“And crossing the stile we were immediately ... in full view of the Great House, a beautiful structure of James the First time, whose glassless windows and dilapidated doors form a melancholy contrast with the strength and entireness of the rich and massive front. The story of that ruin—for such it is—is always to me singularly affecting. It is that of the decay of an ancient and distinguished family gradually reduced from the highest wealth and station to actual poverty.... But here we are in the smooth, grassy ride on the top of a steep turfy slope descending to the river, crowned with enormous firs and limes of equal growth, looking across the winding waters into a sweet, peaceful landscape of quiet meadows, shut in by distant woods. What a fragrance is in the air from the balmy fir trees and the blossomed limes! What an intensity of odour! And what a murmur of bees in the lime trees! And what a pleasant sound it is! the pleasantest of busy sounds, that which comes associated with all that is good and beautiful—industry and forecast, and sunshine and flowers. “Emily exclaimed in admiration as we stood under the deep, strong, leafy shadow and still more ... when roses, really trees, almost intercepted our passage. “‘On, Emily! farther yet! Force your way by that jessamine—it will yield; I will take care of this stubborn white rose bough.’ ... After we won our way through that strait, at some expense of veils and flounces, she stopped to contemplate and admire the tall, graceful shrub whose long, thorny stems, spreading in every direction, had opposed our progress, and now waved those delicate clusters over our heads.... ‘What an exquisite fragrance!’ she exclaimed, ‘and what a beautiful flower! so pale and white and tender, and the petals thin and smooth as silk! What rose is it?’ “‘Don’t you know? Did you never see it before? It is rare now, I believe, and seems rarer than it is because it only blossoms in very hot summers; but this, Emily, is the musk-rose—that very musk-rose of which Titania talks, and which is worthy of Shakespeare and of her.’” Having reached some steps that led to a square summer-house, formerly a banqueting-hall with a boat-house beneath it, they were soon close to the old mansion. “But it looked sad and desolate,” remarks Miss Mitford, “and the entrance, choked with brambles and nettles, seemed almost to repel our steps.” Later on a halt was made on the further side of the river for “Emily” to take a sketch, and this entailed “a delicious walk, when the sun, having gone in, a reviving coolness seemed to breathe over the water,” and, lastly, a drive home amid the lengthening shadows. So ended their pleasant jaunt.