"5* 
 
1 
 
I 
 
 ] 
 \ 
 
THE 
 
 LANDSCAPE, 
 
 A 
 
 DIDACTIC POEM. 
 
 IN THREE BOOKS. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO UVEDALE PRICE, ESQ. 
 
 BY R. P. KNIGHT. 
 
 THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY W. BULMER AND CO. 
 fefja&apeare 25rintmG*2Dffice: 
 AND SOLD BY G.NICOL, 
 PALL-MALL. 
 
 *795- 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2013 
 
 'httpi/Zarchive-org/details/landscapedidactiOOknig^ 
 
ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 The reference to an unprinted work of Mr. Repton's, in 
 the note to v. 1 5 9 of the first book, was made in the pre- 
 ceding edition without any explanation or apology, be- 
 cause the author conceived the work to have been fairly 
 before the public; and as he only meant to expose the 
 absurdity of a principle of picturesque improvement, or 
 landscape gardening, publicly professed, by a public 
 professor of that art, he did not imagine that he was 
 giving any just grounds for particular enmity, or gene- 
 ral censure. He finds, however, that a great clamour has 
 been raised against him for quoting a private manuscript, 
 for the purpose of criticising it ;* and what is still more 
 important, for quoting it incorrectly, and consequently 
 unfairly .4- 
 
 As to the first of these accusations, the author thinks 
 it wholly groundless; because, in his opinion, the work 
 
 * Monthly Review, May, 17 94. 
 
 + Advertisement in the Times, signed H. Repton; and published imme- 
 diately after this Poem. Also Mr. Repton's Letter to Mr. Price, p. S. 
 
\ 
 
 IV ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 quoted was completely published, though not printed ; 
 it having been sold to the gentleman whose place was the 
 subject of it; and afterwards exposed in a bookseller's 
 shop, as the specimen of a more extensive work, for 
 which subscriptions were there received. In this situa- 
 tion, the author cannot but think it as fair an object of 
 public animadversion as any picture in the Shakspeare 
 Gallery, of which a print has not yet been delivered. 
 Mr. Repton himself, he concluded, had too much know- 
 ledge of business, to pretend to any exclusive right of 
 property in a plan or manuscript which he had delivered 
 to another, and received payment for ; and it is not with- 
 out the utmost astonishment that he finds an expression 
 in his Letter to Mr. Price implying the contrary." If 
 an apology was due to any one, it was to his employer,, 
 the owner of the place, and purchaser of the plan and 
 manuscript ; but as he had consented to its being placed 
 in a bookseller's shop, to be subscribed for, it seemed to 
 be as fairly and fully laid open to criticism as any one 
 of his family pictures would be, should he place them 
 in the shop of a printseller, and open a public subscrip- 
 tion for engravings to be made after them. 
 
 As to the second and more important accusation, the 
 
 * Page 8. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. V 
 
 only way of proving the justice or injustice of it, will be 
 to produce the passage in question ; which was tran- 
 scribed in the presence of Mr. Nicol the bookseller, to 
 whom the manuscript is entrusted ; and from whom the 
 author, as a subscriber, has a right to claim a copy. 
 
 In pointing out the means of giving greatness of cha- 
 racter to a place, and showing an undivided extent of 
 property r Mr. Repton has these words : " The market - 
 " house, or other public edifice, or even a mere stone with 
 " distances, may bear the arms of the family ; or the same 
 " arms may be the sign of the principal inn in the place." 
 
 By a mere stone with distances, the author of the Land- 
 scape certainly thought that he meant a milestone : but 
 if he did not, any other interpretation which he may 
 think more advantageous to himself shall readily be 
 adopted, as it will equally answer the purpose of the 
 quotation. — Even if he chooses to say, that he meant 
 nothing by this stone, it shall be allowed ; since either 
 of his other instances, the public edifice, or the inn, will 
 do equally well. So far from intentionally misquoting, 
 in order to ridicule him, as he has thought proper to insi- 
 nuate/' the author took the instance, and employed the 
 interpretation, which he thought the least ridiculous. 
 
 * Letter to Mr. Price, page s . 
 
vi 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 As for any other censures that have been passed upon 
 him in reviews, magazines, 8cc. he shall take no notice 
 of them ; as they are critical, and not moral, and affect 
 him only as an author, and not as a man. If his work 
 is good, all that they can say against it will not make it 
 bad ; and if it is bad, all that he or his friends can say 
 for it will not make it good. It is before the tribunal of 
 the public, whose judgment will be, as it always has 
 been sooner or later, uniformly just. Misrepresentation 
 and abuse he of course expected, when he presumed to 
 attack a system of public embellishment, so lucrative to 
 those who make a trade of it ; for he was not unacquainted 
 with the sympathy that exists between mercantile imr 
 provers and mercantile writers. The misrepresentation 
 indeed he might have been tempted to obviate, by giv- 
 ing a more detailed explanation of what he thinks the 
 true principles of picturesque improvement of grounds, 
 had not this been already done, in a very masterly man- 
 ner, by the friend to whom this work is addressed. To 
 his Essay on the subject he therefore refers the dissa- 
 tisfied reader; expressing at the same time his entire 
 approbation of the general system of picturesque im- 
 provement, which is there so happily enforced and il- 
 lustrated; however he may differ in some particulars, 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. vii 
 
 belonging rather to philosophical theory, than to prac- 
 tical taste. 
 
 Such theories are mere corroborative illustrations, 
 which do not directly affect the main question, of what 
 is, or what is not good taste? this, after all, must depend 
 upon the general feelings of mankind ; and all that the 
 theorist can do, is to remove their acquired prejudices 
 and corrupt habits, so that they may let those feelings 
 act fairly and impartially. The different understandings 
 of different men, will of course employ different kinds 
 of argument, and follow different modes of illustration, 
 though they agree in the point to be proved. As in 
 morals, one may found his principles in fitness or pro- 
 priety, another in general sympathy, and another in the 
 immediate operation of providence, or efficient grace ; 
 at the same time that all exactly agree in what is right 
 or wrong. So in taste, one may found his principles in 
 a division of the sublime, the picturesque, and the beau- 
 tiful ; and another, in a certain unison of sympathy 
 and harmony of causes and effects ; at the same time 
 that both agree in what is, or is not good taste, and ap- 
 prove or disapprove the same objects. To ascertain and 
 extend this good taste in the art on which he has written, 
 is the sole wish of the author upon the subject ; and he 
 
viii 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 is no farther anxious for the truth or reputation of his 
 theory of visible beauty, than as it may contribute to 
 that end. 
 
 As for what has been asserted, of his preferring the 
 opposite extremes of a Siberian desert and a Dutchman's gar- 
 den, to the grounds of Blenheim, Stozue, or Burleigh* it is a 
 misrepresentation so monstrous as to need no reply ; it 
 being contradicted by almost every line of his poem: 
 but if preferring the rich and natural scenes of Wind- 
 sor or New Forest to the shaven parks and gardens of 
 either of those places, be a proof of immaturity of taste \ 
 and want of practical ideas on the subject of landscape gar- 
 dening, he must submit to the imputation ; and hopes 
 that he shall continue equally deserving of it: he is also 
 equally ready to avow and glory in whatever error or 
 misconception there may be in preferring, immediate- 
 ly round a house, the terraces, steps, and balustrades, 
 (which were borrowed, not from Dutch gardens, but 
 from the Italian villas represented in the pictures of 
 Claude and Gaspar) to the smooth lawns and prim 
 shrubberies, which have succeeded them. Under the 
 sanction of such authority, and with the advantage of 
 more extensive observation, and more real experience 
 
 * Monthly Review, ibid. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 ix 
 
 than have fallen to the lot of any professed practi- 
 tioner in this country, he has expressed his opinions 
 with confidence and decision ; and though that has 
 been made a pretext for condemning them, he has the 
 satisfaction to find that they have already been so far 
 successful in stopping the progress of the present system 
 of shaving and levelling, as to account for the virulence 
 and acrimony with which they have been treated by 
 those who are interested in promoting it. 
 
 As for the very bungling attempt that has been made 
 to ridicule them in a sort of doggerel ode, called the 
 Sketch from the Landscape, he only notices it to assure the 
 author of it, that the apprehensions expressed in the 
 postscript, of giving him any serious offence by such 
 a performance, are wholly groundless ; such ribaldry 
 always carrying its own apology with it. — It belongs to 
 the nature of the animal, and therefore to be angry at it 
 is folly. Pity or contempt it may indeed excite, but can 
 do no serious injury to any but the real or reputed au- 
 thors of it. 
 
 One insinuation, however, even in this contemptible 
 publication, cannot pass unnoticed. Mr. Mason's Eng- 
 lish Garden is said to have been pillaged to decorate the 
 Landscape, without any acknowledgment having been 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 made for the flowers stolen ;* unfortunately the author 
 of the latter poem has never read the former ; nor did 
 he, at the time of writing, recollect its existence, though 
 he now remembers to have heard it spoken of, some 
 
 * To those critics who are fond of showing their sagacity in discoveries of 
 this kind, the perusal of the following observations of Dr. Johnson is earnestly- 
 recommended. 
 
 " Among the innumerable practices by which interest or envy have taught 
 those who live upon literary fame to disturb each other at their airy banquets, 
 one of the most common is the charge of plagiarism. When the excellence of 
 a new composition can no longer be contested, and malice is compelled to give 
 way to the unanimity of applause, there is yet this one expedient to be tried, 
 by which the author may be degraded, though his work be reverenced ; and 
 the excellence which we cannot obscure, may be set at such a distance as not 
 to overpower our fainter lustre. 
 
 " This accusation is dangerous, because, even when it is false, it may be 
 sometimes urged with probability. Bruyere declares, that we are come into 
 the world too late to produce any thing new, that nature and life are pre- 
 occupied, and that description and sentiment have been long exhausted. It is 
 indeed certain, that whoever attempts any common topic, will find unex- 
 pected coincidences of his thoughts with those of other writers ; nor can the 
 nicestjudgment always distinguish accidental similitude from artful imitation. 
 There is likewise a common stock of images, a settled mode of arrangement, 
 and a beaten track of transition, which all authors suppose themselves at liberty 
 to use, and which produce the resemblance generally observable among con- 
 temporaries. So that in books which best deserve the name of originals, there 
 is little new beyond the disposition of materials already provided; the same 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 years before, with that commendation which is due to 
 every production of the chaste and classical pen of Mr. 
 Mason: let not, however, the candid reader suppose 
 that he makes this confession through any affected or 
 fastidious refinement ; on the contrary, he considers it 
 
 ideas and combinations of ideas have been long in the possession of other 
 hands; and by "restoring to every man his own, as the Romans must have 
 returned to their cots from the possession of the world, so the most inventive 
 and fertile genius would reduce his folios to a few pages. Yet the author 
 who imitates his predecessors, only by furnishing himself with thoughts and 
 elegancies out of the same general magazine of literature, can with little more 
 propriety be reproached as a plagiary, than the architect can be censured as a 
 mean copier of Angelo or Wren, because he digs his marble from the same 
 quarry, squares his stones by the same art, and unites them in columns of the 
 same order. 
 
 " Many subjects fall under the consideration of an author, which being 
 limited by nature can admit only of slight and accidental diversities. All de- 
 finitions of the same thing must be nearly the same; and descriptions, which 
 are definitions of a more lax and fanciful kind, must always have in some 
 degree that resemblance to each other which they all have to their object. Differ- 
 ent poets describing the spring or the sea would mention the zephyrs and the 
 flowers, the billows and the rocks; reflecting on human life, they would, 
 without any communication of opinions, lament the deceitfulness of hope, 
 the fugacity of pleasure, the fragility of beauty, and the frequency of calamity; 
 and for palliatives of these incurable miseries, they would concur in recom- 
 mending kindness, temperance, caution, and fortitude/'' 
 
Xl1 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 as an instance of culpable negligence, for which he has 
 no better excuse to offer than the solitary retirement in 
 which he then lived, and his habits of study, which 
 have led him to a more general and familiar acquaint- 
 ance with ancient than with modern literature. 
 
 That the followers and imitators of the late Mr. Brown 
 should think him a very great man, is very natural. The 
 auctioneer in the comedy thinks his predecessor, Mr. 
 Prigg, the greatest man that ever was, or ever will be ;* 
 and when such great men are treated with contempt, the 
 indignation of their little admirers is naturally excited- 
 This, the author of the Sketch tells us, 
 — - — in celeres iambos 
 
 misit furentem. 
 
 And as we all know, 
 
 Si natura negat, facit indignatio versum. 
 It is, however, to be lamented that indignation has now 
 lost all its poetical fire and spirit ; as the following stan- 
 za, one of the least bad in the poem, and containing a 
 very just account of the author and his work, will suf- 
 ficiently prove: 
 
 " Thus, doughty Knight, from thy rich theme 
 I hope I've nicely skimm'd the cream; 
 
 * See Foote's Minor. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. Xlii 
 
 (I'm a mere literary Scrub:*) 
 
 What a rare dish for cognoscenti! 
 
 So, sirs, 1 11 here present ye 
 
 With a whipt syllabub." Sketch, p. 20. 
 This, the author tells us in his postscript, is sportive 
 irony, and jeu d esprit ; by which he probably means 
 sportive wit. It is well that he has defined it, or his 
 readers might chance to have taken it for blundering 
 dullness vainly attempting wit, and producing nonsense. 
 
 Having thus given a specimen of an adversary's satire, 
 it may perhaps be allowable, without incurring the im- 
 putation of excessive arrogance or vanity, to add a spe- 
 cimen, in a very different style, of a friend's panegy- 
 ric ; which, as it contains not only an approbation, 
 but a very happy illustration of the system of improve- 
 ment here recommended, may be considered as a part of 
 the present work; the whole of which, the reader will 
 probably wish, had been executed by the same masterly 
 hand. 
 
 * Correctness of metaphor is not to be expected from a writer of this 
 class; but surely he might have known that the business of a Scrub is to 
 sweep the dirt, and not skim the cream. But, 
 
 Qiiand la rime enfin se trouve au bout des vers, 
 Qu'importe que le reste y soit mis de travers ? 
 
xiv 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Whoe'er thy classic poem, Knight, hath read, 
 
 Where truth, and taste, and harmony, combine ; 
 Where native sense, by manly science fed, 
 
 Speaks the full mind in every nervous line ; 
 Must hail, with patriot joy, the approaching hour, 
 
 When trammell'd nature shall again be free ; 
 Shall spurn the dull improver's pedant power, 
 
 And burst luxuriant into liberty. 
 So in thy favourite bard's immortal lays, 
 
 Bounds the fleet courser to the well known plain ; 
 Exulting, in the wanton current plays, 
 
 High lifts his head, and waves his flowing mane : 
 His flowing mane, by barbarous art unshorn, 
 
 Floats on a neck by no rude yoke oppress'd ; 
 While nature's beauties all his limbs adorn, 
 
 And conscious freedom swells his ample chest. 
 O liberty and nature, kindred powers, 
 
 Shed on this favour'd isle your genial beams! 
 Arch our high groves, and weave our tangled bowers, 
 
 Pile our rude rocks, and wind our lucid streams! 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 XV 
 
 Yet not to sylvan scenes alone confined, 
 Or on one favour'd spot, be felt your sway: 
 
 Exalt the nobler energies of mind, 
 
 And pour o'er all the globe your intellectual day. 
 
 Edw. Winnington. 
 
THE LANDSCAPE. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 How best to bid the verdant Landscape rise, 
 
 To please the fancy, and delight the eyes ; 
 
 Its various parts in harmony to join 
 
 With art clandestine, and conceal'd design ; 
 
 To adorn, arrange; — to separate, and select 5 
 
 With secret skill, and counterfeit neglect; 
 
 I sing. Do thou, O Price, the song attend; 
 
 Instruct the poet, and assist the friend: 
 
 Teach him plain truth in numbers to express, 
 
 And shew its charms through fiction s flowery dress. 1 
 
 For as the doctor's wig, and pomp of face, 
 Announce his knowledge of the patient's case, 
 And harmless drugs, roll'd in a gilded pill, 
 From fancy get the power to cure or kill ; 
 So our poor palliatives may chance to acquire 1 5 
 
 Some fame or favour from their gay attire ; 
 
And learn to cure or kill that strange disease, 
 
 Which gives deformity the power to please ; 
 
 And shews poor Nature, shaven and defaced, 
 
 To gratify the jaundiced eye of taste. 20 
 
 Whether the scene extends o'er wide domains, 
 Or lurks, confined, in low sequester'd plains ; 
 Whether it decks the baron's gorgeous seat, 
 Or humbly cheers the rustic's snug retreat ; 
 Whether it shews, from yon' high mountain's brow, 25 
 The water'd meads and fertile fields below ; 
 Or, deep retired in solitude and shade, 
 It bounds its prospect to some narrow glade ; 
 Whether it leads aloft the aching sight 
 To view the craggy cliff's tremendous height; 30 
 Or, by the murmuring rivulet's shady side, 
 Delights to shew the curling waters glide, 
 Beneath reflected rocks, or antique towers, 
 Amidst o'ershadowing trees, or lightly tufted flowers; 
 'Tis still one principle through all extends, 35 
 And leads through different ways to different ends. 
 
 Whate'er its essence, or whate'er its name, 
 Whate'er its modes, 'tis still, in all, the same: 
 Tis just congruity of parts combined 
 To please the sense, and satisfy the mind. 40 
 
3 
 
 In form of limb and character of face, 
 We call the magic combination, grace ; 
 That grace which springs from an unfetter'd mind, 
 Which rules the body, free and unconfined ; 
 Where native energy and native sense 45 
 Through every part their vivid power dispense ; — 
 In each strong feature beam ecstatic fire. 
 Brace every nerve and every limb inspire: — 
 Limbs that were never taught to move by rules, 
 But free alike from bandages and schools ; 50 
 Uncramp'd by labour hard, or dire disease, 
 Nor swoln by sloth, intemperance, and ease, — 
 Such as on Apalachean mountains stray, 
 And dare the panther, growling for his prey ; 
 Or o'er the craggy summits lightly bound, 5 5 
 
 And chase the deer before the panting hound. 
 
 v. 5 3 . It has been frequently observed by travellers, that the attitudes of 
 savages are in general graceful and spirited; and the great artist who now so 
 worthily fills the President s chair in the Royal Academy, assured me, that 
 when he first saw the Apollo of the Belvidere, he was extremely struck with 
 its resemblance to some of the Mohawk warriors whom he had seen in Ame- 
 rica. The case is, that the Mohawks act immediately from the impulse of 
 their minds, and know no acquired restraints or affected habits. 
 
4 
 
 Or rather such as oft, in days of yore, 
 Display 'd their vigour on Alpheus' shore ; 
 When science, taste, and liberty, combined 
 To raise the fancy and enrich the mind ; 60 
 And each free body moved, without control, 
 Spontaneous with the dictates of its soul. 
 
 Such were the forms which rose to Phidias' view, 
 When from his chisel Jove's dread image grew ; 
 Sublimely awful, as the sovereign god 6 5 
 
 Who shakes the earth's foundations with his nod; 
 Who bids the seasons still progressive roll, 
 And spread their blessings round from pole to pole ; 
 
 v. 5 7 . The state of society in Greece was such that it afforded the ar- 
 tist the advantages of savage, joined to those of civilized life ; and in the games 
 and public exercises, exhibited the most perfect models of strength and agility 
 in men of high rank and liberal education, whose elevation of mind gave a 
 dignity of expression to every act and gesture of their bodies. 
 
 v. 63. The colossal statue of Jupiter, which Phidias made for the tem- 
 ple at Olympia, held a Sceptre in one hand, and a Victory in the other, 
 while the Seasons appeared to move round its head. The artist acknowle< Iged 
 himself indebted for the grand expression of the countenance to die following 
 lines of Homer. 
 
