PEAT GARDENS 77 



Suppose, then, that we have left the house and entered a piece 

 of woods of, perhaps, ten acres. Most of us would become enthu- 

 siastic at once because of the century-old trees. But to Sir Henry 

 it had seemed an uninteresting and badly neglected spot. You 

 and I might exclaim with pleasure at the sight of acres of ferns 

 growing as tall as a man, and foxgloves blooming by the million. 

 But these are familiar sights to an Englishman. He knows that 

 brakes are the weediest of all ferns, and the colour of the wild 

 foxglove is undeniably crude and coarse, when you come to live 

 with big masses of it. 



So you must not shiver when I say that it was right to sail in 

 and destroy a five-acre patch of this undergrowth. For there is 

 another and higher type of beauty which belonged by divine right 

 to the soil long before these cosmopolitan tramps the brakes 

 and foxgloves usurped the land. 



And please do not shudder at the idea of chopping down dozens 

 of trees that were a hundred years old. Sir Henry had plenty 

 more. And beside, in every wood that is simply let alone there 

 are too many trees. The best thing that can be done is to thin out 

 the short-lived kinds and the crooked individuals, so that the no- 

 blest specimens may have a chance to develop their grandest 

 proportions. (See plate 5.) 



Even more thinning than this Sir Henry did, and wisely. 

 For you cannot have flowers without a certain amount of light, 

 and even the most sentimental tree lover would not like to breathe 

 a close, stuffy atmosphere, or walk in a grove that is damp under 

 foot and gloomy over head. The moment you enter Sir Henry's 

 bog garden you instinctively draw a deep breath of fresh, pure air, 

 and you exclaim with delight at the pleasant interplay of light and 

 shade, of sunny warmth and leafy coolness. There is no question 



