It may be observed, too, by the way, that to Ashbourne the late Mr.
Canning was remarkably partial. Near it lived a female relative to whom
he was warmly attached, and under whose roof many of his happiest hours
were spent. It is stated, that a little poem, entitled, "A Spring
Morning in Dovedale," one of the earliest efforts of his muse, is still
in existence; and I have good reasons for knowing, that but a very few
weeks previous to his death, he stated, in conversation, what delight
he should feel in "going into that neighbourhood, and revisiting haunts
which to him had been scenes of almost unalloyed enjoyment." I could
scarcely believe, so exquisitely tranquil is the scene, the very murmur
of the stream which flows around seems to soften itself in unison with
the stillness of the landscape--that Ashbourne had ever been other than
the abode of rural peace and comfort; and yet I was assured that during
the war there was scarcely any limit to the bustle and gaiety which
pervaded it.