 H, xou Kvuviycriv stt otppviri vevtre Kpouiuv' 
 
 ApFpojiai hotpot yjxiTou e7rsppco<rocvro avoacrog, 
 
 Kparog ct7T ccj uvoctoio' pieyuv SeXeXi^ev OXv^lttov. II. a, 5 28. 
 
Such too the Sicyonian sculptor taught 
 
 To model motion, and imbody thought; 7 
 
 V. 69. Lysippus of Sicyon added the last refinements of elegance to the 
 art of sculpture. He observed that the old statuaries made men as they were, 
 and he, as they seemed to be (abillos factos, quales essent, homines : a se, quales 
 viderentur esse. Plin. I. xxxiv. c. 19.) It is much to be regretted that 
 we have not the original Greek of this curious and singular expression ex- 
 tant; as it is somewhat equivocally, and, probably, imperfectly recorded 
 in the concise Latin of Pliny; who scarcely knew enough of art to feel 
 its force, or comprehend its meaning. The great artist appears to have 
 been so thoroughly master of the human frame, that he could represent 
 all its actions and positions in the abstract ; without referring to individual 
 models; and thus to allow for the errors of vision, and the difference between 
 real and visible perspective ; or rather, the difference of perspective in objects 
 as they appear to the eye only, and as they appear to the eye corrected by the 
 understanding. This difference may at any time be discovered and ascer- 
 tained, by tracing a figure, with projecting parts, through a plate of glass, 
 or other transparent substance. In such a traced drawing, the lineal per- 
 spective must necessarily be correct; but nevertheless the projections will 
 become much larger in it, than they appear to the eye in the object from 
 wHch it was taken; because the mind, knowing their real size from the 
 evidence of another sense, corrects the sight in a manner so habitually in- 
 stantaneous, as to be quite imperceptible. Hence some degree of real incor- 
 rectness is always necessary to produce apparent precision; and as the 
 Greek aitists worked much less mechanically than the moderns, they were 
 the more likely to sacrifice the means to the end. All their finest efforts 
 were employed in representing those momentary actions and expressions, 
 
6 
 
 Pure abstract beauty's fleeting shades to trace, 
 
 And fix the image of ideal grace : 
 
 Combining what he felt with what he saw ; 
 
 And penetrating nature's inmost law: 
 
 To no one single model stiffly bound, 7 5 
 
 But boldly ranging all creation round, 
 
 He made his breathing figures light and free, 
 
 Mot as men were, but as they seerrid to be. 
 
 Curse on the pedant jargon, that defines 
 Beauty's unbounded forms to given lines! 80 
 With scorn eternal mark the cautious fool, 
 Who dares not judge till he consults his rule! 
 Who, when strong passions shake the actor's frame, 
 And all his soul has catch'd the Poet's flame, 
 
 for which no stationary model could be found ; wherefore they were obliged 
 to work as much from their minds, as their eyes; and to employ such means 
 as were most certain of producing the intended effects, without considering 
 whether or not they were precisely the same as those which nature employs 
 to produce such effects. Hence in some of the finest specimens of art now 
 extant (particularly the Apollo of the Belvidere) partial inaccuracies, even 
 when apparent, contribute to the general correctness of the action and ex- 
 pression. This was probably the case with the works of Lysippus; and 
 may account for the remark above cited, which an artist of his fire would 
 naturally think a sufficient answer to the impertinent observations of those 
 critics, who measured his works, instead of looking at them. 
 
7 
 
 Thinks but of rhetoric's phlegmatic laws, 85 
 
 And with his stop-watch measures every pause: 
 
 Or when, Salvator, from thy daring hand 
 
 Appears, in burnish'd arms, some savage band, — 
 
 Each figure boldly pressing into life, 
 
 And breathing blood, calamity, and strife ; 90 
 
 Should coldly measure each component part, 
 
 And judge thy genius by a surgeon's art: 
 
 Or else, where Rembrandt, through some darken'd room, 
 
 Spreads his soft tints, and animates the gloom, 
 
 Refuse to admire the sweetly blended light, 95 
 
 Till some optician had pronounced it right. 
 
 Such formal coxcombs let us still defy, 
 And dare be pleased, although we know not why. 
 Not that I'd check the careful student's toil ; 
 For culture's needful to the happiest soil: 100 
 All art, by labour, slowly is acquired ; — 
 The madman only fancies 'tis inspired. 
 The vain, rash upstart, thinks he can create, 
 Ere yet his hand has learn'd to imitate; 
 While senseless dash and random flourish try 105 
 The place of skill and freedom to supply. 
 But when the master's hand, in wanton play, 
 Presumes beyond precision's bounds to stray, 
 
8 
 
 Light, bold, and steady, as his pencil flies, 
 
 Small partial errors sink before our eyes : 110 
 
 His glowing touch, elastic, strong, and free, 
 
 Still shews us Nature as she seems to be; 
 
 And with expression, just in every part, 
 
 Appeals from sense directly to the heart. 
 
 Even forms of molten brass, and sculptured stone 1 1 5 
 Have learn'd this magic power of art to own ; 
 For though the sculptor's hand advances slow, 
 And no free touches from the chisel flow ; 
 Yet Science, led by Genius, has supplied 
 What Nature's self appear'd to have denied. 120 
 
 When sudden poisons freeze Laocoon's veins, 
 The skin seems curdled with convulsive pains ; 
 
 v. ill. See note on v. 69. 
 
 v. 12 1. The group of Laocoon and his sons, in the Cortile of the Bel- 
 videre, is the work of Agesander, Polidorus, and Athenodorus of Rhodes; 
 and is mentioned by Pliny as the most consummate piece of art extant in 
 his time (opus omnibus et picturae et statuariae artis praeponendum. Lib. 
 xxxvi. c. 4.) Happily the surface is perfectly preserved: otherwise the 
 excellence here alluded to would have been lost. 
 
 Virgil has evidently taken his description of the death of Laocoon from 
 this group; but he has grossly misunderstood, and miserably debased the 
 sublime ideas of the Greek sculptors, in making the suffering hero to roar out, 
 when bitten by the serpent, as a bull roars when stricken by the sacriheer. — 
 
The nerves contracted, even in marble rise, 
 
 And the last rays seem quivering in his eyes ; 
 
 Yet view the wonder with attention near, 125 
 
 And the rough touches of the tool appear 
 
 Impress'd with seeming ease and bold neglect, 
 
 But placed with care, and labour'd for effect. 
 
 When Delphi's god advances o'er the plain, 
 And views, triumphant, the dire serpent slain; 1 30 
 Though symmetry in parts neglected lies, 
 The whole displays the godhead to our eyes ; 
 Lightly the elastic marble seems to tread, 
 And trace the unerring shaft his hand has sped : 
 While scorn celestial rises in his face, 135 
 Attemper'd sweet, with more than mortal grace ; 
 
 Clamores simul horrendos ad sidera tollit ; 
 Qualis mugitus, fugit quum saucius aram 
 
 Taurus. ^En. ii. 222. 
 
 In the marble, the breast is expanded, and the throat contracted, to shew 
 that the agonies which convulse the frame are borne in silence. 
 
 v. 12 9. In the statue of Apollo, in the same Cortile of the Belvidere, 
 the left shoulder, which is raised, is farther from the neck than the right, 
 which is fallen. An inaccuracy so gross, in a work of such masterly excel- 
 lence, must have been intended; and, 1 believe, the wonderful expression 
 of lightness, movement, and agility, which distinguishes this figure, is con- 
 siderably augmented by it. 
 
10 
 
 From every sordid, earthly passion free, 
 And feeling only as a deity. 
 
 In humbler art the self same laws obtain : 
 Nature in all rejects the pedant's chain ; 140 
 Which binding beauty in its waving line, 
 Destroys the charm it vainly would define ; 
 For nature, still irregular and free, 
 Acts not by lines, but general sympathy. 
 The path that moves in even serpentine, 145 
 Is still less natural than the pointed line: 
 When o'er the level lawn you chance to stray, 
 Nature and taste direct the nearest way ; 
 
 v. 14 8. By the nearest way, I do not mean a path or road, traced accu- 
 rately in a straight line by rule and measure ; but the way which any person, 
 walking or riding at his ease, would naturally and accidentally take in going 
 from one given point to another. This is expressed, I think, with tole- 
 rable accuracy here ; but is further explained in v. 213, 8cc. so fully, that I 
 cannot attribute the misinterpretation of it to want of intellect, so much as to 
 want of candour ; notwithstanding that the general tenour of the performance, 
 to which I am indebted for it, may make either motive probable. In forming 
 that which is to please the eye, my maxim has always been, that we should 
 be guided by die eye ; for lines traced by rule and measure, whether straight or 
 curved, will always be stiff and formal. An anatomical print, made in that 
 way, may represent a human body in the same attitude, and with more pre- 
 cision, than a painter's etching; but as it displays, even in that precision, the 
 
11 
 
 But when you traverse rough uneven ground, 
 Consult your ease, and you will oft go round: 150 
 The best of rules are those of common use ; 
 Affected taste is but refined abuse. 
 
 mind and hand of a mechanic, we never consider it as a work of taste, or 
 expect to derive from it any of the gratifications belonging to the elegant pro- 
 ductions of liberal art. Straight lines were the fashion of the last century, and 
 curved ones are the fashion of this ; and an indiscriminate adherence to the 
 fashion of the day, whatever it happens to be, with a supercilious contempt 
 for all who venture to dissent from it, is the never failing characteristic of the 
 vanity, separated from the feeling or discernment, of taste. The advocate for 
 curve lines would have been as much ridiculed in the last century, as the 
 advocate for straight ones in this ; and (whatever conceit and ignorance may 
 say against the taste of our ancestors) with equal reason ; for the indiscri- 
 minate use of either is equally bad. Many of the compositions of Nicolas 
 Poussin show the grand effects which may be produced by a judicious use of 
 straight lines ; and in some instances our old avenues accorded very happily 
 with the style of the buildings to which they led, as well as with that of the 
 country which surrounded them ; but the too general use of them was still 
 more fatal to picturesque beauty, than the late senseless destruction of them 
 has been. It belongs to the real improver to discriminate where the straight, 
 and where the curve line will best suit the composition ; and it is this talent of 
 discrimination which distinguishes the liberal artist from the mechanic. No 
 general rule of embellishment can be applicable to all the varieties of natural 
 situation; and those who adopt such general rules, maybe more properly 
 said to improve by accident, than either Mr. Price or myself. 
 
12 
 
 First fix the points to which you wish to go ; 
 Then let your easy path spontaneous flow ; 
 With no affected turn or artful bend, 1 5 5 
 
 To lead you round still farther from the end : 
 For, as the principle of taste is sense, 
 Whate'er is void of meaning gives offence. 
 
 " But in your grand approach," the critic cries, 
 " Magnificence requires some sacrifice: — 160 
 " As you advance unto the palace gate, 
 " Each object should announce the owner's state; 
 
 v. 15 9. That I may not be supposed to deal unfairly with the modern 
 improvers of places, or landscape gardeners, I must inform the reader, that 
 I have taken this passage from one, who will be readily and universally al- 
 lowed to be the most skilful and eminent among them. Mr. Repton, in his 
 plan for improving Tatton park, in Cheshire, with which he means to fa- 
 vour the public in the general collection of his works, and in which he has 
 professedly detailed the principles of his art, suggests many expedients for 
 shewing the extent of property, and among others, that of placing the family 
 arms upon the neighbouring mile-stones; but as difficulties might arise 
 among the trustees of the turnpikes, who might each wish to have his own 
 aims on some particular stone, I flatter myself that the more direct and ex- 
 plicit means of gratifying purse-proud vanity which I here propose, may not 
 be thought unworthy of the attention of those improvers, who make this gra- 
 tification the object of their labours. ^ 
 
13 
 
 " His vast possessions, and his wide domains ; 
 " His waving woods, and rich unbounded plains." 
 He, therefore, leads you many a tedious round, 165 
 To shew the extent of his employer's ground ; 
 Climbs o'er the hills, and to the vales descends ; 
 Then mounts again, through lawn that never ends. 
 
 But why not rather, at the porter's gate, 
 Hang up the map of all my lord's estate, 1 70 
 
 Than give his hungry visiters the pain 
 To wander o'er so many miles in vain? 
 For well we know this sacrifice is made, 
 Not to his taste, but to his vain parade ; 
 And all it does, is but to shew combined 1 7 5 
 
 His wealth in land, and poverty in mind. 
 
 The best approach to every beauteous scene, 
 Is where it's least expected or foreseen ; 
 Where nought occurs to anticipate surprise, 
 Or bring the Landscape piecemeal to the eyes: 1 80 
 For as bright tints of yellow, blue, or red, 
 In gay confusion o'er the pallet spread, 
 May please the infant; but until combined, 
 Afford no pleasure to the experienced mind ; 
 So beauteous objects, unconnected seen, 185 
 Where wide blank spaces ever intervene, 
 
14 
 
 Materials for the Landscape may supply, 
 
 And, dazzling, please the rude unskilful eye; 
 
 Which wild variety with zeal pursues, 
 
 And still is pleased the more, the more it views: I 90 
 
 But cautiously will taste its stores reveal ; 
 
 Its greatest art is aptly to conceal ; 
 
 To lead, with secret guile, the prying sight 
 
 To where component parts may best unite, 
 
 And form one beauteous, nicely blended whole, 1 95 
 
 To charm the eye and captivate the soul. 
 
 As he who shines supreme in every art, 
 That guides the taste, or elevates the heart; 
 Whose genius, like the sun, serenely bright, 
 From unknown sources beams eternal light; 200 
 And though successive ages roll away, 
 Systems on systems triumph and decay, 
 Empires on empires in oblivion fall, 
 And ruin spread alternate over all ; 
 
 v. 197. The unadorned simplicity with which Homer begins his poems, 
 has been always so universally admired, that I wonder it has not been imi- 
 tated in all other works of taste and genius. In building, and what is called 
 landscape gardening, it has not only been neglected, but studiously avoided ; 
 though, in reality, more important in augmenting the effect, and progressively 
 interesting the attention, than in poetry. 
 
I 
 
 I 
 
 > 
 
> 
 
 15 
 
 Still lives unclouded in perpetual day, 205 
 And darts through realms unborn his intellectual ray : 
 As he, in plain undecorated lines, 
 Just hints the subject of his vast designs ; 
 But leaves the mighty scenes that crowd behind 
 To rush at once upon the hearer's mind: 210 
 So let the approach and entrance to your place 
 Display no glitter, and affect no grace ; 
 But still in careless easy curves proceed, 
 Through the rough thicket or the flowery mead ; 
 Till bursting from some deep-imbowered shade, 2 1 5 
 Some narrow valley, or some opening glade, 
 
 v. 2 15, and 221. Compare the same scene in plates I. and II.; in the 
 latter dressed in the modern style, and in the former, undressed. That my 
 representation of the effects of both may be perfectly fair, I have chosen the 
 commonest English scenery ; and that I might not be supposed to take advan- 
 tage of any tricks of light and shadow in favour of my own system, I have 
 given mere engraver's etchings, which have no pretension to effect. The 
 engraver has indeed rather favoured that which I condemn, by giving more 
 breadth, in the little light and shadow that there is, to the second plate than 
 to the first. 
 
 It has been malignantly and mischievously insinuated, that these etchings 
 were given with no other intention than that of burlesquing Mr. Repton's 
 unpublished drawings ; and even, that they have been etched from his designs. 
 ( See Monthly Review, May, 17 9 4.) As both these insinuations are utterly 
 
16 
 
 Well mix'd and blended in the scene, you shew 
 
 The stately mansion rising to the view. 
 
 But mix'd and blended, ever let it be 
 
 A mere component part of what you see. 220 
 
 For if in solitary pride it stand, 
 
 'Tis but a lump, encumbering the land, 
 
 A load of inert matter, cold and dead, 
 
 The excrescence of the lawns that round it spread. 
 
 Component parts in all the eye requires: 225 
 One formal mass for ever palls and tires. 
 To make the Landscape grateful to the sight, 
 Three points of distance always should unite ; 
 And howsoe'er the view may be confined, 
 Three mark'd divisions we shall always find: 230 
 Not more, where Claude extends his prospect wide, 
 O'er Rome's Campania to the Tyrrhene tide, 
 (Where towers and temples, mouldering to decay, 
 In pearly air appear to die away, 
 
 And the soft distance, melting from the eye, 2 35 
 
 Dissolves its forms into the azure sky), 
 
 false, I cannot but think them as complimentary to myself, as they are se- 
 verely sarcastic upon that gentleman and his drawings ; though I will do the 
 author the justice to believe that he meant them to be exactly the reverse. 
 
17 
 
 Than where, confined to some sequester'd rill, 
 Meek Hobbima presents the village mill: — 
 Not more, where great Salvator's mountains rise, 
 And hide their craggy summits in the skies; 2 40 
 
 While towering clouds in whirling eddies roll, 
 And bursting thunders seem to shake the pole ; 
 Than in the ivy'd cottage of Ostade, 
 Waterloe's copse, or Rysdael's low cascade. 
 
 Though oft o'erlook'd, the parts which are most near 
 Are ever found of most importance here ; 246 
 For though in nature oft the wandering eye 
 Roams to the distant fields, and skirts the sky, 
 Where curiosity its look invites, 
 
 And space, not beauty, spreads out its delights ; 250 
 
 Yet in the picture all delusions cease, 
 
 And only nature's genuine beauties please ; 
 
 The composition ranged in order true, 
 
 Brings every object fairly to the view ; 
 
 And, as the field of vision is confined, 25 5 
 
 Shews all its parts collected to the mind. 
 
 Yet often still the eye disgusted sees 
 
 In nature, objects which in painting please ; 
 
 v. 25 7 to 27 inclusive, have been added since the first edition. 
 
 It is now, I believe, generally admitted, that the system of picturesque 
 
18 
 
 Such as the rotting shed, or fungous tree, 
 
 Or tatter'd rags of age and misery: 260 
 
 But here restrain'd, the powers of mimic art 
 
 The pleasing qualities alone impart ; 
 
 For nought but light and colour can the eye, 
 
 But through the medium of the mind, descry; 
 
 And oft, in filth and tatter'd rags, it views 26 5 
 
 Soft varied tints and nicely blended hues, 
 
 Which thus abstracted from each other sense, 
 
 Give pure delight, and please without offence : 
 
 But small attention these exceptions claim ; 
 
 In general, art and nature love the same. 2 70 
 
 improvement, employed by the late Mr. Brown and liis followers, is the very 
 reverse of picturesque ; all 'subjects for painting instantly disappearing as they 
 advance ; whence an ingenious professor, who has long practised under the 
 title of Landscape Gardener, has suddenly changed his ground; and taking 
 advantage of a supposed distinction between the picturesque and the beau- 
 tiful, confessed that his art was never intended to produce landscapes, but 
 some kind of neat, simple, and elegant effects, or non-descript beauties, which 
 have not yet been named or classed. (See Letter to Mr. Price, p. 9.) " A 
 " beautiful garden scene," he says, " is not more defective because it wo7ildno! look 
 well on canvas, than a didactic poem, because it neither furnishes a suhject for 
 11 the painter or (he musician." (Ibid. p. 5 and 6.) Certainly not: — lor such 
 a poem must be void of imagery and melody ; and therefore more exactly re- 
 sembling one of this professor's improved places than he probably imagined 
 
19 
 
 Hence then we learn, in real scenes, to trace 
 The tints of beauty, and the forms of grace; 
 
 when he made the comparison. It may, indeed, have all the neatness, sim- 
 plicity, and elegance of English gardening (ibid. p. 9.) ; but it will also have its 
 vapid and tiresome insipidity ; and, however it may be esteemed by a pro- 
 fessor or a critic, who judge every thing by rule and measure, will make no 
 impression on the generality of readers, whose taste is guided by their feelings. 
 
