He
led us through Mr. Ball's grounds, up a steep hillside, by winding,
gravelled walks, with summer-houses at points favorable for them. It was
a very shady and pleasant spot, containing about an acre of ground, and
all turned to good account by the manner of laying it out; so that it
seemed more than it really is. In one place, on a small, smooth slab of
slate, let into a rock, there is an inscription by Wordsworth, which I
think I have read in his works, claiming kindly regards from those who
visit the spot after his departure, because many trees had been spared at
his intercession. His own grounds, or rather his ornamental garden, is
separated from Mr. Ball's only by a wire fence, or some such barrier, and
the gates have no fastening, so that the whole appears like one
possession, and doubtless was so as regarded the poet's walks and
enjoyments. We approached by paths so winding that I hardly know how the
house stands in relation to the road; but, after much circuity, we really
did see Wordsworth's residence,--an old house with an uneven ridge-pole,
built of stone, no doubt, but plastered over with some neutral tint,--a
house that would not have been remarkably pretty in itself, but so
delightfully situated, so secluded, so hedged about with shrubbery, and
adorned with flowers, so ivy-grown on one side, so beautified with the
personal care of him who lived in it and loved it, that it seemed the
very place for a poet's residence; and as if, while he lived so long in
it, his poetry had manifested itself in flowers, shrubbery, and ivy.
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