Our drive back to Ambleside was on
the opposite side of the lake from the
route we had taken in the morning, and
was only shade less picturesque and
beautiful Everything along the way
recalled Wordsworth. &" We are seUen.
one Of our companions said, as we passed
a cottage with doorway full of bright
faced children. Goody BLokes" were
strewn along the road, and here and
there we encountered that "Uiolet By q
messy stone, some pretty "Lalcy Gray"
in the shape of a young mountain maiden.
AS we approached the beautiful shores
OF Windermere, we could not keep from
quoting the poets own words:
g.. A mild surprise
Did carry far into our hearts the voice
OF mountain torrents and the visible scene
Entered. all unswares, into our minds
With it's grand solemn imagery, it's rocks,
It's woods and that uncertain heaven received
Into the bosom Of the steady lake"
Wmdermere, England.
Do as little children do who, with one
hand hold fast to their father, and with