 I cannot, however, but think that the distinction, of which this ingenious 
 professor has thus taken advantage, is an imaginary one, and that the pictu- 
 resque is merely that kind of beauty which belongs exclusively to the sense 
 of vision; or to the imagination, guided by that sense. It must always be 
 remembered in inquiries of this kind, that the eye, unassisted, perceives no- 
 thing but light variously graduated and modified : black objects are those 
 which totally absorb it, and white those which entirely reflect it; and all the 
 intermediate shades and colours are the various degrees in which it is par- 
 tially absorbed or impeded, and the various modes in which it is reflected 
 and refracted. Smoothness, or harmony of surface, is to the touch what har- 
 mony of colour is to the eye; and as the eye has learnt by habit to perceive 
 form as instantaneously as colour, we perpetually apply terms belonging to the 
 sense of touch to objects of sight ; and while they relate only to perception, 
 we are guilty of no impropriety in so doing : but we should not forget that 
 perception and sensation are quite different ; the one being an operation of the 
 mind, and the other an impression on the organs ; and that therefore, when 
 we speak of the pleasures and pains of each, we ought to keep them quite sepa- 
 rate, as belonging to different classes, and governed by different laws. 
 
 Where men agree in facts, almost all their disputes concerning inferences 
 arise from a confusion of terms; no language being sufficiently copious and 
 
20 
 
 To lop redundant parts, the coarse refine, 
 Open the crowded, and the scanty join. 
 
 accurate to afford a distinct expression for every discrimination necessary 
 , to be made in a philosophical inquiry, not guided by the certain limits of 
 number and quantity; and vulgar use having introduced a mixture of literal 
 and metaphorical meanings so perplexing, that people perpetually use words 
 without attaching any precise meaning to them whatever. This is peculiarly 
 the case with the word beauty, which is employed sometimes to signify that 
 congruity and proportion of parts, which in composition pleases the under- 
 standing; sometimes those personal charms, which excite animal desires be- 
 tween the sexes ; and sometimes those harmonious combinations of colours 
 and smells, which make grateful impressions upon the visual or olfactory 
 nerves. It often happens too, in the laxity of common conversation or desul- 
 tory writing, that the word is used without any pointed application to either, 
 but with a mere general and indistinct reference to what is any ways pleasing. 
 
 This confusion has been still more confounded, by its having equally pre- 
 vailed in all the terms applied to the constituent properties both of beauty and 
 Ugliness. We call a still clear piece of water, surrounded by shaven banks, 
 and reflecting white buildings, or other brilliant objects that stand near it, 
 smooth, because we perceive its surface to be smooth and even, though the im- 
 pression, which all these harsh and edgy reflections of light produce on the 
 eye, is analogous to that which roughness produces on the touch ; and is often 
 so violently irritating, that we cannot bear to look at it for any long time 
 together. In the same manner we call an agitated stream, flowing between 
 broken and sedgy banks, and indistinctly reflecting the waving foliage that 
 hangs over it, rough; because we know, from habitual observation, that its 
 impression on the eye is produced by uneven surfaces; at the same time that 
 
21 
 
 But, ah! in vain: — See yon fantastic band, 27 5 
 
 With charts, pedometers, and rules in hand, 
 
 the impression itself is all of softness and harmony ; and analogous to what the 
 most grateful and nicely varied smoothness would be to the touch. This is 
 the case with all smooth animals, whose forms being determined by marked 
 outlines, and the surfaces of whose skins producing strong reflections of light, 
 have an effect on the eye corresponding to what irritating roughness has upon 
 the touch ; while the coats of animals which are rough and shaggy, by partly 
 absorbing the light, and partly softening it by a mixture of tender shadows, 
 and thus connecting and blending it with that which proceeds from sur- 
 rounding objects, produce an effect on the eye similar to that which an 
 undulated and gently varied smoothness affords to the touch. The same 
 analogy prevails between shaven lawns and tufted pastures, dressed parks 
 and shaggy forests, neat buildings and mouldering walls, 8cc. 8cc. as far as 
 they affect the senses only. In all, our landscape gardeners seem to work for 
 the touch rather than the sight. 
 
 When harmony, either in colour or surface becomes absolute unity; it 
 sinks into what, in sound, we call monotony; that is, its impression is so lan- 
 guid and unvaried, that it produces no further irritation on the organ than 
 what is necessary for mere perception ; which, though never totally free from 
 either pleasure or pain, is so nearly neutral, that by a continuation it grows 
 tiresome; that is, it leaves the organ to a sensation of mere existence, which, 
 seems in itself to be painful. 
 
 If colours are so harsh and contrasted, or the surface of a tangible object so 
 pointed or uneven, as to produce a stronger or more varied impression than 
 the organ is adapted to bear, the irritation becomes painful in proportion to 
 its degree, and ultimately tends to its dissolution. 
 
22 
 
 Advance triumphant, and alike lay waste 
 The forms of nature, and the works of taste ! 
 
 Between these extremes lies that grateful medium of grateful irritation, 
 which produces the sensation of what we call beauty; and which in visible 
 objects we call picturesque beauty, because painting, by imitating the visible 
 qualities only, discriminates it from the objects of other senses with which it 
 may be combined; and which, if productive of stronger impressions, either 
 of pleasure or di-sgust, will overpower it ; so that a mind not habituated to 
 such discriminations, or (as more commonly expressed,) a person not pos- 
 sessed of a painter's eye, does not discover it till it is separated in the artist's 
 imitation. Rembrandt, Ostade, Teniers, and others of the Dutch painters, 
 have produced the most beautiful pictures, by the most exact imitations of the 
 most ugly and disgusting objects in nature ; and yet it is. physically impossi- 
 ble that an exact imitation should exhibit qualities not existing in its original ; 
 but the case is, that, in the originals, animal disgust, and the nauseating re- 
 pugnance of appetite, drown and overwhelm every milder pleasure of vision, 
 which a blended variety of mellow and harmonious tints must necessarily 
 produce on the eye, in nature as well as in art, if viewed in both with the 
 same degree of abstracted and impartial attention. 
 
 In like manner, properties pleasing to the other senses often exist in objects 
 disgusting or insipid to the eye, and make so strong an impression, that per- 
 sons who seek only what is generally pleasing, confound their sensations, 
 and imagine a thing beautiful, because they see in it something which gives 
 them pleasure of another kind. I am not inclined, any moi e than Mr. Repton, 
 to despise the comforts of a gravel wa1k y or the delicious fragrance of a shrubbery ; 
 (see his Letter to Mr. Price, p. 18.) neither am I inclined to despise the 
 convenience of a paved street, or the agreeable scent of distilled lavender; but 
 
23 
 
 To improve, adorn, and polish, they profess; 
 
 But shave the goddess, whom they come to dress ; 2 80 
 
 nevertheless, if the pavier and perfumer were to recommend their works as 
 delicious gratifications for the eye, I might be tempted to treat them both with 
 some degree of ridicule and contempt. Not only the fragrance of shrubs, but 
 the freshness of young grass and green turf, and the coolness of clear water, 
 however their disposition in modern gardens may be adverse to picturesque 
 beauty, and disgusting to the sense of seeing, are things so grateful to the na- 
 ture of man, that it is impossible to render them wholly disagreeable. Even 
 in painting, where freshness and coolness are happily represented, scenes not 
 distinguished by any beautiful varieties of tints or shadows, please through 
 the medium of the imagination, which instantly conceives the comforts and 
 pleasures which such scenes must afford; but still, in painting, they never 
 reconcile us to any harsh or glaring discords of colour; wherefore I have 
 recommended that art as the best criterion of the mere visible beauties of 
 rural scenery, which are all that I have pretended to criticise. 
 
 If, however, an improver of grounds chooses to reject this criterion, and to 
 consider picturesque beauty as not belonging to his profession, I have nothing 
 more to do with him ; the objects of our pursuit and investigation being en- 
 tirely different. All that I beg of him is, that if he takes any professional title, 
 it may be one really descriptive of his profession, such as that o^iualk maker, 
 shrub planter ) turf cleaner, or rural perfumer ; for if landscapes are not what he 
 means to produce, that of landscape gardener is one not only of no mean, but of 
 no true pretension. 
 
 . As for the beauties of congruity, intricacy, lightness, motion, repose, Sec 
 they belong exclusively to the understanding and imagination ; and though 
 1 have slightly noticed them in the text, a full and accurate investigation of 
 
24 
 
 Level each broken bank and shaggy mound, 
 
 And fashion all to one unvaried round ; 
 
 One even round, that ever gently flows, 
 
 Nor forms abrupt, nor broken colours knows ; 
 
 But, wrapt all o'er in everlasting green, 285 
 
 Makes one dull, vapid, smooth, unvaried scene. 
 
 Arise, great poet, and again deplore 
 The favourite reeds that deck'd thy Mincius' shore ! 
 
 them would not only exceed the limits of a note, but of my whole work. 
 The first great obstruction to it is the ambiguity of language, and the diffi- 
 culty of finding distinct terms to discriminate distinct ideas. The next is 
 the habit which men are in of flying for allusions to the inclination of the 
 sexes towards each other; which, being the strongest of our inclinations, 
 draws all the others into its vortex, and thus becomes the criterion of plea- 
 sures, with which it has no further connection than being; derived from the 
 same animal functions with the rest. All male animals probably think the 
 females of their own species the most beautiful part of the creation; and in 
 the various and complicated mind of civilized man, this original result of 
 appetite has been so changed and diversified by the various modifications of 
 mental sympathies, social habits, and acquired propensities, that it is impos- 
 sible to analyze it : it can therefore afford no lights to guide us in exploring 
 the general principles and theory of sensation, 
 v. 2 87 . Increns ubi tardis flexibus errat 
 
 o 
 
 Mincius, et tenera praetexit arundine ripas. Virg. Georg. iii. 14. 
 See also the 1st Bucolick, where Virgil so patheticaljy laments the con- 
 fiscation and distribution among the soldiery of the estates in that country. 
 
25 
 
 Protect the branches, that in Haemus shed 
 
 Their grateful shadows o'er thy aching head ; 2 90 
 
 Shaved to the brink, our brooks are taught to flow 
 
 Where no obtruding leaves or branches grow ; 
 
 While clumps of shrubs bespot each winding vale, 
 
 Open alike to every gleam and gale ; 
 
 Each secret haunt, and deep recess display'd, 291 
 
 And intricacy banish'd with its shade. 
 
 Hence, hence ! thou haggard fiend, however call'd, 
 Thin, meagre genius of the bare and bald ; 
 Thy spade and mattock here at length lay down, 
 And follow to the tomb thy favourite Brown: 300 
 Thy favourite Brown, whose innovating hand 
 First dealt thy curses o'er this fertile land ; 
 First taught the walk in formal spires to move, 
 And from their haunts the secret Dryads drove ; 
 With clumps bespotted o'er the mountain's side, 305 
 And bade the stream 'twixt banks close shaven glide ; 
 Banish'd the thickets of high-bowering wood, 
 Which hung, reflected, o'er the glassy flood ; 
 
 v. 2 8 9 O qui me gelidis in vallibus Haemi 
 
 Sistat, et ingenti ramorum protegat umbra, 
 v. 291. See plate I. in the middle distance, a brook flowing in its natural 
 banks ; and in plate II. the same brook, with its banks dressed by an improver, 
 
26 
 
 Where screen'd and shelter'd from the heats of day, 
 Oft on the moss grown stone reposed I lay, 310 
 And tranquil view'd the limpid stream below, 
 Brown with o'erhanging shade, in circling eddies flow. 
 
 Dear peaceful scenes, that now prevail no more, 
 Your loss shall every weeping muse deplore ! 
 Your poet, too, in one dear favour'd spot, 315 
 Shall shew your beauties are not quite forgot ; 
 Protect from all the sacrilegious waste 
 Of false improvement, and pretended taste, 
 One tranquil vale ; where oft, from care retired, 
 He courts the muse, and thinks himself inspired ; 320 
 Lulls busy thought and rising hope to rest, 
 And checks each wish that dares his peace molest. 
 
 Hence, proud ambition's vain delusive joys ! 
 Hence, worldly wisdom's solemn empty toys! 
 Let others seek the senate's loud applause, 325 
 And, glorious, triumph in their country's cause ! 
 Let others, bravely prodigal of breath, 
 Go grasp at honour in the jaws of death ; — 
 Their toils may everlasting glories crown, 
 And Heaven record their virtues with its own ! 330 
 
 Let me, retired from business, toil, and strife, 
 Close amidst books and solitude my life ; 
 
27 
 
 Beneath yon high-brow'd rocks in thickets rove, 
 Or, meditating, wander through the grove ; 
 Or, from the cavern, view the noontide beam 335 
 Dance on the rippling of the lucid stream, 
 While the wild woodbine dangles o'er my head, 
 And various flowers around their fragrance spread ; 
 Or where, 'midst scatter'd trees, the opening glade 
 Admits the well-mix'd tints of light and shade ; 340 
 And as the day's bright colours fade away, 
 Just shews my devious solitary way: 
 While thickening glooms around are slowly spread, 
 And glimmering sun-beams gild the mountain's head : 
 Then homeward as I sauntering move along, 345 
 The nightingale begins his evening song ; 
 Chanting a requiem to departed light, 
 That smooths the raven down of sable night. 
 
 When morning's orient beams again arise. 
 And the day reddens in the eastern skies ; 350 
 I hear the cawing rooks salute the dawn, 
 High in the oaks which overhang the lawn : 
 Perch'd up aloft, the council sits in state, 
 And the grove echoes with their loud debate ; 
 While various ways the adventurous squadrons fly, 355 
 Explore the thickets, and the fallows try ; 
 
28 
 
 Dig up the earth-worms, wrapp'd in spiry folds, 
 
 And drag the embryo beetles from their holds ; 
 
 Till tired with toil, and satiated witli prey, 
 
 Again they homeward bend their airy way; 360 
 
 And boastful celebrate, in clamours loud, 
 
 Their various triumphs to the attending crowd. 
 
 Yet e'en these little politicians know 
 The ills, that from a social compact flow ; — 
 Oft have I seen their guardian trusts betray 'd, 36 5 
 And pilfering thieves the wanderer's nest invade ; 
 Tear down the long result of all his toil, 
 And build their mansions with their neighbour's spoil ; 
 Till hosts of friends, assembling in his cause, 
 Drive off the plunderers, and assert the laws ; 37 
 Whence parties rise, and factions kindle round, 
 And wars and tumults through the wood resound. 
 
 Here, while I view their feuds of petty strife, 
 I learn, unfelt, the ills of public life ; 
 
 v. 3 5 7 . The farmers, when they see the rooks feeding on the fields that 
 are newly sown, are apt to imagine that they are eating the seed-corn, and 
 thence endeavour to destroy them ; whereas they are in reality digging up 
 die worms and slugs, and by that means doing the most essential service. 
 The large white grub with a brown head, which, after lying three years in 
 the ground, becomes the common brown beetle, and which is so destructive 
 to the roots of grass and corn, while in this embryo state, is a favourite food 
 with them; — whence those insects seldom appear near to rookeries. 
 
29 
 
 And see well acted, in their little state, 37 5 
 
 All that ambition aims at in the great. 
 
 Hail ! happy scenes of meditative ease, 
 Where pleasure's sense and wisdom is to please :— 
 Not such as, in the pastoral poet's strains, 
 Fancy spreads o'er imaginary plains ; 380 
 Where love-sick shepherds, sillier than their sheep, 
 In love-sick numbers, full as silly, weep ; 
 But such as nature's common charms produce 
 For social man's delight and common use ; 
 Form'd to amuse, instruct, and please the mind, 385 
 By study polish'd, and by arts refined; 
 Arts, whose benignant powers around dispense 
 The grace of pleasure, that's approved by sense ; 
 And, bending nature to their soft control, 
 Expand, exalt, and purify the soul. 390 
 
 The monk, secluded by his early vow, 
 The blessings of retreat can never know : 
 Barren of facts and images, his mind 
 Can no materials for reflection find ; 
 Dark rankling passions on his temper prey, 395 
 And drive each finer sentiment away ; 
 Breed foul desires ; and in his heart foment 
 The secret germs of lurking discontent : 
 
30 
 
 Long weary days and nights successive roll, 
 And no bright vision dawns upon his soul ; 
 No gleams of past delight can memory bring, 
 To stimulate the flight of fancy's wing: 
 In vain, to distant Hope, Religion calls, 
 When dark vacuity his mind appalls : — 
 Without, a dismal sameness reigns around ; 
 Within, a dreary void is only found. 
 
 From mere privation nothing can proceed, 
 Nor can the mind digest unless it feed ; 
 For understanding, like the body, grows 
 From food, from exercise, and due repose; 
 Nor is it nourish'd, by repeating o'er 
 What others have repeated oft before ; 
 Study but methodizes and corrects 
 What observation previously collects : 
 Train'd by experience, nurtured by retreat, 
 Reason makes theory and practice meet ; 
 And onward still, as daring thoughts pursue 
 The chain of being, stretch'd from mortal view, 
 Bids every passion yield to its control, 
 And calm contentment beam upon the soul; 
 Shews what we are, and ail that we can be> 
 And makes us feel, that all is vanity. 
 
THE LANDSCAPE. 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 Oft when I've seen some lonely mansion stand, 
 Fresh from the improver's desolating hand, 
 'Midst shaven lawns, that far around it creep 
 In one eternal undulating sweep ; 
 
 And scatter'd clumps, that nod at one another, 3 
 
 Each stiffly waving to its formal brother ; 
 
 Tired with the extensive scene, so dull and bare, 
 
 To Heaven devoutly I've address'd my prayer, — - 
 
 Again the moss-grown terraces to raise, 
 
 And spread the labyrinth's perplexing maze; 10 
 
 Replace in even lines the ductile yew, 
 
 And plant again the ancient avenue. 
 
 Some features then, at least, we should obtain, 
 
 To mark this flat, insipid, waving plain ; 
 
 v. 13. See plate I. — In the distance, a mansion-house with die ancient 
 decorations; and in plate II. the same modernized. 
 
32 
 
 Some vary'd tints and forms would intervene, 1 5 
 To break this uniform, eternal green. 
 
 E'en the trimm'd hedges, that inclosed the field, 
 Some consolation to the eye might yield ; 
 But even these are studiously removed, 
 And clumps and bareness only are approved. 20 
 Though the old system against nature stood, 
 At least in this, 'twas negatively good : — 
 Inclosed by walls, and terraces, and mounds, 
 Its mischiefs were confined to narrow bounds ; 
 Just round the house, in formal angles traced, 25 
 It moved responsive to the builder's taste ; 
 Walls answer'd walls, and alleys, long and thin, 
 Mimick'd the endless passages within. 
 
 But kings of yew„ and goddesses of lead, 
 Could never far their baneful influence spread ; 30 
 Coop'd in the gardens safe and narrow bounds, 
 They never dared invade the open grounds; 
 Where still the roving ox, or browsing deer, 
 From such prim despots kept the country clear ; 
 While uncorrupted still, on every side, 35 
 The ancient forest rose in savage pride ; 
 And in its native dignity display 5 d 
 Each hanging wood and ever verdant glade ; 
 
33 
 
 Where every shaggy shrub and spreading tree 
 
 Proclaim'd the seat of native liberty ; 40 
 
 In loose and vary'd groups unheeded thrown, 
 
 And never taught the planter's care to own: 
 
 Some, towering upwards, spread their arms in state ; 
 
 And others, bending low, appear'd to wait : 
 
 While scatter'd thorns, browsed by the goat and deer, 
 
 Rose all around, and let no lines appear. 46 
 
 Such groups did Claude's light pencil often trace, 
 The foreground of some classic scene to grace ; 
 Such, humble Waterloe, to nature true, 
 Beside the copse, or village pasture drew. 50 
 
 But ah ! how different is the formal lump 
 Which the improver plants, and calls a clump ! 
 Break, break, ye nymphs, the fence that guards it round ! 
 With browsing cattle, all its form confound ! 
 As chance or fate will have it, let it grow ; — 5 5 
 
 Here spiring high ; — there cut, or trampled low. 
 No apter ornament can taste provide 
 To embellish beauty, or defect to hide ; 
 
 v. 47 . See plate I. in the foreground. 
 
 v. 5 1. See plate II. a clump substituted to the group in the preceding 
 plate. 
 
