Next came a yew hedge, the mysterious American garden grower and sedelförfalskarens works. Elsa Sörmans father had dug pits for these plants, of which about half were still alive. Three or four were beautiful specimens, that embarrass the other.
Ultimately there was a hedge of common trees, even the rather rough and unkempt, but pretty solid. When Baron de Sars made his last trip to the city, which was continued to Homburg, whence he never returned, he had become aware of the garden’s dilapidated and shabby condition. And he had given orders for spruce hedge that should hide the worst misery.
The garden had no shoulder on the last thirty years. The paths were overgrown with moss and grass, and one inch thick layer of soil was above the sand. Wild, vulgar herbs with dandelion in the lead had marched up the flower beds, and made themselves masters. Where it burned outhouse stood, spread