A Ruined Garden
Most of us, including beyond question the poorest villagers, lament the evacuation of the large country house by the " feudal lord," as some urban politicians still say. Such feelings are embittered by the sight of the subsequent decay. I walked last week round a once beautiful garden in which such a house was 'set. The gout-weed was flowering widely. The trim, tall junipers had fallen across the paths they once pillared into aisles. The weeping willow in the circular garden had descended into the dry pond. The formal beds on either side a central path had clean disappeared. Almost all that was once beautiful had become ugly, though some attempt had been made to produce vegetables within the large walled garden. In a dell-hole at the garden's edge, locally famous for its carpet of snowdrops, the tall trees had been felled and bits of them lay among the ruins of a little brick temple, so to call it. The belt of trees on either side was impenetrable for felled timbers. A sense of desolation brooded over the whole place.
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