34 
 
 If trained with care and undiscovered skill, 
 Its just department in the scene to fill ; 60 
 But with reserve and caution be it seen, 
 Nor e'er surrounded by the shaven green ; 
 But in the foreground boldly let it rise, 
 Or join'd with other features meet the eyes : 
 The distant mansion, seen beneath its shade, 65 
 Is often advantageously display 'd: — 
 But here, once more, ye rural muses, weep 
 The ivy'd balustrades, and terrace steep ; 
 Walls, mellow'd into harmony by time, 
 O'er which fantastic creepers used to climb ; 70 
 While statues, labyrinths, and alleys, pent 
 ' Within their bounds, at least were innocent ! 
 Our modern taste, alas ! no limit knows : — 
 O'er hill, o'er dale, through woods and fields it flows ; 
 Spreading o'er all its unprolific spawn, 7 5 
 
 In never-ending sheets of vapid lawn. 
 
 True composition all extremes rejects, 
 And just proportions still, of all, selects ; 
 
 V. 65. See plate I. 
 
 v. 07. See plates I. and II. the same house with and without these old- 
 
 fashioned decorations. 
 
35 
 
 Wood, water, lawn, in just gradation joins, 
 
 And each with artful negligence combines : SO 
 
 But still in level, or slow-rising ground, 
 
 The wood should always form the exterior bound ; 
 
 Not as a belt, encircling the domain, 
 
 Which the tired eye attempts to trace in vain : 
 
 Bat as a bolder outline to the scene 8 5 
 
 Than the unbroken turf's smooth even green. 
 
 But if some distant hill o'er all arise, 
 
 And mix its azure colours with the skies ; 
 
 Or some near mountain its rough summits shew, 
 
 And bound with broken crags the Alpine view ; 90 
 
 Or rise, with even slope and gradual swell, 
 
 Like the broad cone, or wide-extended bell ; — - 
 
 Never attempt, presumptuous, to o'erspread 
 
 With starved plantations its bleak, barren head : 
 
 Nature herself the rash design withstands, 95 
 
 And guards her wilds from innovating hands ; 
 
 Which, if successful, only would disgrace 
 
 Her giant limbs with frippery, fringe, and lace. 
 
 v. 8 3. The belt with which Mr. Brown and his followers encircled the 
 scenes of their improvements, is a boundary only in the map. In nature, 
 the highest, and not the most distant parts of the demesnes, are the boundaries 
 to the different stages of distance. 
 
36 
 
 Whatever foremost glitters to the eye, 
 Should near the middle of the Landscape lie ; — 100 
 Such as the stagnant pool, or rippling stream, 
 That foams and sparkles in the sun's bright beam ; 
 Not to attract the unskilful gazer's sight, 
 But to concentrate, and disperse the light ; 
 To show the clear reflection of the day, 105 
 And dart through hanging trees the refluent ray ; 
 Where semi-lights with semi-shadows join, 
 And quivering play in harmony divine. 
 Motion and life the thicket seems to take, 
 And then reflect them back upon the lake : 110 
 Soft flickering tints in every part appear, 
 Bright without glare, without distinction clear; 
 While the strong lights that in the centre play, 
 
 v. 105, Sec. These beautiful effects of the sun shining through trees that 
 overhang water, have rarely been attended to by artists; and never attempted 
 to be imitated by any, that I know of, except Claude. The practice of our 
 students in Landscape-painting, in making only slight sketches from nature, 
 and finishing them at home, must effectually prevent their excelling in that 
 art; which consists in the power of imitating colours rather than forms. If 
 they were to make their designs at home , and put in the light and shade and 
 colouring from nature, their course o! study would be much more reasonable 
 and profitable. 
 
37 
 
 As more diverging spread a fainter ray, 
 
 Till lost in thickening shades they die away. 1 1 5 
 
 Although your waters be of small extent, 
 And 'midst high banks and shadowy thickets pent, 
 Look not with envy at the boundless meer, 
 That spreads o'er miles, from all incumbrance clear ; 
 Nor think the vast Maragnon's rolling tide, 120 
 When rivers numberless have swell'd his pride, 
 Displays to heaven so beautiful a stream, 
 As the wide-wandering Wye, or rapid Team: — 
 Nor yet expect, where Niagara roars, 
 And stuns the nations round Ontario's shores, 12 5 
 To find such true sublimity display 'd, 
 As in rich Tibur's broken, wild cascade. 
 
 Oft have I heard the silly traveller boast 
 The grandeur of Ontario's endless coast ; 
 Where, far as he could dart his wandering eye, 1 30 
 He nought but boundless water could descry. 
 
 With equal reason Keswick's favour'd pool * 
 Is made the theme of every wondering fool ; 
 With bogs and barrenness here compass'd round, 
 With square inclosures there, and fallow'd ground; 135 
 O'er its deep waves no promontories tower, 
 No lofty trees, high over-arch'd, imbower ; 
 
38 
 
 No winding creek or solitary bay, 
 
 'Midst pendant rocks or woods is seen to stray: 
 
 But small prim islands, with blue fir-trees crown'd,l 40 
 
 Spread their cold shadows regularly round ; 
 
 Whilst over all vast crumbling mountains rise, 
 
 Mean in their forms, though of gigantic size. 
 
 Ah ! what avails the mountain's dizzy height, 
 Or base that far extends beyond the sight ; 1 45 
 
 If flat, dull shapes behind each other rise, 
 And fritter'd outlines cut against the skies ? 
 'Tis form, not magnitude, adorns the scene ; — 
 A hillock may be grand, and the vast Andes mean. 
 
 But as vain painters, destitute of skill, I 50 
 
 Large sheets of canvas with large figures fill, 
 And think with shapes gigantic to supply 
 Grandeur of form, and grace of symmetry: — 
 So the rude gazer ever thinks to find 
 The view sublime, where vast and unconfined. 155 
 
 'Tis not the giant of unwieldy size, 
 Piling up hills on hills to scale the skies, 
 That gives an image of the true sublime, 
 Or the best subject for the lofty rhyme ; 
 But nature's common works, by genius dress'd, 1 60 
 With art selected, and with taste express'd ; 
 
From the Original of tluc sasi-e siac Tbelonglng to the Au-tJior, 
 
39 
 
 Where sympathy with terror is combined, 
 To move, to melt, and elevate the mind. 
 
 Still less, in common objects of the sense, 
 Can we with symmetry of form dispense: — 165 
 The lake or river should not be so wide 
 As not to show distinctly either side ; 
 Unless remote, in hazy distance seen, 
 It dimly glimmers through the azure scene : 
 Nor should the mountain lift so high its head, 170 
 Or its circumference so widely spread, 
 As each approaching object to o'erpower, 
 Shame the high-spreading oak, or lofty tower; 
 And by reducing every feature round, 
 Poor Lilliput with Brobdignag confound. 1 7 5 
 
 To show the nice embellishments of art, 
 The foreground ever is the properest part ; 
 For e'en minute and trifling objects near, 
 Will grow important and distinct appear: 
 No leaf of fern, low weed, or creeping thorn, 1 80 
 But, near the eye, the Landscape may adorn ; 
 Either when tufted o'er the mouldering stone, 
 Or down the slope in loose disorder thrown ; 
 
 v. 1 8 o . See plate I. the bank in the foreground. 
 
40 
 
 Or, richly spread along the level green, 
 
 It breaks the tints and variegates the scene. 185 
 
 But here again, ye rural nymphs, oppose 
 Nature's and Art's confederated foes ! 
 Break their fell scythes, that would these beauties shave, 
 And sink their iron rollers in the wave ! 
 Your favourite plants, and native haunts protect, 1 90 
 In wild obscurity, and rude neglect ; 
 Or teach proud man his labour to employ 
 To form and decorate, and not destroy ; 
 Teach him to place, and not remove the stone 
 On yonder bank, with moss and fern o'ergrown ; 195 
 To cherish, not mow down, the weeds that creep 
 Along the shore, or overhang the ste£p ; 
 To break, not level, the slow-rising ground, 
 And guard, not cut, the fern that shades it round. 
 
 But let not still the o'erbearing pride of taste 200 
 Turn fertile districts to a forest's waste: 
 
 v. 18 8. See plate II. the same bank dressed and levelled in the style of 
 
 modem taste. 
 
 v. 2 io to 225 inclusive have been added since the first edition. 
 
 After having recommended the preservation of inclosures and cottages 
 (see Book II. v. 17 and 262), and condemned the practice of sacrificing ex- 
 tensive tracts of arable land to unproductive lawn (ibid. v. 7 3.). I did not 
 
41 
 
 Still let utility improvement guide, 
 
 And just congruity in all preside. 
 
 While shaggy hills are left to rude neglect, 
 
 Let the rich plains with wavy corn be deck'd ; 205 
 
 expect that misrepresentation would have been carried so far as even to in- 
 sinuate that my system of improvement tended to turn this beautiful kingdom 
 into one huge picturesque forest; (Mr. Repton's Letter to Mr. Price, note 
 in p. l.) but persons who read to condemn, rather than to understand, will 
 always interpret as best suits their own purposes. 
 
 What I have endeavoured to prove, and what I still assert, is, that ground 
 which is sacrificed to picturesque beauty ought to be really picturesque ; and , I think , 
 it may be fairly presumed that the person who first dignified himself with 
 the title of Landscape Gardener, meant to produce landscapes, and make pic- 
 turesque places, when he assumed that title; whatever he may choose to pro- 
 fess, now that it has been proved that all his labours, as well as those of the 
 great self-taught master who preceded him, have had a direct contrary ten- 
 dency. In general, however, I believe that very small sacrifices are necessary ; 
 for, as 1 have stated in the text, (Book II. v. 17 6.) the foreground is the proper 
 place for picturesque decoration, which need not therefore ever be extended 
 far from the eye ; and the kinds of ground best adapted to it are those least 
 suited to the purposes of agriculture. Hedges are never very offensive to the 
 eye, unless marked with lines of shreded elms, seen from great heights, in 
 what are called bird's-eye views; or spread along the sides of mountains, 
 where they give the inclosures the appearance of square divisions cut on the 
 surface, than which nothing can be more harsh, meagre, and unpleasant. 
 When seen horizontally in a flat country, they enrich and embellish, es- 
 pecially if their lines be occasionally broken by full-headed and well pre- 
 
 i 
 
42 
 
 And while rough thickets shade the lonely glen, 
 Let culture smile upon the haunts of men ; 
 And the rich meadow and the fertile field 
 The annual tribute of their harvests yield. 
 
 served trees. The custom of removing them to a great distance from the 
 house, in order to throw open to the eye a wide space of unbroken and 
 undivided turf, may show magnificence and gratify vanity; but how it can 
 add to the comfort or beauty of the dwelling, I cannot conceive. 
 
 The usual features of a cultivated country are the accidental mixtures of 
 meadows, woods, pastures, and cornfields; interspersed with farmhouses, 
 cottages, mills, fcc; and I do not know that in this country better materials 
 for middle grounds and distances can be obtained, or are to be wished for ; 
 and why they should be separated by a belt of plantation from the foreground, 
 or even from the middle ground, when that is formed of smooth lawn or 
 shrubbery, I cannot imagine. A landscape painter would, in all instances, 
 wish to connect them ; and it is to be hoped that the landscape gardener will 
 6ome time or other be able to find better reasons than he has hitherto given 
 for always separating them. Comfort and convenience are out of the question ; 
 for a fence which guards from trespass, affords all the separation that they re- 
 quire ; and though the belt may conceal the materials of that useful boundary, 
 and keep the spectator in doubt whether it be a hedge, a pale, or a wall, it so 
 decidedly marks the line of it, that it renders it perceptible at a distance, 
 where it would not otherwise be distinguishable from other adjoining fences. 
 This line is exactly what an improver, who aimed at picturesque beauty and 
 harmony of composition, would wish to hide : — why then is it so studiously, 
 and often so expensively marked ? By looking to a principle of improve- 
 ment, which I have before glanced at, (Book I. v. 15 9.) and which Mr. 
 i 
 
43 
 
 Oft pleased we see, in some sequester'd glade, 210 
 
 The cattle seek the aged pollard's shade ; 
 
 Or, on the hillock's swelling turf reclined, 
 
 Snuff the cool breeze, and catch the passing wind: 
 
 Price has anticipated me in applying to the present subject, (Letter to Mr. 
 Repton, p. 101.) we may, I believe, solve the difficulty without imputing 
 any peculiar perversity of taste to its author. Mr. Brown, though ignorant 
 of painting, and incapable of judging of picturesque effects, was a man of 
 sense and observation, and had studied mankind attentively: he therefore 
 knew that when a large sum of money had been expended in inclosing, 
 levelling, and dressing (or rather undressing) a very extensive demesne, the 
 proprietor would not dislike to have the great extent of his supposed im- 
 provements so distinctly marked, that all who came within sight of his place 
 might form just notions of his taste and magnificence : for this purpose the 
 belt is admirably contrived ; and, if so intended, does honour to the sagacity 
 and ingenuity of the inventor. 
 
 I am further persuaded that this was its real meaning, from having ob- 
 served that he most invariably employed it in very extensive places ; where 
 it would naturally be most gratifying to vanity, though most injurious to 
 beauty. A person possessed of a few acres of picturesque ground in the 
 midst of a country of shreded elms, common fields, or barren downs, might 
 naturally wish to exclude the surrounding deformities by a fence of trees; 
 and where the circumference is so small, it will answer his purpose : but in 
 proportion as it widens, its horizon sinks ; so that in all the places where I 
 have seen it employed by Mr. Brown and his followers, the adjoining coun- 
 try has appeared over it ; and it has had the effect of a heavy dark piece of 
 frame-work crossing the middle of the picture. We are told, however, of 
 
44 
 
 Oft too, when shelter'd from the winter's cold, 
 
 In graceful groups they crowd the litter'd fold, 2 1 5 
 
 Their varied forms and blended colours gay 
 
 Mild scenes of simple elegance display, 
 
 the delights of being conducted irregularly through its course, sometimes totally 
 within the dark shade, sometimes skirting so near its edge as to show the different, 
 scenes betwixt the trees, and sometimes quitting the wood entirely, to enjoy the unccn- 
 fined view of distant prospects. (Mr. Repton's Letter to Mr. Price, p. 14.) 
 But the author of this fine piece of description seems to have forgotten that 
 he had stated, but a few lines before, that the use of this belt was to conceal 
 the fence which separates a certain portion of ground, appropriated to the 
 peculiar use and pleasure of the proprietor, from the adjoining ploughed 
 fields (ibid, p. 12 and 13.) ; so that this fence must always be on one side, 
 and the pleasure grounds (whether park, lawn, or shrubbery) on the other ; 
 whence these different scenes and unconfined views, with which the circumam- 
 bulator is to be regaled, turn out to be nothing more than peeps through the 
 interstices of pales, or over the top of a wall, into ploughed fields on one 
 side, and transverse views in different directions over one piece of ground on 
 the other; which piece of ground, having all the neat and simple elegance of 
 English gardening, is marked by no features, and diversified by no intri- 
 cacies ; so that the views over it are all variations of one, which was pre- 
 viously divested of all its natural or accidental character. 
 
 By accidental character, I mean that which every cultivated country 
 derives from the style of husbandry, building, and planting of its inhabi- 
 tants. Where that originally given to it by nature is very grand and fine, 
 the less of any other is preserved the better; and the neglected style of forest 
 icenery is preferable to all others : but before the improver ventures to take 
 
45 
 
 And with faint gleams of social comfort charm 
 
 The humble beauties of the lonely farm. 
 
 But never let those humble beauties try 220 
 
 With the neat villa's tinsel charms to vie, 
 
 accidental or artificial character away, he should take care to have some 
 other to put in its place; the usual substitute of an overgrown piece of pas- 
 ture dotted with clumps, and surrounded by a broad hedge -row of trees hav- 
 ing absolutely none. Scarcely any parts of our island are capable of affording 
 the compositions of Salvator Rosa, Claude, and the Poussins ; and only the 
 most picturesque parts those of Rysdael, Berghem, and Pynaker; but those 
 of Hobbima, Waterloe, and Adrian Vandervelde (which have also their 
 beauties) are to be obtained every where. Pastures with cattle, horses or 
 sheep grazing in them, and enriched with good trees, will always afford 
 picturesque compositions ; and inclosures of arable are never completely ugly, 
 Unless when lying in fallow, which, I believe, is very generally disused 
 in the present improved state of husbandry. Clean and comfortable walks 
 and rides may be made through fields, without any stiffness or formality; 
 and by means of honeysuckles and creepers, even hedges may be made pic- 
 turesque and beautiful. This is perhaps the best style of improvement 
 for a tame flat country. The late Mr. Southgate's farm near Weybridge, 
 though in many parts too finely dressed, is, both in design and execution, 
 far preferable to any of the works of Kent or Brown ; and is a proof of what 
 may be done in this humble style : but in this, as in every other, picturesque 
 eiFects can only be obtained by watching accidents, and profiting by circum- 
 stances, during a long period of time. The line of a walk, the position of a 
 seat, or limits of an inclosure, must often depend upon the accidental growth 
 of a tree ; and we must always make things, which we can command, conform 
 
46 
 
 Or spoil their simple unaffected grace 
 
 With frippery ornaments and tawdry lace ; 
 
 For still to culture should its use belong, 
 
 And affectation's always in the wrong. 225 
 
 to those which we cannot. The improver in his plan presupposes every 
 thing to succeed as he chooses ; and if lie plants only clumps and belts of firs, 
 he may certainly foresee the effect which they will have when arrived at ma- 
 turity : but if he plants trees of less regular growth, and aims at picturesque 
 effects in the distribution of them, he must watch die annual increase and va- 
 riation in their forms; and cut down, prune, transplant, and vary his plan 
 accordingly : the difference of a single branch in the foreground, or even in 
 the middle distance, where the scene is on a small scale, may materially affect 
 a whole composition. 
 
 Mr. Repton has observed that there are a thousand scenes Ut nature to delight 
 the eye, beside those which may be copied ds pictures ; and that one of the keenest ob- 
 servers of picturescjue scenery (Mr. Gilpin) has often regretted that few are capable 
 of being so represented, without considerable license and alteration. (Letter to Mr. 
 Price, p. 6.) I have heard many landscape painters express the same regret; 
 but I must add, that it has always been in an inverse proportion to their 
 merit. Unskilful artists, like unskilful musicians, are apt to omit whatever 
 they cannot execute; and, what is worse, to supply its place with something 
 of their own. Confirmed mannerists, both in music and painting, are apt to 
 go still farther ; and to substitute their own for the whole of what they pre- 
 tend to execute or represent. The finest pieces of Italian scenery, as repre- 
 sented by many French and German, (and I am' sorry to add) some English 
 artists, have exactly the same resemblance to nature, as the finest pieces of 
 Italian music executed by the performers of the grand opera at Paris have to 
 
4% 
 
 The cover'd seat, that shelters from the storm, 
 May oft a feature in the Landscape form ; 
 
 the original works of the composer : yet all these artists (and I have conversed 
 with many of them) insisted that they improved nature, and only altered 
 such parts as were incapable of being advantageously represented in their 
 genuine state. They made, however, a trifling mistake, which men of all 
 professions, from statesmen to ploughmen, are very apt to make. They attri- 
 buted their own incapacity to the subject on which they were employed. This 
 I often ventured to hint in the most delicate manner I could, by citing the 
 example of Claude, whose landscapes are more highly esteemed than those of 
 any other master, though always composed of parts copied from nature widi 
 the most minute and scrupulous exactitude, both in the forms and colours. 
 Claude, however, was treated by them as a slow mechanic genius, void of 
 spirit and invention, and incapable of any higher exertion than that of tamely 
 copying what nature and accident placed before him. They aimed at a more 
 exalted style of excellence, and by that means got into a style, which rendered 
 them incapable of any kind of excellence in art. 
 
