Bogalusa enterprise and American. (Bogalusa, La.) 1918-19??, 1919-11-13
N THIS morning of spring,
when the sun, at last. after
many weeks Of retirement,
has shown his golden face

when the sun, at last, after
many weeks Of retirement,
has shown his golden face
above the eastward downs, any city
even so fair a city as Winchester
seems for the moment, undesirable.
One seeks instinctively q wider sky
space, hills and meadows, and the flow
Of the new-fallen waters for company.
These are in the valley of the Itchen,
writes a correspondent of the Christian
Science Monitor.
Through the cathedral close the
way lies, down the avenue, past the
western door and out before the
spaces of emerald lawn, above which
towers this majestic pile, within whose
walls, and around them, are memoried
so much of England's history, from
grent Alfredland Chanute, past William
Of Wykeham and Wolsey, to the mod
ern men of learning and lawn sleeves.
Beautifully harmonious are the sur
roundings, both in line and color-soft
grays of full round Norman arches,
vivid green's of cloister-garth, blending
with the darker tints of immemorial
yews, and the golden sheen of lichens
upon gnarled tree-trunks. Here are
rich reds and browns, upon tie tiled
copings of messy walls, on barge
boards of ancient gabled roofs and in
the delicate rose-psnk network Of In
terlacing twigs, through which the
cathedral town is seen. Thus, among
eYer-changing charms, you twist and
turn, now round a corner, beneath the
shadow of an arch, now out again into
the full sunlight, before another bend
leads you once more through the pleas
ant gloom of the eastern gate.
Beside Wykeham's college, modestly
fronting the road, is little humble,
buff-colored building, with an oriel
window, and legend reminding US
that here Jane Austen lived her later
days Her house, among so many sur
rounding grandeurs, wears-as / sup
pose the writer herself wore-an air
of shy timidlty, not without grace in
these, sometimes, too blatant days.
Here are Wykehamists, fresh-faced,
in straw hats, symbolizing a coming
summer, and here, past the gray ruins
Of Wolsey castle-where Mary of
England, before her marriage, feted
her Spanish Observation-Disclosures the
fresh green water-meadows of the
Itchen, and beyond, clear-cut against
the skyline, the tree-crested ridge of
st. GATHERINGS hill, with memories of
King Charles II and of the colleges
''Dulce Domum"
The Waters Splash and Bubble.
On either side the meadow path the
waters splash and bubble, swish and
eddy. with a music most melodious
and meaningful, even to those I'M
learned in fish lore. Gray gulls hover,
Enirrored in the shining surface, and
finger over it, so as to set one Won
aering what lure Ii was that led them
from their open sea into this inland
valley. Down below,
above a sandy bed, the forest of fern
ike water weeds bends to the current,
and the minnOws-or the minnow-kind
dart and play about its glades.
Right ahead there is age-long majesty
again-the gabled roofs and lowered
church Of the Hospital of ST. Cross,
in ancestral elms. Here
lit, upon white stiIe, to enjoy fleet
ng glimpse of a matched roof, and |
watch, across the sliding water-mir-
or, the fringe Of pink feathery
Tasses nodding and quivering to the
freeze.
am tempted almost to go into the
hospital, and demand the "Wayfarer's
)ole"-not that / want the dole
which, moreover, is meager during
hese days-but that it is pleasant to
'artake of a charity praeticed for so
nany centuries by the brethren in red
nd black. Some say-I hardly know
With what truth-that st. Cross is the
ospital in which Anthony Trollope
laced "The Warden" of the novel so
AIMED, and of "Barchester Towers
'rollope, in his autobiography names
not Winton, as the city in
fhich he first conceived the story of
hat gentle priest; but, Barsetshire
eing county of his own imagining,
e may well have conjured little
18th English topography. And, think
1g of Trollope-while my eyes linger
pom the croeus-gemmed lawns Of ST.
ross, and the orange-budded chestnut
wigs shiny with flowing sap-how
Many others, famous in literature,
ave trod these velvet paths, and those
the hills on either handl
A Goodly Five.
'Old John of Gaunt, time-honored
ancaster" perhaps, from his place at