OUTSIDE LONDON. 2M 



own country only, for those who know Italy tell us 

 that the fine old gardens there, dating back to the 

 days of the Medici, are being despoiled of ilex and 

 made formal and straight. Is all the world to be 

 Versaillised ? 



Scarcely two hundred yards from these cold iron 

 railings, which even nettles and docks would hide if 

 they could, and thistles strive to conceal, but are not 

 permitted, there is an old cottage by the roadside. 

 The roof is of old tile, once red, now dull from 

 weather ; the walls some tone of yellow ; the folk are 

 poor. Against it there grows a vigorous plant of 

 jessamine, a still finer rose, a vine covers the lean-to 

 at one end, and tea-plant the corner of the wall; 

 beside these, there is a yellow-flowering plant, the 

 name of which I forget at the moment, also trained to 

 the walls ; and ivy. Altogether, six plants grow up 

 the walls of the cottage; and over the wicket-gate 

 there is a rude arch — a framework of tall sticks — 

 from which droop thick bunches of hops. It is a very 

 commonplace sort of cottage; nothing artistically 

 picturesque about it, no effect of gable or timber-work ; 

 it stands by the roadside in the most commonplace 

 way, and yet it pleases. They have called in Nature, 

 that great genius, and let the artist have his own 

 way. In Italy, the art-country, they cut down the 

 ilex trees, and get the surveyor's pupil with straight- 

 edge and ruler to put it right and square for them. 

 Our over-educated and well-to-do people set iron 

 railings round about their blank pleasure-grounds, 

 which the potato-field laughs at in bright poppies ; 

 and actually one who has some fine park-grounds has 