 I do not, however, mean to insinuate that the landscape painter is to con- 
 fine himself to a servile imitation of the particular scenes that he finds in na- 
 ture : on the contrary, I know that nature scarcely ever affords a complete 
 and faultless composition ; but nevertheless she affords the parts of which taste 
 and invention may make complete and faultless compositions; and it is by 
 accurately and minutely copying these parts, and afterwards skilfully and 
 judiciously combining and arranging them, that the most perfect works in 
 the art have been produced. 
 
 By Avorking on the same principle ; by carefully collecting and cherishing 
 the accidental beauties of wild nature ; by judiciously arranging them, and 
 
48 
 
 Whether composed of native stumps and roots. 
 It spreads the creeper's rich fantastic shoots ; 
 
 skilfully combining them with each other, and the embellishments of art ; I 
 cannot but think that the landscape gardener might produce complete and 
 faultless compositions in nature, which would be as much superior to the 
 imitations of them by art, as the acting of a Garrick or a Siddons is to the 
 best representation of it in a portrait. Those, indeed, who think only of 
 making Jine places, in order to gratify their own vanity, or profit by the vanity 
 of others, may call this mode of proceeding a new system of improving by neglect 
 and accident ; yet those who have tried it know, that, though to preserve the 
 appearance of neglect and accident be one of its objects, it is not by leaving 
 everything to neglect and accident, that even that is to be obtained. Profiting 
 by accident, is very different from leaving every thing to accident; and improving 
 by neglect, very different from neglecting. Apelles by throwing his brush at 
 the picture of Alexander's horse, which he was painting, marked the foam at 
 his mouth more to his own satisfaction than he had been able to do by repeated 
 trials in the regular process of his art; yet surely no one will think this an 
 instance of negligence or inattention ; but rather a proof of that refined taste 
 and judgment which is always watchful to take advantage of every casual in- 
 cident ; and thus to catch those delicate graces of execution, which the regular 
 efforts of art, however excellent, can never reach ; and which persons wholly 
 unskilled can never feel. The ut sibi quivis sperel idem, &c. characterizes the 
 highest degree of perfection in every art as well as that of poetry. Partridge 
 thinks that he should look as Garrick did in Hamlet, if he saw a ghost; 
 ^Tom Jones, B. xvi. c. 5.) and I have known many a young gentleman, who 
 had learned to draw a little, and thought himself a profound judge of the art, 
 pass coldly by a brilliant sketch of Salvator Rosa or Rembrandt, without 
 
49 
 
 Or, raised with stones, irregularly piled, 230 
 It seems some cavern, desolate and wild: 
 
 noticing it; but dwell with the warmest expressions of delight and approba- 
 tion on a laboured drawing of Pillement or Worlidge. The refined delicacy 
 of that art, which conceals itself in its own effects, is above the reach of such 
 critics; who, looking only for the artifice of imitation, are pleased in pro- 
 portion as that artifice is glaring and ostentatious ; in the same manner as 
 Partridge approves the actor most who never conceals his skill in the easy 
 expression of nature, but performs his part throughout with such stiff pompo- 
 sity that every one might see that he tons an actor. 
 
 As this admirable scene in Fielding's most excellent novel has been mis- 
 understood, and consequently misrepresented, by the best writer on art, as 
 well as the best artist of the present age, I cannot resist the opportunity of 
 vindicating it from what I consider as the unmerited censure of a person 
 whose authority as a critic, both in art and literature, will always stand as 
 high, as his memory as a man will be dear to those who had the happiness of 
 knowing that his private virtues were equal to his professional talents. Par- 
 tridge does not, as Sir Joshua Reynolds in one of his discourses supposes 
 him to do, mistake, for a moment, the play for reality: on the contrary, he 
 repeatedly says, that he knows it is but a play, and that there is nothing at all in 
 it ; and as imitation was all that he looked for, the most glaring and obvious 
 imitation of the most dignified and imposing personage, was, to him, the 
 most undoubted test of excellence in acting. The ghost he knows to be only 
 a man in a strange dress, as he repeatedly observes; but, nevertheless, as the 
 fear of ghosts is his predominant passion, when he sees that fear expressed by 
 another in a manner so exactly consonant to his own feelings, and with such 
 unaffected truth and simplicity, that all the artifice of imitation disappears, 
 
50 
 
 But still of dress and ornament beware; 
 
 And hide each formal trace of art with care: 
 
 Let clustering ivy o'er its sides be spread, 
 
 And moss and weeds grow scatter'd o'er its head. 235 
 
 his feelings overpower his understanding, and he sympathizes involuntarily 
 with what he sees expressed, though he knows that all the circumstances which 
 excite it are fictitious. This is a perfectly natural and exact picture of the 
 effects which the different kinds of imitative expression have upon minds just 
 cultivated enough to have their judgments perverted, without having their 
 feelings destroyed. They admire extravagantly every artifice of imitation, 
 which is sufficiently gross for them to perceive and comprehend ; but when 
 it is so refined as no longer to appear artifice, they entirely disregard it ; un- 
 less when some strong expression happens to accord with some prominent, or 
 ruling passion of their own, which being thus suddenly rouzed by a cause 
 neither expected nor understood, so confounds and astonishes them, that it 
 suspends, for the moment, the operation of every other faculty. 
 
 Theatrical amusements, indeed, have long been so general in this country 
 that there are few, even among the lowest class of the people, whose judgment 
 in them has not been corrected and refined by habitual exercise ; but in land- 
 scape gardening, as well as landscape painting, there are many such critics as 
 Partridge is represented to have been in acting ; and, in their estimation, the 
 stiff and tawdry glare of a modern improved place will appear as much pre- 
 ferable to the easy elegance and unaffected variety of natural scenery, as the 
 stately strut and turgid declamation of the mock monarch of the stage did 
 in his, to the easy dignity of deportment and grace of utterance, which a good 
 actor would have given to the same character. 
 
51 
 
 The stately arch, high-raised with massive stone; 
 The ponderous flag that forms a bridge alone ; 
 The prostrate tree, or rudely propt-up beam, 
 That leads the path across the foaming stream ; 
 May each the scene with different beauty grace, 2 40 
 If shewn with judgment in its proper place. 
 But false refinement vainly strives to please, 
 With the thin, fragile bridge of the Chinese; 
 Light and fantastical, yet stiff and prim, 
 The child of barren fancy turn'd to whim: 245 
 Whim ! whose extravagancies ever try 
 The vacancies of fancy to supply : 
 And as the coward, when his passions rave, 
 Rushes on dangers that appall the brave ; 
 So frigid whim beyond invention flies, 250 
 O'erleaps congruity, and sense defies ; 
 Imagines cities in sequester'd bowers, 
 And floods their streets with artificial showers: 
 
 v. 23 8. See plate I. in the middle distance, a view of a common rustic 
 bridge. — For the various effects of different arched and flagged bridges, see 
 the Liber Veritatis of Claude ; in which some of almost every form are in- 
 troduced, in every kind of situation. 
 
 v. 2 4 3 . See plate II . a Chinese bridge substituted to the preceding rustic one. 
 
 v.. 25 2. See a Treatise oa Oriental Gardening, by Sir W. Chambers; 
 
52 
 
 With fairs and markets crowds a garden's glades, 
 And turns the fish women to Tartar maids ; 255 
 Bids gibbets rise, and rotting felons swing, 
 To deck the prospects of a pious king ; 
 And in low filth, which foul disgust excites, 
 Finds the sublime, which awes and yet delights. 
 
 The quarry long neglected, and o'ergrown 260 
 With thorns, that hang o'er mouldering beds of stone, 
 May oft the place of natural rocks supply, 
 And frame the verdant picture to the eye ; 
 Or, closing round the solitary seat, 
 Charm with the simple scene of calm retreat. 2 65 
 
 Large stems of trees, and branches spreading wide, 
 May oft adorn the scenes which they divide ; 
 
 in which all these happy conceits are seriously attributed to the Emperor of 
 China, and stated as the highest efforts of taste which European monarchs 
 can pretend to imitate. Atque utinam his potius nugis tota ilia dedisset — 
 tempora — his amusement would at least have been innocent ; and the wealth 
 of an exhausted nation might have escaped from being squandered in erecting 
 buildings which tumble down before they are finished; and which, after the 
 expence of near half a million, are found to be too weak and fragile to sustain 
 even a plaster cast of a large statue ; the Royal Academy having lately been 
 obliged to reject one of the Farnese Hercules, because they have no room 
 above ground strong enough to support it. 
 
 v. 2 07. Almost ail the great landscape painters have employed this 
 
53 
 
 For ponderous masses, and deep shadows near, 
 Will show the distant scene more bright and clear; 
 And forms distinctly mark'd, at once supply 270 
 A scale of magnitude and harmony; 
 From which receding gradually away, 
 The tints grow fainter and the lines decay. 
 
 The same effects may also be display 'd 
 Through the high vaulted arch or colonnade: — 27 5 
 But harsh and cold the builder's work appears, 
 Till soften'd down by long revolving years ; 
 Till time and weather have conjointly spread 
 Their mouldering hues and mosses o'er its head. 
 
 Bless'd is the man in whose sequester'd glade, 280 
 Some ancient abbey's walls diffuse their shade; 
 With mouldering windows pierced, and turrets crown'd, 
 And pinnacles with clinging ivy bound. 
 
 Bless'd too is he, who, 'midst his tufted trees, 
 Some ruin'd castle's lofty towers sees ; 285 
 Imbosom'd high upon the mountain's brow, 
 Or nodding o'er the stream that glides below. 
 
 Nor yet unenvy'd, to whose humbler lot 
 Falls the retired and antiquated cot ; — 
 
 means of producing effect ; so that to point out particular instances would be 
 superfluous. The Liber Vet itatis has many. 
 
54 
 
 Its roof with weeds and mosses cover'd o'er, 2 90 
 
 And honeysuckles climbing round the door ; 
 While mantling vines along its walls are spread, 
 And clustering ivy decks the chimney's head. 
 
 Still happier he (if conscious of his prize) 
 Who sees some temple's broken columns rise, 2 95 
 'Midst sculptured fragments, shiver'd by their fall, 
 And tottering remnants of its marble wall ; — 
 Where every beauty of correct design, 
 And vary'd elegance of art, combine 
 With nature's softest tints, matured by time, 300 
 And the warm influence of a genial clime. 
 
 But let no servile copyist appear, 
 To plant his paltry imitations here ; 
 To show poor Baalbec dwindled to the eye, 
 And Paestum's fanes with columns six feet high! 305 
 With urns and cenotaphs our vallies fill, 
 And bristle o'er with obelisks the hill! 
 
 Such buildings English nature must reject, 
 And claim from art the appearance of neglect: 
 No decoration should we introduce, 310 
 That has not first been naturalized by use ; 
 And at the present, or some distant time, 
 Become familiar to the soil and clime: 
 
55 
 
 For as the cunning nymph, with giddy care 
 
 And wanton wiles, conceals her study'd air; 315 
 
 And each acquired grace of fashion tries 
 
 To hide in nature's negligent disguise ; 
 
 While with unseen design and cover'd art 
 
 She charms the sense, and plays around the heart : 
 
 So every pleasing object more will please, 320 
 
 As less the observer its intention sees ; 
 
 But thinks it form'd for use, and placed by chance 
 
 Within the limits of his transient glance. 
 
 But no jackdaw, in borrow'd plumage gay, 
 Nor sooty sweeper, on the first of May, 325 
 With powder d periwig, and raddled face, 
 And tatter'd garment, trimm'd with paper lace, 
 Can more the bounds of common sense transgress 
 In tawdry incongruity of dress, 
 
 Than rural cockneys, when they vainly try 330 
 
 To deck, like village fanes, the barn or sty ; 
 
 And o'er the dunghill's litter'd filth and mire, 
 
 Show the gilt pinnacle or whiten'd spire:— 
 
 Doubly disgusted, such poor tricks' we see, 
 
 That even counterfeit deformity! 335 
 
 O happy days, when art, to nature true, 
 No tricks of dress, or whims of fashion knew ! 
 
56 
 
 Ere forms fantastical, or prim grimace, 
 
 Had dared usurp the honour'd name of grace ; 
 
 When taste was sense, embellish'd and refined 3 10 
 
 By fancy's charms, and reason's force combined ; 
 
 v. 3 3 6, 8cc. The uniform principle of grace and elegance which pie- 
 vailed in all the works of Greece and her colonies, through such a vast va- 
 riety of states, differing in climate, manners, laws, and governments, has 
 been observed by antiquaries as one of the most extr aordinary phaenomena 
 in the history of man. The beautiful, and yet varied forms of the earthen 
 funereal vases, which are called Etruscan, though principally of Greek ma- 
 nufacture, have been fully and happily illustrated in the publications of 
 my learned friend, Sir William Hamilton; and it may be further observed, 
 that the same systematic elegance was preserved in works of a still humbler 
 class. The small brass cup, of which a print is annexed (see Plate III.) is 
 of that plain and cheap kind, which could only have been meant for the 
 common use of the common people. With us, such articles, even when of 
 more precious materials, and more expensively decorated, are made without 
 any attention to symmetry of proportion, or harmony of parts : — the spout 
 appears to pull one way, the handle another; and an inclined top is placed 
 upon a flat bottom. For as the component pieces are usually made bv diffe- 
 rent hands, and put together afterwards, they have seldom any relation to 
 each other, except that of size. But in the little specimen of ancient manu- 
 facture here given, all is m harmony and unison : the oblique line of the 
 bottom corresponds with that of the top ; the handle bends forward in the 
 same direction with the spout; and all the intermediate parts are moulded so 
 as to have the same tendency, and an appearance of co-operating with each, 
 other. — See plate III. 
 
57 
 
 Which through each rank of life its influence spread* 
 
 From the king's palace to the peasant's shed ; 
 
 And gently moulded to its soft control 
 
 Each power of sympathy that moves the soul. 34 5 
 
 Hence, every work of labour or of thought, 
 With one inherent principle was fraught; 
 One principle diffused through every part, 
 Alike of liberal or mechanic art ; 
 
 From the sublime and awful grace, that shed 3:>% 
 
 Its charms terrific round the thunderer's head, 
 
 And the gay, sprightly elegance that shone 
 
 In the light limbs of Maia's nimble son, 
 
 Down to the humblest cup that could afford 
 
 Its scanty comforts to the peasant's board. 35 5 
 
 In all alike we trace the same designs 
 Of just proportion, and harmonic lines; 
 No single part dissenting from the rest, 
 But all in one united form comprest. 
 
 I flattered myself that any person who should condescend to read the pre- 
 ceding note, would have perceived that in y intention in introducing thisplate, 
 was merely to show the prevalence of a general principle in works of the 
 meanest and humblest kind ; and little did I imagine that the impudence of 
 misrepresentation would go so far as to assert, or even insinuate, that I gave 
 so trifling and paltry a thing as a general standard of taste and elegance. Yet 
 so it is ! See Monthly Review, May, 17 9 4. 
 
58 
 
 Say, why this choicest gift of favouring heaven 360 
 To one peculiar people thus was given? 
 Why Greeks alone, of all the human race, 
 E'er catch'd the vision of celestial grace ; 
 Transfused it into earth's cold inert mass, 
 And bade it breathe in forms of ductile brass? 36 5 
 
 Was it religion, that taught men to join 
 To human figures attributes divine ; 
 And with perfections greater than their own, 
 Embellish images of brass and stone? 
 Or was it language, whose precision taught 37 
 
 Conception just, and accuracy' of thought? — 
 Language, which only 'mong the Greeks was found 
 Complete in form, in flexion, and in sound ; 
 
 v. 3 60. 8cc. Though the Egyptians and Phoenicians preceded the 
 Greeks in art, as well as science, they appear to have been mere manufac- 
 turers, wholly unacquainted with the principle of grace which is here alluded 
 to, as the essential characteristic of liberal art. Of the Phoenicians, indeed, 
 we have no specimens extant, except coins, struck probably after their ac- 
 quaintance with the Greeks; but Egyptian sculptures are very common, 
 and prove that the artists of that nation ought to be ranked rather with those 
 of the Chinese and Hindoos, than with those of either ancient or modern 
 Europe. The Etruscans were merely imitators, or rather copyists of the 
 Greeks, as has lately been fully proved by the learned Abbe Lanzi, in a dis- 
 sertation on the subject. 
 
59 
 
 Language, the counterpart of thought and sense, 
 Whose images its archetypes dispense, 37 5 
 
 And by dispensing, order and arrange, 
 Debase or elevate, preserve or change ; 
 Whence words oft fix the features of the mind, 
 And stamp their character on half mankind. 
 
 But let not language have the sole applause ; 380 
 Nor yet religion seem the only cause : 
 Arise, great Homer, and assert thy claim 
 To every bright reward of honest fame! 
 From the dark gloom of undiscover'd night 
 Thy genius pour'd the electric stream of light, 385 
 And wheresoe'er it beam'd with quickening ray, 
 Rouzed dormant taste, and bade the soul obey ; 
 Moulded in sound thy vivid figures rise, 
 Act to the.ears, and speak unto the eyes: 
 Nature's best works in bolder models show ; 390 
 Burst on the heart, and in the fancy glow. 
 
 Long ere the daring Samian's plastic hand 
 Had taught the brass to flow at his command; 
 
 v. 3 9 2. The most ancient statues in brass were composed of different 
 pieces hammered out, and hewn, and then ri vetted together — 'O-QvpyXxTa, xou 
 crt^poKoXXviroc. — At what time, where, or by whom, the art of casting figures 
 in metal, in moulds taken from models in clay, was invented, is uncertain : 
 
60 
 
 Ere Scyllis' chisel, or Dipoenus' knife, 
 
 Had hewn the stubborn marble into life, 39 5 
 
 By force intuitive thy genius felt 
 
 The power of art, in great Alcides' belt ; 
 
 And all that after ages knew, reveal'd 
 
 In the wide orbit of Achilles' shield. 
 
