Charles Tyrrell; or, The Bitter Blood. Volumes I and IIJames, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
General
Charles Tyrrell; or, The Bitter Blood. Volumes I and II
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Murder -- Fiction
The fourth front had once been the principal one; but, according to
the plan of modern improvement, which in so many instances conceives
that it produces all that can be desired by turning the back part of
things foremost, that front had now been dedicated to the offices.
From it wound away a long wide avenue of fine old elm-trees, like that
which we see so frequently leading up to an antique French chateau;
and I remember, in my young days, I used to dispute with myself in the
summer and the winter, as I rode up the broad green road between the
two rows, which looked the best and most congenial to the scene, those
fine trees in the dark green fulness of their midsummer clothing, or
in the cold, gray, solemn bareness of the winter, when all the bright
things that had decorated them through the rest of the year were cast
down withering at their feet, like the passing pleasures of existence
cast off from a mind preparing for a tomb. I believe I then preferred
the summer aspect, perhaps I might now find more harmony in the
winter.
The woods that surrounded the building on the other sides were, in
fact, kept as pleasure-grounds. They were full of winding walks,
cleanly and carefully swept, though the extent was very great; while
underneath the beeches and the elms, on either side of those paths,
grew up an abundance of wild flowers, the plain white strawberry, the
graceful and beloved plant of the winds, the columbine, the violet,
and the primrose.
One of those walks which led away towards the south, at a distance of
half a mile from the house, divided into two. The left-hand branch,
which followed the original direction, brought me to another broad
walk, which faced the risen sun upon the edge of the wood; and while
the fine beech-trees, sweeping down with their long branches like a
penthouse, sheltered it entirely from the sun in the summer, and from
the rain in the spring and the autumn, they did not at all obstruct
the view over some sunny fields to another little wood beyond, over
which again rose up Harbury Hill, the chief landmark of the country
round about.
The other branch of the road took a direction somewhat to the west,
and at the distance of about a quarter of a mile, or a little more,
from the place where the two separated, it reached the wall of the
kitchen-garden, which lay imbosomed in the deepest part of the wood,
containing within itself a space of about two acres, surrounded by
high brick walls on all sides. There were two doors in this wall, the
one exactly opposite to the path we have mentioned, the other on the
other side. Besides this, however, there was a way in and out through
the back of one of the two gardeners' cottages, which were built
against the wall in the inside.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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