As you come sailing up the Thames just beyond Marlow — where Shelley and Peacock were once happy together — is Bisham. You see it on the left hand: a church tower, little red-roofed village, a picturesque large house with a turret, a grange beyond, in a delightful situation among water-meadows, at the water’s edge, backed by the woods that rise up the steep escarpment, all dusky-red now with the first touch of spring before the buds break. Snowdrops, crocuses, daffodils burst from the lawns and run along the banks; ahead is a pretty ridge of hills, Speen hill, Applehouse hill, Ashley hill tallest of the three. It is still an unspoiled reach of the Thames; and up-river the right way to approach it, as in earlier centuries people mostly did, the Thames the chief highway. In old prints one sees the sailing barges passing by these riverside houses mirrored in those remembering waters.
KeywordsDust Burial Gout Dispatch Serpentine
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