 Hence dawn'd the arts through every growing state, 
 And rose 'midst storms of faction, war, and hate: 401 
 
 different traditions cited by Pliny (lib. xxxv. c. 12.), gave it to Dibutades 
 of Corinth, and Rhcecus of Samos, both of whom flourished some centuries 
 after Homer. How far either of these traditions is true, it is not my business 
 at present to inquire ; though I may perhaps do it at some future time, if I 
 should ever have leisure and inclination to finish a work, for which I have 
 been long collecting materials. 
 
 v. 3 9 4. Scyllis and Dipoenus were the first artists who were much cele- 
 brated for sculptures in marble. They flourished about the fiftieth Olym- 
 piad, or five hundred and eighty years before the Christian erar and were 
 natives of Crete ; but established their school at Sicyon. 
 
 v. 3 9 6. See Odyss. A. 60 8, et seq. 
 
 v. 3 9 8 . See Iliad. S. 4 7 8 , et seq. 
 
 v. 40 1. Art flourished with increasing splendour from the Persian in- 
 vasion to the Macedonian conquest, during one hundred and fifty years of 
 almost uninterrupted civil wars and dissensions. By the Macedonian con- 
 quest, both the arts and literature of Greece were spread over all Asia, to the 
 frontiers of India; and they continued to flourish under every dynasty 
 of the conquer ing chiefs, till the rise of the Roman power. The coins of 
 
61 
 
 By discord fann'd, the fire of genius glow'd; 
 With victory brightened and with conquest flow'd ; 
 Till Rome's benumbing influence bade it doze," 
 Stunn'd in the lethargy of deep repose. 405 
 
 Mithradates are the last which display any of that greatness of style, which 
 distinguishes those of the Greek republics, and Macedonian kings, and places 
 them far above any subsequent works of the kind. 
 
 v. 404. A sort of miniature style became predominant under the Ro- 
 mans, and continued, with little variation, from Augustus to the Antonines 
 inclusively, during a period of about two hundred and twenty years. The 
 dissolution of all order into a military democracy, which followed the des- 
 potism of Severus, subverted even this, and left nothing but barbarism. The 
 productions, however, of better times were still highly valued, though no 
 longer imitated; till the establishment of Christianity, when they were be- 
 held with abhorrence, and gradually destroyed, or buried. Constantine, 
 indeed, for many years after his conversion, maintained universal toleration, 
 and protected the public worship and consecrated property of the old religion 
 from the intemperate zeal and avarice of the ministers of the new. (Euseb. 
 in Vita Const. Imp. 1. n. c. 5 6. and GO.) But after the building of Con- 
 stantinople, vanity, the leading principle of all his actions, induced him to 
 begin the pillage of the temples, in order to decorate his new capital with 
 such works of art, as his age could not produce ; and when he had thus bro- 
 ken through his own rule of moderation, he could no longer withstand the 
 solicitations of the bishops for the utter extirpation of these retreats of the 
 Devil, and fortresses of sin. The gold and silver statues and ornaments were 
 consequently seized and melted ; the brass carried to Constantinople ; and 
 
62 
 
 But short its slumbers: — see fierce bigots rise! 
 Faith in their mouths, and fury in their eyes ; 
 With mystic spells and charms encompass'd round, 
 And creeds obscure, to puzzle and confound ; 
 While boding prophets in hoarse notes fortell 410 
 The ripen'd vengeance of wide-gaping hell ; 
 And pledging round the chalice of their ire, 
 Scatter the terrors of eternal fire. 
 
 Touch'd by their breath, meek Science melts away ; 
 Art drooping, sinks, and moulders to decay ; 4 15 
 
 Books blaze in piles, and statues shiver'd fall, 
 And one dark cloud of ruin covers all. 
 
 the marble abandoned to the destructive bigotry of the fanatic rabble (Ibid, 
 lib. in. c. 5 4, etseq.); by -whom they were gradually broken to pieces, and the 
 fragments either burnt into lime, squared into blocks for building, or thrown 
 into lakes, morasses, and rivers. Some were buried entire, and a few con- 
 cealed, by persons who wished to preserve diem, in caves and cellars; among 
 which was the Laocoon. Those earned to Constantinople were gradually 
 melted down, as want or avarice required the materials; but several of the 
 most distinguished continued in the Hippodrome, till the French and Vene- 
 tian Crusac'e.s treaclierously seized upon that city in the year 1 2 o 4 , when 
 they were converted into money to pay their fanatic plunderers, whom Nice- 
 tas Acominatus, the Byzantine historian of these events, emphatically and 
 justly styles ccvspag-oci &oip&otf l oi (in Excerpt, apud Fabric. Bibliotli. Graec. et 
 Banduri Imper. Oriental.) 
 
63 
 
 Much injured Vandals, and long slander'd Huns! 
 How are you wrong'd by your too thankless sons ; 
 Of others' actions you sustain the blame, 420 
 And suffer from your darling godd.ss Fame: 
 For her, or plunder, your bold myriads fought, 
 Nor deign'd on art to cast one transient thought; 
 But with cold smiles of grim contempt pass'd by 
 Whate'er was fashion'd but to please the eye; 425 
 The works of Glycon and Apelles view'd 
 Merely as blocks of stone, or planks of wood. 
 
 But gloomy Bigotry, with prying eye, 
 Saw lurking fiends in every figure lie, 
 And damned heresy's prolific root 430 
 Grow strong in learning, and from science shoot ; 
 Whence fired with vengeance and fierce zeal, it rose 
 To quench all lights that dared its own oppose. 
 
 Revived again, in Charles' and Leo's days, 
 Art dawn'd unsteady, with reflected rays; 435 
 
 v. 43 4. The taste for pure and elegant composition was revived by Ra- 
 phael; and expired with him. Michael Angelo was always for doing some- 
 thing better than ivcll ; and as such attempts excite the wonder and admiration 
 of the ignorant, they are flattering to vanity, and almost certain to become 
 fashionable ; as they immediately did, both in the Roman and Florentine 
 schools. Hence a puerile ambition for novelty and originality became the 
 
64 
 
 Lost all the general principle of grace, 
 And wavering fancy left to take its place ; 
 But yet, in these degenerate days, it shone 
 With one perfection, e'en to Greece unknown: 
 
 predominant principle of an imitative art, the business of which is to coin, 
 and not create. To those, who had considered it propeily, this would have 
 appeared sufficiently difficult; since even Raphael, who excelled most in the 
 niceties of drawing, and accurate representations of form, would scarcely 
 have been deemed an artist by the Greek" ; so very inferior are even his best 
 performances to what remain of theirs. By nicely of drawing and accurate re- 
 presentation of form, I again repeat, that I do not mean mere anatomical ac- 
 curacy in the distribution and proportion of particular parts ; but that accu- 
 racy of general effect, and natural truth of gesture and expression, which 
 alone excite sympathy, and which therefore properly distinguish liberal from 
 mechanic imitation. 
 
 v. 43 8. Landscape painting was first practised by one Ludius of Lydius, 
 in the time of Augustus, who seems to have been little better than a scene 
 painter. Pliny says that he painted with little labour or expence, views of 
 villas, porticoes, mountains, woods, rivers, 8cc. on walls (non fraudendo et 
 Ludio divi Augusti setate, qui primus instituit amoenissimam parietum 
 picturam, villas et porticus, ac topiaria opera, lucos, ncmora, colles, pis- 
 cinas, euripos, amnes, litora, qualia quis optarat, varias ibi obambulantium 
 species aut navigantium, terraque villas adeuntium asellis aut vehiculis, 8cc. 
 lib. xxxv. c. 10.) ; but that works of this sort were never held in high esteem, 
 as pieces of art. (Idemque subdialibus maritimas urbes pingere instituit blan- 
 dissimo aspectu minimoque impendio. Sed nulla gloria artificum est nisi 
 corum cjui tabulas pinxere, Sec. Ibid.) Many specimens of this kind of 
 
65 
 
 Nature's aerial tints and fleeting dyes, 440 
 
 Old Titian first imbody'd to the eyes ; 
 
 And taught the tree to spread its light array . 
 
 In mimic colours, and on canvas play. 
 
 Next Rubens came, and catch'd in colours bright 
 
 The flickering flashes of celestial light; 44S 
 
 painting have been discovered in the houses of Herculaneum and Pompeii ; 
 from which it appears, that they were rather grotesques than landscapes; and 
 certainly very undeserving of being ranked with the ancient efforts of the 
 art in Greece and its colonies. Glare and gaiety, however, rendered this 
 miserable style of daubing popular among a people, who had no principles of 
 true taste, and it served as a substitute for an art, which existed no more. 
 With sincere regret, I observe it revived by our modern architects; for 
 while it lasts, I fear no place will be found for the modest graces of good 
 painting, which will naturally appear flat and insipid to eyes vitiated by 
 tawdry and unmeaning glitter. It were well, if the opulent and magnificent 
 of this country would be on their guard in taking the advice of builders and 
 architects concerning the decorations of their houses; for such advisers will 
 generally recommend the employing low artizans, in whose profits they 
 may participate, rather than liberal artists, whose pride and spirit place them 
 above such a base reciprocity of fraudulent traffic. 
 
 v. 44 1. Many of the very early painters (even the Van Eycks of the 
 thirteenth century) endeavoured to make landscape back-grounds to their 
 pictures ; but they were rather landscapes inform, than in effect. Titian's are 
 the first that have any pretensions to the natural graces of aerial perspective. 
 
 ■ / 
 
66 
 
 Dipp'd his bold pencil in the rainbow's dye, 
 And fix'd the transient radiance of the sky; 
 But both their merits, polish'd and refined 
 By toil and care, in patient Claude were join'd : 
 Nature's own pupil, favourite child of taste! 405 
 Whose pencil, like Lysippus' chisel, traced 
 Vision's nice errors, and, with feign'd neglect, 
 Sunk partial form in general effect. 
 
 Hail, arts divine! — still may your solace sweet 
 Cheer the recesses of my calm retreat ; 45 5 
 
 And banish every mean pursuit, that dares 
 Cloud life's serene with low ambition's cares. 
 
 Vain is the pomp of wealth: its splendid halls, 
 And vaulted roofs sustain'd by marble walls. — 
 In beds of state pale sorrow often sighs, 460 
 Nor gets relief from gilded canopies : 
 
 v. 4.5 1. See note on Book I. v. 07. Claude has finished his landscapes 
 more elaborately than any other artist, even among the Dutch, ever did; but 
 by continually working from nature, and artfully throwing in touches of ap- 
 parent ease and negligence, he effectually avoided every peculiarity of manner, 
 and all that liny formality and smoothness, which usually results from ex- 
 cessive finishing. In particular forms he is often inaccurate, and sometimes 
 studiously indistinct : but his general effects are always perfect, and the indis- 
 tinctness appears to be in the medium of vision, rather than in the object seen. 
 
67 
 
 But arts can still new recreation find, 
 
 To soothe the troubles of«the afflicted mind; 
 
 Recall the ideal worth of ancient days, 
 
 And man in his own estimation raise ; 46 5 
 
 Visions of glory to his eyes impart, 
 
 And cheer with conscious pride his drooping heart ; 
 
 Make him forget the little plagues that spring 
 
 From cares domestic, and in secret sting: 
 
 The glance malignant of the scornful eye ; 4 70 
 
 The peevish question, and the tart reply; 
 
 The never-ending frivolous debate, 
 
 Which poisons love with all the pangs of hate: 
 
 Suspicion's lurking frown, and prying eye, 
 
 That masks its malice in love's jealousy ; 47$ 
 
 And, sprung from selfish vanity and pride, 
 
 Seeks, with its worst effects, its cause to hide. 
 
 Folly's pert sneer, the prejudice of sense; 
 
 And scoffing pity's timid insolence : 
 
 Assuming bigotry's conceited pride, 4 SO 
 
 That claims to be man's sole, unerring guide ; 
 
 Dictates in all things ; — and would e'en compel 
 
 The damn'd to* go its own by-road to hell; 
 
 Officious friendship, that displays its zeal 
 
 In buzzing slanders, which e'en foes conceal; 4 85 
 
68 
 
 Kindly revives whatever can teaze or fret, 
 
 Nor lets us one calamity forget ; 
 
 But, tenderly, each future evil spies, 
 
 And comforts with contingent miseries : 
 
 The vapid lounger's never-ceasing prate, 4 90 
 
 Whose tiresome kindness makes us wish his hate: 
 
 With all the little social ills that rise 
 
 From idleness, which its own languor flies. 
 
THE LANDSCAPE. 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 What trees may best adorn the mountain's brow, 
 And spread promiscuous o'er the plains below ; 
 What, singly, lift the high-aspiring head, 
 Or mix'd in groups, their quivering shadows shed ; 
 What best in lofty groves may tower around, 5 
 Or sculk in underwood along the ground ; 
 Or in low copses skirt the hillock's side, 
 Or form the thicket, some defect to hide ; 
 
 I now inquire. Ye woodland nymphs, arise, 
 
 And ope your secret haunts to mortal eyes ! 10 
 Let my unhallow'd steps your seats invade, 
 And penetrate your undiscover'd shade. 
 
 Ere yet the planter undertakes his toil, 
 Let him examine well his clime and soil ; 
 Patient explore what best with both will suit, 1 5 
 
 And, rich in leaves, luxuriantly shoot. 
 
70 
 
 For trees, unless in vigorous health they rise, 
 
 Can ne'er be grateful objects to the eyes ; 
 
 'Midst summer's heats, disgusted we behold 
 
 Their branches numb'd with the past winter's cold ; 20 
 
 Or their thin shivering heads all bristled o'er 
 
 With the dead shoots that the last autumn bore ; 
 
 While their lean trunks, with bark all crack'd and dry. 
 
 Regret the comforts of a warmer sky. 
 
 Not that I'd banish from the sylvan scene 25 
 Each bough that is not deck'd in vivid green; 
 Or, like our prim improvers, cut away 
 Each hoary branch that verges to decay. 
 
 v. 2 5 . It has been suggested to me that to crack and dry, is not properly the 
 effect of a more cold and damp atmosphere : generally it certainly is not ; but 
 in the present instance it is ; for by impeding the flow of the sap, it deprives 
 the bark, as well as the foliage, of its natural freshness and viridity, and gives 
 it a dry» cracked, and leathery appearance. 
 
 v. 27. It was a maxim of the late Mr. Brown's, that every thing which 
 indicated decay should be removed; and he accordingly destroyed in Blen- 
 heim park, and many other places, great numbers of the finest studies for art 
 that nature ever produced. This maxim is, I believe, still followed by his 
 successors in the trade or profession of taste ; for in all the improved places 
 that I have lately seen, I observe that the pruning goes on as unmercifully 
 as ever; especially since Mr. Forsyth has invented a plaster, which is to 
 produce new branches in lieu of the old ones that are cut away. Happily for 
 picturesque beauty, I believe it does not succeed. 
 
71 
 
 If years unnumber'd, or the lightning's stroke, 
 
 Have bared the summit of the lofty oak, SO 
 
 (Such as, to decorate some savage waste, 
 
 Salvator's flying pencil often traced); 
 
 Entire and sacred let the ruin stand, 
 
 Nor fear the primer's sacrilegious hand : 
 
 But premature decay oflends the eye, 35 
 
 With symptoms of disease and poverty. 
 
 Choose, therefore, trees which nature's hand has sown 
 In proper soils, and climates of their own ; 
 Or such as, by experience long approved, 
 Are found adopted by the climes they loved: 40 
 All other foreign plants with caution try, 
 Nor aim at infinite variety. 
 
 As the quaint poets of fantastic times 
 Dress'd one conceit in many different rhymes, 
 
 v. A'i. Ariosto lias concluded forty-five of his forty-six cantos with the 
 same thought, differently expressed; and I have heard Italians cite this as a 
 most extraordinary effort of a fertile and inventive genius ; though they 
 might just as reasonably extol the invention of an architect for making the 
 capital of every column in an extensive building different. — Quanto diversus 
 ab illo, qui nihil molitur inepte! — Homer, as often as he has occasion to ex- 
 press the same thought, always does it in the same words : this, plain sense 
 naturally dictates ; and plain sense and good taste are very nearly allied in 
 every thing. 
 
72 
 
 And thought by tricks, which want of taste betray, 45 
 
 Exuberance of fancy to display ; 
 
 So the capricious planter often tries 
 
 By quaint variety to cause surprise ; 
 
 Collects of various trees a motley host, 
 
 Natives of every clime and every coast ; 50 
 
 Which, placed in chequer'd squares, alternate grow, 
 
 And forms and colours unconnected show : 
 
 Here blue Scotch firs with yellow plane trees join, 
 
 There meagre larches rise, and fringe the line; 
 
 While scatter'd oaks and beeches sculk unseen, 5 5 
 
 Nor dare expose their chaste and modest green. 
 
 O Harmony, once more from heaven descend ! 
 Mould the stiff lines, and the harsh colours blend; 
 Banish the formal fir's unsocial shade, 
 And crop the aspiring larch's saucy head: 60 
 Then Britain's genius to thy aid invoke, 
 And spread around the rich, high-clustering oak: 
 King of the woods ! whose towering branches trace 
 Each form of majesty, and line of grace ; 
 Whose giant arms, and high-imbower'd head, 65 
 Deep masses round of clustering foliage spread, 
 In various shapes projecting to the view, 
 And clothed in tints of nature's richest hue ; — 
 
73 
 
 Tints, that still vary with the varying year, 
 
 And with new beauties every month appear; 7 
 
 From the bright green of the first vernal bloom, 
 
 To the deep brown of autumn's solemn gloom. 
 
 Each single tree, too, differing from the rest, 
 
 And in peculiar shades of verdure dress'd, 
 
 Spreads a soft tinge of variegated green, 7 5 
 
 Diffused, not scatter'd, o'er the waving scene. 
 
 Let then of oak your general masses rise, 
 Where'er the soil its nutriment supplies: 
 But if dry chalk and flints, or thirsty sand, 
 Compose the substance of your barren land, 80 
 Let the light beech its gay luxuriance shew, 
 And o'er the hills its brilliant verdure strew: 
 No tree more elegant its branches spreads ; 
 None o'er the turf a clearer shadow sheds ; 
 No foliage shines with more reflected lights ; 8 5 
 
 No stem more vary'd forms and tints unites : 
 Now smooth, in even bark, aloft it shoots ; 
 Now bulging swells, fantastic as its roots ; 
 While flickering greens, with lightly scatter'd gray, 
 Blend their soft colours, and around it play. 90 
 
 But though simplicity the mass pervade, 
 In groups be gay variety display'd: 
 
74 
 
 Let the rich lime-tree shade the broken mound, 
 
 And the thin birch and hornbeam play around ; 
 
 Willows and alders overhang the stream, 95 
 
 And quiver in the sun's reflected beam. 
 
 Let the broad wyche your ample lawns divide, 
 
 And whittey glitter up the mountain's side ; 
 
 The hardy whittey, that o'er Cambrian snows 
 
 Beams its red glare, and in bleak winter glows : 100 
 
 Let the light ash its wanton foliage spread 
 
 Against the solemn oak's majestic head; 
 
 And where the giant his high branches heaves, 
 
 Loose chesnuts intermix their pointed leaves ; 
 
 While tufted thorns and hazels shoot below, 105 
 
 And yews and hollies deep in shadow grow, 
 
 v. 93. Mr. Gilpin, in his Remarks on Forest Scenery, rejects the beech 
 as heavy and formal ; and those who judge of it from his drawings, will 
 probably agree with him ; but if they view it in the drawings of Claude 
 (with whom it was a favourite tree), and then impartially examine it in na- 
 ture, they will be apt to agree with me. 
 
 v. 9<J. The whittey, or mountain ash, grows in the highest and coldest 
 situations, and is the last tree that we find in going up the Welch hills ; 
 where the lower class of people make a thin acid kind of beverage with its red 
 berries fermented. 
 
 v. 105, Hazels, yews, and hollies grow in all soils, and under the shade 
 of all other trees; and are therefore the best underwoods for this climate. 
 
75 
 
 Oft too, the conic fir, or round-topp'd pine, 
 In blended groups may happily combine ; 
 Or near projecting, with their sable dye 
 Contrast the distance, and confine the eye. 1 10 
 
 But, lord supreme o'er all this formal race, 
 The cedar claims pre-eminence of place ; 
 Like some great eastern king, it stands alone, 
 Nor lets the ignoble crowd approach its throne, 
 Spreads out its haughty boughs that scorn to bend, 1 1 5 
 And bids its shade o'er spacious fields extend ; 
 While, in the compass of its wide domain, 
 Heaven sheds its soft prolific showers in vain : 
 Secure and shelter'd, every subject lies ; 
 But, robb'd of moisture, sickens, droops, and dies. 120 
 
 O image apt of man's despotic power ! 
 Which guards and shelters only to devour^ 
 Lifts high in air the splendours of its head, 
 And bids its radiance o'er the nations spread ; 
 While round its feet in silent anguish lie 125 
 Hunger, despair, and meagre misery. 
 
 v. 115. The cedar of Libanus, when old, extends it branches horizon- 
 tally, one over another, so as to form a kind of roof, through which scarcely 
 any rain can penetrate : being an evergreen, this shelter continues all the 
 year, so that nothing will grow under it. 
 
