Page:Pleasant Memories.pdf/337
To look upon again.
Whene'er I think
Of rural Hampstead, and would fain recall
Its lovely scenes, their brightest tinture falls
Off like a mantle, and those forms alone
Stand forth and breathe, their lips still uttering sounds
Like music.
Such eternity hath mind
Amid the things that perish.
Friday, March 19, 1841.
It was both a pleasure and a privilege to see Miss Joanna Baillie, at her residence in Hampstead. She is above the common height, erect and dignified in her person, and of truly cordial manners. On my arrival, she had just returned from a long walk to visit the poor, and though past the age of seventy-six, and the day chill and windy, she seemed unfatigued, and even invigorated by the exercise. She resides with a sister several years older than herself, and who retains a beaming and lovely countenance.
With them was Rogers, the veteran poet, who has numbered his eightieth winter, but still keeps a perpetual smile of spring in his heart. His polished manners make him a favorite in the higher circles, while the true kindness of his nature is attractive to all. Many from my own land can bear witness to his polite attentions, and to the exquisite collection of the