with lilacs and clematis, and we enter the old-fashioned gate, where we obtain the first full view of the historic mansion. On our right and on our left, everywhere, are trees and shrubs and vines distributed irregularly over a closely shaven lawn that skirts away as far as the eye can see through the dense foliage.
And it is all precious to us. These plants have yielded their flowers which the mother plucked and fondly arranged for the boy's study. This widespreading elm was set out by the elder Lowell; that acacia, by Agassiz, who loved it; that spruce by an admiring prince; and that chestnut was planted and fostered by the poet; and so on through the gardener's inventory. All these were placed here for the poet, and he was ours; hence they are ours also, and we love to linger among them.
The mansion, which is a structure of colonial times, stands before us as a mute witness of the generations of patriotic fathers and mothers and children who have grown older and wiser and better under its sheltering roof, and then in their turn solemnly and silently passed away. It was built in 1760, and has ever since "been the home of American nobility, and its memories are dear to our people. Did I say, the home of American nobility since 1760? No; yes. This patriotic family gave Elmwood over to the government in 1775, and it was used during revolutionary times as an American hospital, it is true; but it was still the home