76 
 
 Of all deciduous trees, that, placed alone, 
 Trust to no other merits than their own, 
 The aged elm of stately growth should share, 
 Next to the oak and beech, the planter's care: 1 3 
 But, ah ! how seldom is it seen to spread 
 Around the native honours of its head, 
 In how few instances, unmangled, bears 
 The unsully'd glories of revolving years. 
 
 Unhappy tree! abandon'd and forlorn, 15 5 
 
 To northern skies from climes congenial torn ; 
 In silent solitude condemn'd to pine, 
 Divorced for ever from its wedded vine ; 
 And here, with mangled trunk, exposed and bare, 
 Placed in the rigours of a wintery air, 1 4 
 
 Of all its leafy honours stripp'd and shorn, 
 No branches left to shelter or adorn ; 
 A poor, blank, solitary pole it stands, 
 To show the naked misery of the lands ! 
 
 O, all ye guardian powers of beauty, rise! 145 
 And snatch the wretched ruin from our eyes ; 
 
 v. 13 5. The elm is a native of the southern parts of Europe, and never bears 
 seed in England; but is always propagated from layers, or scions, springing 
 from the roots. There are varieties of them in this country, some of which 
 are much superior to others, in the form and magnitude of their growth. 
 
77 
 
 Save the young brood, that yet uninjured stand, 
 
 And break the axe in the fell rustic's hand ; 
 
 Or, while aloft he aims the fatal blow, 
 
 Hurl him down headlong to the fields below: I 50 
 
 Call avarice to your aid, and let it see 
 
 Its loss of profit in the stinted tree ; 
 
 Count its slow growth, and tell for how much gold, 
 
 Preserved entire, the timber might have sold. 
 
 Next to the elm, let either chesnut claim 15S 
 The place of honour, and the crown of fame : 
 The one, with pointed foliage light and gay, 
 Opening its quivering masses to the day ; 
 Whilst the other gloomy, with imbowering leaves, 
 Aloft its dark and clustering summit heaves, 160 
 Or under the tall oak, extends its shade, 
 Excludes the sun, and deep imbrowns the glade: 
 
 v. 15 1. The barbarous custom of shreding the elms, in hedge-rows, 
 quite to the top, is as injurious to property as to beauty, for the growth of 
 the tree is considerably checked, and its health injured, at every shreding; 
 as maybe seen when the trunk is cut transversely. The circles, which mark 
 the different years' growths, will then appear of different sizes, in proportion 
 as the tree recovered its branches ; the smallest being that of the year in 
 which it was shreded, and the largest that which preceded each shreding. 
 
 v. 101. The horse chesnut bears shade better than any other large tree. 
 
78 
 
 The one long since to classic climates known, 
 
 Has learn'd the painter's mimic skill to own ; 
 
 And lightly brilliant from Salvator's hand, 165 
 
 Diffused its charms o'er many a distant land: 
 
 The other, in Tartarean forests born, 
 
 And yet untaught the canvas to adorn, 
 
 Demands in vain the honours of its place, 
 
 And shows in vain its venerable grace. 170 
 
 But, e'er again should art its glories raise, 
 
 And emulate the pride of ancient days, 
 
 In Britain's happiest scenes it oft may shine, 
 
 And show the talents of some new Poussin. 
 
 v. 165. The Spanish chesnut, of which there is great plenty in every 
 part of Italy, seems to be the tree which Salvator Rosa chiefly studied; diough 
 he sometimes appears to have copied the beech. He never aims at variety, 
 but generally contents himself with one sort of tree only; varied in the forms 
 of the trunks, and distribution of the foliage, which, with his taste and inven- 
 tion, produce as much diversity of effect as is, ever wanting in the kind of 
 scenes which he represents. 
 
 v. 17 4. Nicholas Poussin's trees are still more generalized; he never, that 
 I know of, condescending to mark the distinctive characters of any individual 
 species. His masses of foliage, however, in their general forms and richness, 
 have often a near resemblance to those of the horse chesnut, though his touch 
 never marks the particular forms of its leaves; nor, indeed, any forms at all 
 like them. I do not mean to insinuate that the art of painting has not lately 
 
79 
 
 When gay in summer's foliage, newly dress'd, 17S 
 The aged walnut shows its verdant vest, 
 The first distinetions it may justly claim, 
 And emulate the Iberian chesnut's fame ; 
 
 made a great progress in those brandies which have been cultivated and patro- 
 nized; but since the death of Wilson, the higher style of landscape, here al- 
 luded to, has scarcely been attempted, and the encouragement which he met 
 with was not the most flattering, though his pictures have sold well since his 
 death. In the humbler style, Morland and Ibbetson have arrived at great 
 excellence. 
 
 In the first edition, I called the horse chesnut, American, from an opinion 
 which had slipped into my mind, without my being able to recollect from 
 whence it came; though I am certain that I have heard the tree called so by 
 nurserymen and gardeners ; and being no botanist, I hastily took their vague 
 tradition as authority. On applying however, through the medium of a 
 friend, to a higher source of information (as high and respectable, I believe, 
 as any that Europe can afford), I received the following account of it. 
 
 " The oldest account I can this instant recollect of the horse chesnut, is in 
 ♦ ' Clusius's Historia variorum aliquot Stirpium, per Pannoniam, Austriam, &c. 
 " observal. Svo. Antwerp, 15 83 , who says, he received several plants in 
 " January, 1 5 7 6, from the Imperial ambassador at the Turkish court, all of 
 " which died in their journey, except the Prunus Laaro-cerasus , and the Gas- 
 " tanea equina, of which he gives figures. This is the first account of the now 
 11 common Lauro-cerasus. The horse chesnut had not, in 1 5 8 3 , flowered with 
 " him ; but he figures and describes the fruit sent him from Turkey. This 
 *« is the authority for its being called a native of the northern parts of Asia. 
 *' Gerard says it grows in Italy, and " sundry parts of the east countries." 
 
80 
 
 But short's the time its leafy beauties last ; 
 
 Down all are swept by the first wintery blast: 1 80 
 
 Then bare and desolate it spreads its arms, 
 
 Deprived at once of all its boasted charms ; 
 
 And doom'd for many a weary month to mourn 
 
 The tedious period of their slow return. 
 
 Poplars and sycamores alike display 185 
 Their foliage fallen in premature decay ; 
 While no grand forms of trunk or branch supply 
 The loss of beauties that untimely die : 
 But yet our planters much the poplar prize, 
 For its quick stately growth, and sudden size : 1 90 
 And if for gain they plant, the reason's good ; 
 Since all they want is quantity of wood. 
 But if, with beauty, they would charm the sight, 
 Something is more required than size and height ; 
 Which shown in shapes, thus formal, thin, and tall, 
 Make us regret they ever grew at all. 196 
 
 " I believe there is no authority for its coming from America; though an 
 " undescribable something in its fades, would lead a botanist, and perhaps a 
 " painter, to guess it an American tree." 
 
 v. 179. The leaves of the walnut are among the last that appear in the 
 spring, and the first that fall in the autumn. 
 
 1 
 
81 
 
 The bright acacia, and the vivid plane, 
 The rich laburnum with its golden chain ; 
 And all the variegated flowering race, 
 That deck the garden, and the shrubbery grace, 200 
 Should near to buildings, or to water grow, 
 Where bright reflections beam with equal glow, 
 And blending vivid tints with vivid light, 
 The whole in brilliant harmony unite : 
 E'en the bright floweret's tints will dim appear, 205 
 When limpid waters foam and glitter near, 
 And o'er their curling crystals sparkling play 
 The clear reflections of meridian clay ; 
 From buildings, too, strong refluent lights are thrown, 
 When the sun downward shines upon the stone; 210 
 Or on the windows darts its evening rays, 
 And makes the glass with fire responsive blaze. 
 
 But better are these gaudy scenes display 'd 
 From the high terrace or rich balustrade ; 
 'Midst sculptured founts and vases, that diffuse, 2 1 5 
 In shapes fantastic, their concordant hues ; 
 Than on the swelling slopes of waving ground, 
 That now the solitary house surround. 
 
 Curse on the shrubbery's insipid scenes ! 
 Of tawdry fringe encircling vapid greens ; 220 
 
82 
 
 Where incongruities so well unite, 
 
 That nothing can by accident be right ; 
 
 Thickets that neither shade nor shelter yield ; 
 
 Yet from the cooling breeze the senses shield : 
 
 Prim gravel walks, through which we winding go 
 
 In endless serpentines, that nothing show ; 2 26 
 
 v. 2 1 9 to 2 3 4 . I am surprised to find that this passage has been misunder- 
 stood, or rather misrepresented, to mean a general condemnation of shrubs 
 and gravel walks (see Monthly Review, for May, 1 7 9 4 ); and I cannot birt 
 think that every candid reader, who will connect it in his mind with the pre- 
 ceding parts of the poem, will readily perceive, that it is only aimed at the 
 formal distribution of the one into regular curves and clumps, and the formal 
 direction of the other into regular and unmeaning serpentines, that lead to no 
 particular objects ; but serve merely to show, in uniform succession, discor- 
 dant masses of tawdry plants and shaven turf, alternately surrounding each 
 other, and discriminated by the harsh edge of a pared border. Shrubs of 
 all kinds, that suit the soil and climate, may serve as underwood, as Avell as 
 thorns and hollies; and be properly introduced, wherever their forms and 
 colours will accord with what is near to them. To the comforts of a clean, 
 even, and easy walk, I do not recollect ever to have made or felt an objection : 
 though it did not belong to my plan to give directions for producing those 
 comforts; picturesque effect, and not domestic convenience and indulgence, 
 being the subject which a writer on landscape is to consider. Whether the 
 walk which leads to his scenery be of gravel, cinders, lime and sand, or any 
 other material, is perfectly indifferent to him, provided its colour is not so 
 harsh, and its limits so edgy, as to produce a marked discordant line, offen- 
 
S3 
 
 Till tired, I ask, Why this eternal round? 
 
 And the pert gardener says, Tis .pleasure ground. 
 
 This pleasure ground ! astonish'd, I exclaim, 
 
 To me Moorfields as well deserve the name: 230 
 
 Nay, better ; -for in busy scenes at least 
 
 Some odd varieties the eye may feast, 
 
 Something more entertaining still be seen, 
 
 Than red-hot gravel, fringed with tawdry green. 
 
 O waft me hence to some neglected vale; 235 
 Where, shelter'd, I may court the western gale; 
 And, 'midst the gloom which native thickets shed, 
 Hide from the noontide beams my aching head ! 
 
 For though in British woods no myrtles blow, 
 Nor ripening citrons in our forests glow; 2 40 
 
 Nor clustering vines extend the long festoon 
 From tree to tree, to exclude the heats of noon ; 
 Nor spicy odours, from the mountains, breathe 
 Their rich perfumes o'er fertile plains beneath ; 
 
 sive to the eye. Let it only proceed in artless and irregular curves, and its' 
 sides be broken by an intermixture of the adjoining grass and mosses, with 
 the smooth gravel, so that the line of separation may be rendered indistinct, 
 and he does not care how smooth that gravel is. The comforts of cleanliness 
 are perfectly consistent with picturesque beauty; — it is only affected neatness 
 and glitter that is incompatible with it. 
 
84 
 
 Yet climbing woodbines spread their blossoms sweet, 
 And verdant eglantines the senses greet ; 2 46 
 
 Wild thorns and hollies overhang the steeps, 
 And up the rocks the clustering ivy creeps. 
 
 Then no fell scorpions point their venom'd stings ; 
 No prowling tiger from the covert springs ; ' 2 50 
 No scaly serpent, in vast volumes roll'd, 
 Darts on the unwary loiterer from his hold ; 
 But fleecy flocks o'er verdant pastures stray, 
 And, heedless of the wolf, their gambols play ; 
 Light o'er the mountains trip the nimble deer, 25 5 
 Nor dread the hungry lion lurking near. 
 
 Bless'd land ! — though no soft tints of pearly hue 
 Mellow the radiance of the morning dew, 
 And melt the tender distance to the eye, 
 In one clear tinge of vary'd harmony : — 260 
 
 v. 25 7 . The beautiful pearly hue of the air in Italy, so happily imitated 
 in the pictures of Claude, arises in a great measure from the putrid vapours, 
 which in summer and autumn infect all the low parts of the southern pro- 
 vinces. To sleep in these vapours is almost certain death, especially to a fo- 
 reigner. I remember an Englishman of rank in Sicily, who treated it as a 
 prejudice, and in spite of every argument and persuasion that could be used 
 to the contrary, passed a night in a fisherman's hut, on the borders of the lake 
 of Lentini ; but he waked in a putrid fever, and survived only thirty-six hours. 
 
I 
 
 85 
 
 Yet, guiltless, autumn breathes its sultry breath, 
 
 Nor taints the breezes with contagious death ; 
 
 No fen-suck 'd vapours rise, and nightly shed 
 
 Their deadly damps around the peasant's head ; 
 
 No poisonous reptiles o'er his pillow creep, 265 
 
 Nor buzzing insects interrupt his sleep : 
 
 Secure, at noon, he snores beneath the brake, 
 
 Nor fears, diseased, with feverous pulse to wake ; 
 
 Nor e'er, at night, in restless anguish lies 
 
 Amidst the hums of pestilential flies. 2 70 
 
 Here no dark gulfs of subterraneous fire, 
 Dismay and terror through his fields inspire ; 
 Or, bursting forth, their molten torrents pour 
 In blazing floods, and all his hopes devour; 
 'Midst echoing shrieks of horror and affright, 27 5 
 And the dim gleams that glimmer through the night. 
 
 No earthquakes here quick desolation spread, 
 And show the mountains tottering on his head ; 
 
 v. 2 65. Scorpions and centipedes often lurk in the mortises and holes of 
 old bed-posts, or the crevices of decayed floors, in the south of Europe. The 
 night-flies, or mosquitos, are an evil still more general, in all warm climates, 
 and in many a most intolerable one; as whatever excludes them, stops the free 
 circulation of the air, and renders the heat unsufferable. 
 
86 
 
 Or yawning chasms, that cities whole entomb 
 
 Deep in the earth's unfathomable womb. 2 80 
 
 Blessd land! though vernal tempests often howl, 
 And winter's watery clouds on summer scowl ; 
 Yet hence our brooks in even currents flow ; 
 Nor their parch'd beds in early autumn show ; 
 But ever full the verdant foliage lave, 285 
 That hangs reflected o'er the glassy wave. 
 
 Hence, too, our trees, e'en to the mountain's brow, 
 In full viridity of foliage grow ; 
 
 Nor mourn their shrivel I'd roots, and wither'd bowers, 
 When summer's sun's exhale the vernal showers. 2 90 
 
 Hence, too, our pastures, rich in verdure, feed 
 The rising vigour of the martial steed » 
 With fatter juices make the milk-pail frothe, 
 And the meek sheep with warmer fleeces clothe. 
 
 Hail native streams, that full yet limpid glide! 295 
 Hail native woods, creation's boast and pride! 
 Your native graces let the painter s art, . 
 And planter's skill, endeavour to impart; 
 Nor vainly after distant beauties roam, 
 Neglectful of the charms they leave at home. "00 
 
 Let soft Hfcsperia's variegated coast, 
 Its vocal groves of pine and ilex boast ; 
 
8? 
 
 See, on the beach, rich myrtle thickets shoot; 
 
 And orange bowers nod with golden fruit ; 
 
 There, too, let mimic art employ its toil 305 
 
 To imitate the products of the soil ; 
 
 But here, on the same principle, bestow 
 
 Its skill on things, which here spontaneous grow ; 
 
 Nor, placed beneath our cool and watery sky, 
 
 Attempt the glowing tints of Italy : . 310 
 
 For thus compell'd in memory to confide, 
 
 Or blindly follow some preceding guide, 
 
 One common beaten track it still pursues, 
 
 And crudely copies what it never views ; 
 
 Manner'd and harsh, yet uniform and tame, 31 5 
 
 And whatsoe'er its subject, still the same. 
 
 In every clime where heaven's all-cheering light 
 Succeeds alternate to the glooms of night, 
 Some happy times or seasons will supply 
 Soft gleams of beauty to the painter's eye. 320 
 
 v. 30 1. There being no tides in the Mediterranean, thickets of myrtle 
 overspread the sands; and gardens of orange trees often appear close to 
 the shore. On the Roman and Tuscan coasts, too, are large woods of pine 
 and ilex, in which the sea breezes sound with peculiar shrillness; the 
 thin leaf of the pine producing a sort of whistle, as it divides the currents of 
 the air. 
 
88 . 
 
 What brilliance e'en in Belgian skies appears, 
 Touch'd by the silvery pencil of Teniers ! 
 How clear, in Vandervelde, the seas that roll 
 Near to the circle of the arctic pole! 
 
 E'en where impenetrable darkness shrouds 325 
 One half the year in thick cimmerian clouds ; 
 While the other beams upon the weary 'd sight 
 One dazzling glare of never-ceasing light; 
 Through all the slow increase, and slow decay 
 Of the long annual night, and annual day; 330 
 Pale twilight glimmers grateful to the eye, 
 And wraps the scene in sober harmony ; 
 While each harsh line, or glittering colour fades,. 
 Tinged in soft hues and light transparent shades. 
 
 Cool shades ! unknown to hot meridian skies,. 335 
 Where day and night in close succession rise, 
 And sudden darkness follows the last rays 
 That o'er the sun-burnt sands retreating blaze ; 
 But which, on Holland's damp and marshy downs, 
 To Rembrandt's view display d their mellow browns ; 
 And as the cold, bare scenes his pencil traced, 341 
 With gleams of beauty cheer'd the dreary waste. 
 
 v. 33 9. Rembrandt appears to have been the first who attempted to 
 paint the twilight, and he is certainly the last who has done it with success. 
 
89 
 
 But not in tints of air or skies alone, 
 Has every country blessings of its own : 
 Nature still just, her good and evil blends, 54 5 
 
 And where she errs, fancy the error mends. 
 No state or clime's so bad, but that the mind, 
 Form'd to enjoy content, content will find. 
 
 See on Kamtschatka's ever dreary coast, 
 The alternate prey of deluge, lire, and frost, 350 
 The native, bury'd in his winter's grave, 
 Applauds the stench and darkness of the cave ; 
 Eats his dry'd fish with all a glutton's glee, 
 And thinks the bramble's fruit a luxury ; 
 
 Perhaps his drawings, which were sketched from nature, at hours when 
 he could no longer see to paint, express it more happily than his pictures : 
 though hastily executed, and without any choice of subject; he having 
 drawn whatever presented itself to his view, and trusted entirely to light 
 and shade for effect. 
 
 v. 3 4 9. No part of Kamtschatka will ripen wheat, and very few parts 
 any farinaceous grain whatever. — The general food of the inhabitants is 
 dried fish and berries. The country is torn by volcanoes, earthquakes, 
 and hurricanes; and so cold, during seven months, that they live under 
 ground ; and so wet during the other five, that they are obliged to raise 
 their huts upon stages of wood. The snow lies till the middle of May, even 
 in the lower parts, from six to eight feet deep; and of course, when thawed, 
 produces a continued deluge, till it begins to accumulate again in October. 
 Yet these people assured M. Steller, that they luere the most favoured of God's 
 
90 
 
 With grateful heart his bounteous God adores, 35 5 
 
 Who sends the salmon yearly to his shores ; 
 
 Who melts with showers the gathering piles of snow, 
 
 And bids red berries o'er the desert glow. 
 
