132 



GARDENS OLD AND NEW. 



THE MOUTH FRONT. 



gate, looks from the deep shade of the avenue across the road 

 to the sunlight playing on the gables, he is carried back 

 to a time when men built and planned and planted not 

 for themselves, but for 

 their successors and 

 generations to come. 



Close to the house, 

 but screened by these 

 stone walls and yew 

 hedges, runs the road 

 from Bui ford, dipping 

 down here from its bleak 

 or burnt uplands into the 

 shelter and shadows of 

 the valley. In old days, 

 one fancies, men did not 

 hate to see the road 

 from their windows. To 

 the dweller in the country 

 the highway was his link 

 with the world, and with 

 those who passed his 

 gate, either travellers 

 upon their business or 

 the neighbours, rich and 

 poor, who made his 

 society and perhaps fol- 

 lowed his leading. Now 

 we must shut out the 

 wcrld, buy up the right- 

 of-way, plant out the 

 railway, in a vain effort 

 to forget that our treasure 

 is in the city, and our 

 hearts turn there also. 



But here the road 

 runs by, and beyond it 

 the avenue leads not 

 to the house, but away 

 from it. For directly 

 opposite the gate begins 

 a long straight walk THE STABLES FROM 



between tall and close-set limes, which with fields on either 

 hand passes awav into a pleasant medley of wood and 

 grass, involuntarily named " Tne Pleasaunce." Upstairs 



in the house the middle 

 rooms of the west 

 front look right down 

 this avenue, and it is 

 always with a fresh 

 shock of delighted 

 wonder that the guest, 

 late arrived overnight, 

 throws open his window 

 and, with eyes and ears 

 yet scarcely cleansed 

 from the dust and din 

 of Piccadilly, looks out 

 through the morning sun- 

 shine into that long dim 

 tunnel of cool green light. 

 The avenue draws his 

 feet with a gentle insis- 

 tence. It seems to lead 

 1o something different in 

 kind from Hie stately 

 house and the ordered 

 garden, to a ruin, per- 

 haps, or to the scene of 

 a tragedy. Sometimes 

 it seems a walk designed 

 for meditation ; some- 

 times rather one of the 

 " places which pale pas- 

 sion loves." And at the 

 end of it is nothing 

 strange only a wilder- 

 ness of thickly-shaded 

 paths and unexpected 

 waters. For it comes 

 suddenly upon a pond 

 at the foot of a mighty 

 cedar, where the wild 

 THE GARDEN. duck rise and are away in 



Coun/ry Lift." 



