. Memories of the Tennysons . eOld Man and gild the Coniston Lake with was five years later. Then he came with hiswife and two children. It was his last visit. CHAPTER V. MEMORIES OF FARRIxNGFORD. It was not until 1884 that I saw for the first time thepoets home, about which one had heard all ones life. In the early spring of that year I found myselfpassing through an uninteresting little bit of countrywhose pastoral simplicity was marred by fortressand gunpowder magazine, and the beauty of whosehedgerows of fuchsias and myrtle seemed to be en-tirely out of keeping with the suburban
. Memories of the Tennysons . eOld Man and gild the Coniston Lake with was five years later. Then he came with hiswife and two children. It was his last visit. CHAPTER V. MEMORIES OF FARRIxNGFORD. It was not until 1884 that I saw for the first time thepoets home, about which one had heard all ones life. In the early spring of that year I found myselfpassing through an uninteresting little bit of countrywhose pastoral simplicity was marred by fortressand gunpowder magazine, and the beauty of whosehedgerows of fuchsias and myrtle seemed to be en-tirely out of keeping with the suburban look ofvulgar little villas and roadside houses which, fromtime to time, disfigured the country lanes. Freshwater was reached at last, and at a glanceone realised the truth of Tennysons lines : Yonder lies our young sea village-Art and Grace are less and less ;Science grows and Beauty dwindles,Roofs of slated hideousness.* But it was good to be at Freshwater, if only to seethe long lines of cliff that, breaking had left a 92. o O z MEMORIES OF FARRINGFORD, 93 chasm, and ere they broke had flung huge massesof themselves to weather into the quaintest forms, theNeedles in miniature, there in Freshwater bay. Andit was pleasant to think that the poet who loved thecoast of Lincolnshire could here in the chasm find foam and yellow sands. But where is Farringford ? Climb up theDown—the long ridge of a noble down towhich the poet bade his friend Maurice come—and,as you pass along it toward the Beacon and theNeedles at the south-west of the island, you will seebeneath you on the landward side a woodland grove,wind-bitten and storm-twisted. Pass through awicket by the gnarled thorn, and cross a deep laneby a little foot-bridge, and you will find a doormarked Private, which gives access to that careless-orderd garden in the midst of whose limes andcedars and elms the poet had found since 1853sanctuary for his song. I do not remember ever to have found suchseclusion as was here possibl
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