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Updated: May 27, 2025
"Should I attempt to write any more, I could not change the strain. My head aches and my heart is heavy. The world appears an 'unweeded garden' where things 'rank and vile' flourish best. "If you do not return soon, or, which is no such weighty matter, talk of it, I will throw my slippers out at window, and be off, nobody knows where." The next morning she added in a postscript:
"Not in the least!" and she smiled "The human race in its present condition is 'an unweeded garden, things rank and gross in nature possess it merely, and it wants clearing. I have no wish to benefit it. It has always murdered its benefactors.
Murdered his brother. Or so they said. The crown had no evidence, Mr Power said. Only circumstantial, Martin Cunningham added. That's the maxim of the law. Better for ninetynine guilty to escape than for one innocent person to be wrongfully condemned. They looked. Murderer's ground. It passed darkly. Shuttered, tenantless, unweeded garden. Whole place gone to hell. Wrongfully condemned. Murder.
He had, for his own amusement, taught her Hindostanee; he had given her some insight into the principles of mechanics, and he had roused in her some taste for the writings of the Mystics. But for all that regarded the dignity of her humanity and her womanhood, if she had had no teaching but what he gave her, her mind would have been merely "an unweeded garden that grows to seed."
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