'...Breathes there a man in this modern England of ours with soul so dead but that at some time or another he has not yielded to the almost universal temptation to cut down, in a few fatal minutes, trees which it would take a century to reproduce; and then endeavour to fill their place by dwarfed and squalid shrubs; and - which is stranger still - has counted the same to himself for righteousness? Breathes there a town council, or even a county one, with spirit so unurban and impolitic that it has never once pulled down old and beautiful and well-built houses in order to erect new and vulgar and unsubstantial villas in their stead? If such there be, let me make a friend of that man; and give me a vote for the re-election of that town or county council!'
from Miss Fallowfield's Fortune by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler (Chapter XVII)
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