From where the steeds of Earth’s twin oceans toss Their manes along Columbia’s chariot-way; From where Australia’s long blue billows play; From where the morn, quenching the Southern Cross, Startling the frigate-bird and albatross Asleep in air, breaks over Table Bay— Come hither, pilgrims, where these rushes sway ’Tween grassy banks of Avon soft as moss! For, if ye found the breath of Ocean sweet, Sweeter is Avon’s earthy, flowery smell, Distill’d from roots that feel the coming spell Of May, who bids all flowers that lov’d him meet In meadows that, remembering Shakspeare’s feet, Hold still a dream of music where they fell. It was during a visit to Stratford-on-Avon in 1880 that Mr. Watts-Dunton wrote the cantata, ‘Christmas at the Mermaid,’ a poem in which breathes the very atmosphere of Shakespeare’s town. There are no poetical descriptions of the Avon that can stand for a moment beside the descriptions in this poem, which I shall discuss later. [Picture: ‘The Thicket,’ St. Ives. (From a Water Colour by Fraser at ‘The Pines.’)] * * * * * A typical meadow of Cowslip Country, or, as it is sometimes called, ‘The Green Country,’ is Hemingford Meadow, adjoining St. Ives. It is a level tract of land on the banks of the Ouse, consisting of deposits of alluvium from the overflowings of the river. In summer it is clothed with gay flowers, and in winter, during floods and frosts, it is used as a skating-ground, for St. Ives, being on the border of the Fens, is a famous skating centre. On the opposite side of the meadow is The Thicket, of which I am able to give a lovely picture. This, no doubt, is the scene described in one of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s birthday addresses to Tennyson:— Another birthday breaks: he is with us still. There through the branches of the glittering trees The birthday sun gilds grass and flower: the breeze Sends forth methinks a thrill—a conscious thrill That tells yon meadows by the steaming rill— Where, o’er the clover waiting for the bees, The mist shines round the cattle to their knees— ‘Another birthday breaks: he is with us still!’ The meadow leads to what the ‘oldest rustic inhabitant’ calls the ‘First Hemingford,’ or ‘Hemingford Grey.’ The imagination of this same ‘oldest inhabitant’ used to go even beyond the First Hemingford to the Second Hemingford, and then of course came Ultima Thule! The meadow has quite a wide fame among those students of nature who love English grasses in their endless varieties. Owing to the richness of the soil, the luxuriant growth of these beautiful grasses is said to be unparalleled in England. For years the two Hemingfords have been the favourite haunt of a group of landscape painters the chief of whom are the brothers Fraser, two of whose water-colours are reproduced in this book. * * * * *