Early in the 18th century, in the verdant countryside of County Meath, Ireland, an illustrious beauty, Allenstown House, was birthed from the hands of man. Constructed with immense grandeur, depicting the Georgian architecture in all its sublime glory, this house sat like a virgin bride, waiting for the progressive groom. Time marched on, and finally, a refined suitor known as "progress" came along and did what it does best – it destroyed the one thing it was supposed to cherish. The House, with its tasteful columns and handsome portico, sat regally among dew-kissed, emerald lawns. Each stone, every beam, across its four voluminous stories, recorded the whispers and echoes of spirits past. But alas, it was not enough; it was deemed unfit to play its part in the acclaimed theater of modern development. Or perhaps, it was too fit, overshadowing newer, less-revered actors with its authentic grandeur. Ah, you must now wonder, who played the role of the villain in this tragic tale of neglect and recklessness? Step forth, the Irish Land Commission, a group of well-meaning, reformation-imbued gentry. They arrived with an intent to break down the past, repurpose the present, and pave the way for the future. Their mantra, unsurprisingly, was built on the foundation of progress. "An old antiquity standing in the path of progress," they claimed. Why, one might think they sound like venerated knights, charging headlong to seize an obnoxious dragon hoarding the future from the poor, desolate villagers, right? But, in our case, the dragon was none other than the charming Allenstown House, which wanted nothing more than to preserve its relation with the earth from whence it was born. Perhaps it's all a misunderstanding! Perhaps the house had indeed turned into a grotesque, overgrown ogre that was hogging precious resources better spent elsewhere. Or, perhaps, it was just too steeped in history, charisma, beauty, and authenticity. Progress, after all, is a jealous, insecure suitor whose advances are bestowed but on the plain and easily-adaptable. In came 1938, the very year in which the universe decided to applaud 'progress' with thunderous applause. The demolition of Allenstown House was not so much an event as a massacre of memories, a genocide of elegance. The severance of ties from the annals of history proved to be the final blow as Allenstown House crumbled to the ground, leaving behind an aching absence. An emblem of heritage was lost in the maws of merciless modernism, serving as a haunting testament to the casualties of progress. Unfortunate it may seem, history penned this tale in indelible ink, whispering its lessons through the breeze. Our apparent 'villain,' Vice-Admiral Arthur William Craig – or perhaps Craig-Waller, as he decided to honor the very edifice 'progress' would soon pillage – was ironically the torch-bearer of the house's legacy. It was his inheritance that pardoned an echo of Allenstown House, reverberating with an almost ghostly persistence through the winds of today. And so stands the tale of how progress perpetrated its heinous crime. It razed a part of our culture, heritage, and the soul from our very earth, all in the name of the future. The fall of Allenstown House teaches us the brutal lesson that the path of progress, while lined with the benefits of the present, is often littered with the faded, anachronistic remnants of what once was. We progress and time moves on, but one cannot help but feel the aching absence and question, at what cost?