There is a
conservatory connected with the drawing-room, and enriched with lovely
plants, one of which has a certain interest as being the plant on which
Coleridge's eyes were fixed when he died. This conservatory is likewise
beautified with several very fine casts of statues by modern sculptors,
among which was the Greek Slave of Powers, which my English friends
criticised as being too thin and meagre; but I defended it as in
accordance with American ideas of feminine beauty. From the conservatory
we passed into the garden, but did not minutely examine it, knowing that
Mr. Hall would wish to lead us through it in person. So, in the mean
time, we took a walk in the neighborhood, over stiles and along by-paths,
for two or three miles, till we reached the old village of Chertsey. In
one of its streets stands an ancient house, gabled, and with the second
story projecting over the first, and bearing an inscription to the
purport that the poet Cowley had once resided, and, I think, died there.
Thence we passed on till we reached a bridge over the Thames, which at
this point, about twenty-five miles from London, is a narrow river, but
looks clean and pure, and unconscious what abominations the city sewers
will pour into it anon. We were caught in two or three showers in the
course of our walk; but got back to Firfield without being very much
wetted.
Our host and hostess had by this time returned from church, and Mrs. Hall
came frankly and heartily to the door to greet us, scolding us (kindly)
for having got wet.
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