A delightful ramble of some six miles from Barton, through the winding green lanes, among scattered clumps of furze, whin, or gorse, Ulex Europasus, and the wiry-looking green broom, Genista scoparius, which still flourishes along the roadsides of Needwood forest, brought me to the quaint and historical old town of Tutbury. And now and anon, while loitering under the shadow of the old hawthorne hedges, melodious with the song of the linnet, bullfinch and thrush, whose plaintive sonnets mingled with the "wood notes wild, of many a forest bird," I caught glimpses of the ivy-covered ruins of the ancient castle, whose dismantled turrets loomed up picturesquely before me.

Tutbury Castle! "Mouldering in the imploring beauty of decay,"what pleasant memories cling around thy crumbling walls! Many are the times when in happy boyhood, with my young brothers, have I frolicked in juvenile sport about thy shattered donjon-keep and fallen towers. More than fifty years, with, to me, their many and strange vicissitudes, have passed by since then. But this time, I had no beloved companions, they had gone to the better land! But everything reminded me of them, as little change seemed to have taken place since I left it, years ago; with the exception of the ivy, which had assumed a more sturdy tree-like form, where it reared its evergreen branches above the old battlements it hugged so closely.

During the fierce excitement of the turbulenl times, now happily gone by, when knightly warriors clad in the panoply of steel, and high bred " tissued dames," moved in stately pomp and pride through its emblazoned courts and spacious halls, it was a castle of considerable importance. And, besides being a famous hunting resort of many English kings, it was noted as one of strongholds where Mary, Queen of Scots, was kept a prisoner. In my keeping is an antique silver coin, of Edward II.'s time (accidentally discovered with thousands of others), which the Earl of Lancaster buried, when fleeing from his castle, pursued by his enraged sovereign.

Crossing the noble bridge which spans the river Dove, a noted trout stream, and made memorable by the pen of that pleasant piscator, Izaak Walton, author of " The Complete Angler, or Contemplative Man's Recreation, 1563," conjointly with his good friend, Charles Cotton, who wrote a supplementary part to this delightful old book, I quietly wended my way towards Sudbury, situated some three or four miles further up the stream. Leaving " the king's highway," for the less frequented byways and shady lanes, where on every side spreading over the splendid landscape, were highly cultivated farms, divided and sub-divided with closely clipped hedges. All the farm-houses appeared to be of the substantial and commodious kind, built of brick or stone. And indicative of comfort and refinement within, were the well-kept lawns and gardens, which invariably form a pleasant part of the picture of English farm life. As I left behind me one of these picturesque dwelling places, I enjoyed a brief chat with a burly old yeoman, who, while leaning over the garden gate, persisted in asserting that "the Yankeefied Cobbett had ruined all the apple orchards in England with the American blight trees (Aphis lanigera), he introduced from the United States." Regretting that the burden of his complaint was not unfounded, I resumed my journey.

The blooming time of the early primroses, ane-monies, cowslips and violets had passed. But the pretty speedwells, daisies, lady-smocks, white and pale rose-colored squills, the deltoid pink, enchanter's nightshade, crane's bill, succory, milfoil, St. John's wort, crowfoot, chamomile, throat wort, wild thyme, sanicle, pimpernells, campanulas, betony, loosestrife, scorpion grass, ladies' mantle, comfrey, red and white foxglove, and many other beautiful wild flowers bordered the foot-path with their varicolored charms. While along the mossy bank sides, under the hedge screens, were several varieties of graceful ferns, which are better known by their technical names; such, for instance, as Lastrasa filix mas, Polypodium vulgare, Athurium filix fcemina, Asplenium viride, Polystichum an-gulare, Pteris aquilina, Scolopendrium vulgare, Blechnum spicant and Lastraea dilitata.

Overhanging the old white thorns, hazels, buckthorns, hornbeams, hollies, camp maples, elders, and sloe bushes, were the fragrant honeysuckles, Caprifolium periclymenum, pretty hedge vetches, Vicia cracca, violacea and floribunda alba, Rosa canina, or dog rose, and the nightshade, Solanum Dulcamara, and Lathyrus latifolia; all of which were more lovely than I can describe, and garlanded the way into the pretty village of Sudbury. As all the village and land, for several miles around, belonged to the estate of Lord Vernon, a lineal descendant of the famous gentleman after whom Mount Vernon took its name, everything in " this rural assemblage of order and beauty," seemed like some happy Arcadian scene, full of fresh verdure and unnumbered flowers. And after an absence of so many years, there was but little apparent change to be seen in this delectable spot. The roads and foot-paths were just as firm and smooth as ever. The hedges were neatly clipped, the grassy margins along each side of the road were as well mown and correctly defined as scythe, rake, line and spade could possibly make them. While from within the village school came the old familiar sounds of the commingling voices of the young scholars, exactly as I heard them in days of yore.

A little further on stood the old hostelry, once known as the "Vernon Arms." But there a change had come over the scene, without and within. The once conspicuous coat of arms had been removed from the wall, and thus at last it has come to pass, that " all the deceits of the world, the flesh and the devil "- in a liquid form at least - have been finally banished from the place.

But a few steps beyond, and among the trees, is the neat little porter's lodge, and carriage way - which leads up to that fine specimen of Elizabethan architecture - the Vernon mansion, or Sudbury Hall, which overlooks a finely wooded park, well stocked with fallow deer. Naturally, my next steps were bent towards the famous gardens I so well remembered when a boy. As I write, I seem to be reviving scenes endeared by tender remembrances of happy times gone by. And yet, nobody seemed to recollect the kind old soul who so skillfully conducted the horticultural operations there, half a century ago. Alas! dear old Mr. Digwell, of scientific fame; his manly form had long since mingled with the dust, alongside his honored predecessors in the little churchyard, close by the garden wall.

Mr. Harris, the present intelligent and courteous manager, kindly entertained and personally conducted me over the beautiful and extensive grounds, nearly every part of which seemed as familiar as ever.

The broad expanse of lake and lawn lay before me, like a living panorama of surpassing beauty. Across the placid water, were splendid clumps of large double pink and white hawthorn bushes in full bloom; which, with other flowering shrubs, gave a rich coloring to one of the most charming landscapes possible. Following the serpentine walks among banks of rich Rhododendrons, Kal-mias, Andromedas, Azaleas, Ericas, Cotoneasters, Arbutus, Menziesias, and similar things, we reached the broad stone terraced steps, which led to the flower-garden and front of the Hall. As we rested beneath the shade of a splendid old yew, which measured upwards of twenty feet in circumference, and where I had often sat when a boy, I thought I had never beheld a lacustrine scene more perfect before. From thence, continuing along the clean swept smooth winding walk, under some magnificent elms, among fine specimens of evergreen shrubs - we passed out through a massive oak door, where over the archway above, was a well executed escutcheon of the Vernon coat of arms, bearing the date A. D., 1600. We were now in the churchyard, where my ancestors on my mother's side had long been sleeping, near the sombre yews.

Admonished by the suggestive legend on the sun-dial, that " Time flies," I entered the little church, which was then undergoing repairs. Immediately on finding myself within the antique sanctuary, where many generations of my kindred, long since passed away, had piously joined their voices in prayer and praise, tender emotions filled my heart with sacred remembrances of the past. But in vain did I look for the old family pew, in which I had often listened to the admonition of the grey haired rector, who has been gathered to his fathers, these many years. In the work of renovation, or innovation, the old-fashioned heavy oak pews had been removed, to make way for more modern furniture.

All within seemed changed, save the life-sized alabaster monument of some grim old warrior who there lay, armed, and fully equipped in plate armor -with the visor of his helmet open. By his side, also, lay the sculptured effigy of his spouse, quaintly attired in the peculiar habiliments of the time, each with their hands supplicatory. The tablet which recorded their valor and virtue, bore the date of 1622.

From the churchyard, to the extensive forcing department, and plant houses, was but a few yards where excellent examples of horticultural skill proved Mr. Harris a proficient horticulturist. But the only plants recognizable to me, were the large orange and lemon trees, which were the first of their kind I saw in fruit, when a boy.

The deep shadows of the old oaks and elms had begun to lengthen, the declining sun was gradually sinking from view, as I turned to take a last fond look of Sudbury hall, feeling assured I should never see it again. Stepping aside from the main road to look at the old homestead, where my mother was born, I perceived it, too, had been partly rebuilt, and was so far changed to a modern structure as to have no semblance to "the old house at home." But the old garden and orchard remained somewhat like what they used to be. And I was informed the trees still bore good crops of fruit. But as 1 had fully a ten miles' walk before me, I reluctantly felt constrained to bid adieu to Sudbury's pleasant scenes, its gardens and "Dear meadows that beguiled My happy days when I was yet a sinless child".

Mount Holly, N. J.