 Of all the happiness, he knows, possess'd, 
 
 He feels no envious "wish corrode his breast ; 360 
 
 While nature on his humble lot bestows 
 
 All that he wants, in plenty and repose: 
 
 Sleep lightly waves its poppies o'er his head ; 
 
 And love, with fancy 'd roses, decks his bed : 
 
 Tranquil, he vegetates his life away; 365 
 
 And knows no evil, but its swift decay. 
 
 Still less can moral good or ill supply 
 Just cause for happiness or misery : 
 The good is oft but physical defect, 
 The negative result of cold neglect; 370 
 And partial ill, if rightly understood, 
 Is oft redundancy of general good. 
 
 creatures; the most fortunate and happy of beings; and that their country was 
 superior to all olliers, ajjording means of gralijication far beyond what were any 
 where else to be met with. See Capt. King's Voyage, Book vi. c. 7 . 
 
 v. 3 5 6. Vast shoals of salmon swim up all the rivers, from the middle of 
 May to the end of September, during \vhich time the Kamtschadales catch 
 a sufficient quantity to dry for their "syinter's consumption. Ibid. 
 
91 
 
 Even its last excess, the despot's chain, 
 Is oft a curb worse evils to restrain ; 
 For few (alas, how few!) amongst us know 37 5 
 
 To use the blessings, that from freedom flow. 
 
 As the dull, stagnant pool, that's mantled o'er 
 With the green weeds of its own muddy shore, 
 No bright reflections on its surface shows, 
 Nor murmuring surge, nor foaming ripple knows; 380 
 But ever peaceful, motionless, and dead, 
 In one smooth sheet its torpid waters spread: 
 So by oppression's iron hand confined, 
 In calm and peaceful torpor sleep mankind ; 
 Unfelt the rays of genius, that inflame 585 
 The free-born soul, and bid it pant for fame. 
 
 But break the mound, and let the waters flow ; 
 Headlong and fierce their turbid currents go ; 
 Sweep down the fences, and tear up the soil; 
 And roar along, 'midst havock, waste, and spoil; 390 
 Till spent their fury: — then their moisture feeds 
 The deepening verdure of the fertile meads ; 
 Bids vernal flowers the fragrant turf adorn, 
 And rising juices swell the wavy corn: 
 So when rebellion breaks the despot's chain, 395 
 First wasteful ruin marks the rabble's reign ; 
 
92 
 
 Till tired their fury, and their vengeance spent, 
 One common interest bids their hearts relent ; 
 Then temperate order from confusion springs, 
 And, fann'd by freedom, genius spreads its wings. 400 
 
 What heart so savage, but must now deplore 
 The tides of blood that flow on Gallia's shore ! 
 What eye, but drops the unavailing tear 
 On the mild monarch's melancholy bier! 
 Who weeps not o'er the damp and dreary cell, 405 
 Where fallen majesty is doom'd to dwell; 
 Where waning beauty, in the dungeon's gloom, 
 Feels, yet alive, the horrors of the tomb! 
 Of all her former state no traces left, 
 But e'en of nature's common needs bereft ; 4 10 
 
 Through days of solitude, and nights of woe, 
 Which, hopeless still, in long succession flow, 
 She counts the moments, till the rabble's hate 
 Shall drag their victim to her welcome fate! 
 
 Yet, from these horrors, future times may see 4 I 5 
 Just order spring, and genuine liberty : 
 
 v. 4 0.5. This was written in September last (1793), when the late most 
 unfortunate Queen of France was confined in a cell of the Conciergerie at 
 Paris : and though it was then very generally expected that she would be mur- 
 dered; few, I believe, imagined that her sufferings would be closed so soon. 
 
93 
 
 Split into many states the power that hurl'd, 
 
 So oft, destruction o'er the affrighted world ; 
 
 May hence ambition's wasteful folly cease, 
 
 And cultivate alone the happy arts of peace. 420 
 
 v. 4 15. The revolution that has taken place in France, is an event quite 
 new in the history of civilized man, and therefore all conjectures concern- 
 ing the ultimate consequences of it, must he vague and unsatisfactory. The 
 expidsion of the higher orders of society by the lower frequently happened 
 in the little republics of Greece ; but those revolutions were upon too small 
 a scale to afford any analogies, by which we may judge of the present great 
 convulsion. In one important point only there appears a strong resemblance. 
 It was not, as Thucydides observes, either the most numerous or most able 
 party that prevailed, but invariably the most weak and stupid; which, con- 
 scious of its inability to contend openly for superiority, proceeded imme- 
 diately to murders and proscriptions, and oppressed their adversaries before 
 they were prepared to resist. 
 
 When the lines in the text were written, Lyons, Marseilles, and La Ven- 
 dee were in a state of open rebellion against the Convention, and many 
 other cities and provinces ready to set up the standard of revolt, if they 
 could have been supported by any external assistance, which, to the amaze- 
 ment of every one not initiated into the secrets of war and government, was 
 never granted them by any of the numerous powers that are combined to 
 subvert the domination of their tyrants. Since that time the troops of the 
 Convention have subdued and massacred all their opponents, and established 
 a sort of military democratic despotism, the most tyrannical, sanguinary, and 
 
94 
 
 atrocious, that ever desolated the human race. The only government in 
 history which has any resemblance to it, is that which prevailed in the Ro- 
 man empire, from the reign of Septimius Severus to that of Diocletian ; and 
 which, in a period of not quite seventy years, proved fatal to more than 
 twenty princes ; reduced the population and resources of the empire to about 
 one half of what they were before ; and by destroying all taste for elegant art 
 and polite literature, prepared the world for that great revolution in laws, 
 manners, and religion, which soon after took place. Severus, in order to 
 protect the sovereign power from the ambition of the provincial commanders, 
 or the violence of the provincial armies, increased the number and pay of 
 the praetorian guards ; and instead of levying them from the peasantry of 
 Italy, or the populace of Rome, drafted them from the bravest and stoutest 
 pf the distant legionaries ; but as these drafted recruits kept up a correspond- 
 ence with their former comrades, they soon became agents for the armies which 
 they had left, and a general association of the soldiery against their sovereign 
 and their officers took place over the whole empire, of which the praetorian 
 camp was the centre. Corresponding clubs and' committees were formed; 
 and every commander, who en leavoured to enforce discipline, or protect the 
 persons and properties of the provincials from violence, was hunted down 
 as an enemy to the common cause. See Dion Cassius, lib. lxxx, who was 
 himself in this predicament ; the praetorians having demanded his head of 
 the emperor Alexander Severus, on account of the attempts which he had 
 made to restore discipline in the army, which he had commanded in Panno- 
 nia ; and it was with great difficulty that either the authority or entreaties of 
 that amiable prince could save him. 
 
 The armed rabble which now govern and lay waste France, under the di- 
 rections of the different clubs established in every part of that country, and 
 concentrated in Paris, may yet proceed for many years in'their career of pil- 
 lage and extermination; but when depopulation and ruin are advanced to a 
 
95 
 
 certain extent, the constituent communities will become too thinly scattered, 
 to hold together of their own accord, and must either divide into separate 
 states, or submit to some external force. Even a Jacobin republic could not 
 subsist in Siberia; and, if the present measures continue, France, in less than 
 half a century, will become as desolate as Siberia. It is possible, nevertheless, 
 that Paris may become a military republic, with the other departments under 
 its control (as they now are in effect) ; and in that case let Europe tremble : 
 depopulation, and diminution of internal resources, will then rather stimu- 
 late than impede conquest, as they did in Rome, which conquered the world 
 during the most rapid decline of the population and resources of Italy ; but 
 the energy of her discipline enabled her not only to strain every sinew of her 
 own strength, but immediately to appropriate and incorporate the strength 
 of those whom she had exhausted her own in subduing ; so that every con- 
 quest became the means of another. Should the excessive rigour, and san- 
 guinary severity of the present government in France, become systematic and 
 permanent, and take a military turn, it will be formidable indeed, and en- 
 danger the very existence of civilized society; for among nations, as among 
 individuals, those who hold their own existence in contempt, have the exist- 
 ence of others at their command. Polybius says, that a Roman soldier never 
 quitted his post, because he was sure to be punished with death if he did ; 
 and we learn from several atrocious instances, that the number of the of- 
 fenders never gave an individual a chance of escaping; many hundreds being 
 often put to death at a time. The French seem at present to be as little sus- 
 ceptible of any compunctious visitings of nature as the Romans were; and when 
 there is no alternative but victory between a bullet and the guillotine, 
 their soldiers will be apt to prefer the chance of the former to the cer- 
 tainty of the latter; and, consequently, to fight with extreme obstinacy and 
 ferocity. 
 
 As far as a mere observer may venture to form an opinion concerning tire 
 
96 
 
 measures of ministers and generals, whose circumstances and situations he 
 cannot possibly understand, the present war, as it has been hitherto con- 
 ducted, is exactly calculated to produce this effect; and consequently to co- 
 operate with the views of the sanguinary rulers of Paris, Avho excited it. By 
 not avowing their intentions, the allied powers with-hold all security from 
 the well-disposed among the French, as to what may be the consequence of 
 their success ; whether a mere restitution of order, a division into separate 
 independent states, or a partition among themselves ; and it cannot be denied 
 that both the late transactions in Poland, and the points to which they direct 
 their attacks, strongly favour the last supposition; which, if prevalent in 
 France, must ever consolidate the bulk of the nation against thern, in spite 
 of all the calamities suffered from internal tyranny. Individuals, however, 
 might be induced to purchase their own safety, by delivering up the towns 
 and armies with which they are intrusted by their sanguinary and capricious 
 despots; but, unfortunately, the treatment which La Fayette, Dumourier, 8cc. 
 have experienced, will effectually deter any one from following their ex- 
 amples; for when the only alternatives are the certainty of a dungeon in Ger- 
 many on one side, or the probability of die guillotine at Paris on the other, 
 every man who has either sense or courage will, without hesitation, prefer 
 the latter. 
 
 When a thief once complained of the hardship and injustice of being 
 hanged for stealing a horse of small value, the worthy judge who condemned 
 him observed, that he was not to be hanged for stealing a horse r but to prevent 
 horses from being stolen* Happy would it be for mankind, if this excellent 
 observation were to guide the decisions of all who have the power to punish. 
 In the instance above cited it is exactly reversed : a poor fugitive being pu- 
 nished by the most rigorous imprisonment, not to prevent others from imi- 
 tating his crimes (for the whole nation was previously implicated), but to 
 deter them from participating in his repentance, and force them on in the 
 
97 
 
 career of their wickedness. Even the author of evil is said to incite men by- 
 transient pleasures to the commission of those sins, for which he afterwards 
 eternally torments them ; but to enforce damnation by pains and penalties, 
 and thus to make destruction at once the means and the end, shows a degree 
 of refined malignity, which neither faith nor fiction have yet ventured to at- 
 tribute to the Devil. 
 
 From this instance of private passion triumphing over public policy, there 
 is but too much reason to apprehend that it will do so in others ; and that we 
 shall see a sordid lust of dominion, and a paltry ambition of extending their 
 frontiers, influencing the conduct of princes, at a moment when their thrones 
 are sinking under them, and the whole fabric of civil society is tottering 
 round them : let them however remember, before it is too late, that if one side 
 makes the war, a war of kings, the other will make it a war of peoples ; and in 
 such a contest, the many will prevail every where against the few : but let 
 them make it (what it really is, and ought solely to be) a war of civilization 
 and order, against barbarism and anarchy, and every man who values the 
 blessings of civilization and order, will go heart and hand with them. Direct 
 force will, nevertheless, be found inadequate to repel the overwhelming weight 
 of til e torrent, unless means be found to divide the current, and make one part 
 of it counteract the other. Had there been one great statesman employed in 
 Europe, this must have been done before now ; but the race of great statesmen 
 seems to be either extinct or out of fashion ; and instead of them, we have now 
 crowds of courtiers, sophists, and declaimers, whose talents bear the same pro- 
 portion to those of great statesmen, as the accomplishments of a good drill 
 serjeant to those of an able general. 
 
POSTSCRIPT 
 
 TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 Before I take leave of Mr. Repton, who has so gallantly stood forth the 
 champion of the present system of rural decoration, I beg to assure him that 
 whatever contempt I may have expressed in the course of my supplementary 
 remarks to this Edition, of his professional principles and opinions, I most 
 sincerely return the compliment, which he has been so obliging as to pay me 
 in his Letter to Mr. Price; and furthermore to inform him, that I had not 
 only great pleasure in his conversation, but conceived from it a much higher 
 idea of those professional principles and opinions, than I have found verified 
 in his works. 
 
 My acquaintance with him commenced many years ago, on his being- 
 employed to lay out a small, but romantic place, near to my own, in the 
 fate of which I was of course much interested, and consequently dreaded the 
 approach of a professed improver. When, however, I found that improver 
 to be a man of liberal education, conversant (in some degree at least) with al- 
 most every branch of polite literature, and skilled in the art of design, which 
 he executed with equal taste and facility, my fears were suddenly changed 
 into the most pleasing expectations, which were still heightened and con- 
 fiimed when I heard him launch out in praise of picturesque scenery, and 
 declare that lie had sought the principles of his art, not in the works of Kent 
 or Brown, but in those of the great landscape painters ; whose different styles 
 
99 
 
 he professed to have studied with care and attention, in order to employ them 
 as occasion required, and thus to merit the new title which he had assumed, 
 of Landscape Gardener. 
 
 It had long been my favourite wisli that such a person would apply him- 
 self to this profession, and rescue it from die hands of mere gardeners, 
 nurserymen, and mechanics; and when I found this favourite wish so un- 
 expectedly gratified, my exultation was such, that I immediately communi- 
 cated it to Mr. Price, and others of my friends, whom I knew to he equally 
 interested in the cause of picturesque beauty. But alas ! my triumph was 
 of short duration: — the plans of improvement which he produced for the 
 place abovementioned instantly undeceived me ; and he will do me the jus- 
 tice to allow, that I did not, through any affected delicacy, or hypocritical 
 politeness, conceal my disappointment from him ; but when he did me the 
 honour to consult me on his plans, communicated to him in writing my 
 disapprobation of the greatest part of what he proposed doing, in as plain 
 terms as common civility would admit of, and founded on such reasons as 
 had guided me in all my own works of this kind. He will also recollect 
 that he then declared himself to be convinced by these reasons, such as they 
 were; and that he furthermore did me the honour (and I really esteem it as 
 . such) of requesting my assistance in reviewing the ground, and forming a 
 plan more suitable to its natural character ; with which request I should have 
 been, on all accounts, happy to comply, but the sudden death of the owner 
 put an entire stop to the business. 
 
 Since that time 1 have not had the pleasure of much of Mr. Repton's con- 
 versation ; but I have had the misfortune to see many of his performances 
 designed and executed exactly after Mr. Brcnvn's receipt, without any atten- 
 tion to the natural, or artificial character of the country, or the style of the 
 place. In his Letter, too, to Mr, Price, he has avowedly become the patron 
 and defender of this system, and professedly abandoned the school of the 
 
100 
 
 painter for that of the gardener; he having, as he says, found, after ma- 
 lure consideration, and more practical experience, that there is not so great an 
 affinity betwixt painting and gardening as his enthusiasm for the picturesque had 
 originally led him to fancy (p. 5.) I, it seems, had the good fortune first to 
 enjoy his conversation, when this original enthusiasm for the picturesque 
 was in its full vigour ; and the ill fortune to become first acquainted widi his 
 works just as it was gone off, and he was animated with all the zeal of a 
 new proselyte for the adverse system. In some respects, however, he has 
 deviated from both ; for I believe he is the first Avho ever thought of giving 
 grandeur of character to a place, by hanging the family arms of the proprietor 
 on the sign-post of a neighbouring inn, or emblazoning them on the neigh- 
 bouring milestones (I beg pardon), I should say, stories with distances upon 
 them. Neither Mr. Brown, nor any of the tasteless herd of his followers, ever 
 thought of this happy expedient ; though there is in the Spectator a story of 
 an improving publican, who put the portrait of his old master Sir Roger 
 de Coverley upon his sign, which may derogate from its claim- to origi- 
 nality. The old knight, however, it is added (knowing nothing I suppose 
 of the true principles of grandeur and sublimity), thought it tended more to 
 throw ridicule on hisperson than give dignity to his possessions, and therefore 
 had it turned into a Saracen's head : but this is supposed to have happened 
 in a barbarous age of the art, when all its modern wonders of clumps, belts, 
 and shrubberies were unknown. 
 
 I do not mean at present to enter into any further detailed criticisms of 
 any particular performances, either of Mr. Brown or Mr. Repton, whatever 
 I may do hereafter; fori still maintain, that the avowed principles and prac- 
 tice of every public professor, who devotes his talents to the public for pay, 
 whether he professes law, medicine, painting, or gardening, are proper sub- 
 jects for public discussion; nor can I consider the written opinion, for which 
 the lawyer has received a fee, or the plan and explanation, for which the 
 
101 
 
 landscape gardener has been paid his bill, as private manuscripts, belonging 
 to their respective authors, and which it is therefore unfair to quote. 
 
 I assure Mr. Repton, however, that I will never follow the example which 
 he has set, in his Letter to Mr. Price, of endeavouring to involve speculative 
 differences of opinion, upon subjects of mere elegant amusement, with the 
 nearest and dearest interests of humanity ; and thus to engage the popular 
 passions of the times in a dispute, which I am certain that he, as well as 
 every other candid and liberal man, will, upon more mature reflection, wish 
 to keep entirely free from them. To say that his own system of rural em- 
 bellishment resembles the British constitution, and that Mr. Price's and 
 mine resemble the Democratic tyranny of France, is a species of argument 
 which any person may employ, on any occasion, without being at any ex- 
 pence either of sense or science ; whence it has been the constant weapon of 
 controversy with those who have no other. 
 
 Qui meprise Cotin, n estime point son roi; 
 
 Et na, selon Cotin, ni Dieu, ni foi, ni loi. 
 Could I presume that he would take my advice on a general principle, as 
 he once did in a particular application of his art, we might yet avoid any 
 further difference ; and I assure him, that I do not mean (as advisers generally 
 do) to impose my own opinions upon him, and bid him renounce his own; 
 but merely to recommend to him the renewal of a course of study, which I 
 fear he abandoned before he had made much progress in it. Let him for a 
 while quit the school of Mr. Brown, and return to that of the great masters 
 in landscape painting, whose lessons will not make such a savage o f him as 
 he seems to apprehend, nor teach him to injure either the health, comfort, or 
 convenience of himself or his employers (see Letter to Mr. Price, p. 6.} Pic- 
 turesque circumstances, as I can prove to him by many examp^s, may be 
 preserved even close to a house, without sacrificing, or even diminishing, the 
 health (I suppose he means healthiness) , cheerfulness, or comfort of a country 
 
102 
 
 residence (ibid. p. !> and 6.) ; and walks perfectly clean and commodious may 
 be made through the wildest forest scenery, without derogating at all from 
 its natural character. I will even go further; and assert that there is scarcely 
 any external circumstance, which can contribute to the convenience of a 
 dwelling, but may at the same time be so contrived as to be a real embellish- 
 ment. Even the straight walls, alleys, and espaliers of a kitchen garden, 
 may be so disposed as to have such an effect. At Arundel castle, there is one 
 within the peribolus of that venerable structure, which certainly adds to its 
 picturesque beauty; and it was with the utmost pleasure that I learned that 
 the noble proprietor had, with that genuine good taste which soars above all 
 local and temporary fashions, determined to preserve it amidst the extensive 
 alterations and improvements which he is now making there. Even Mr. Rep- 
 ton, before he had entirely abandoned the school of the painters for that of 
 Mr. Brown, appears to have agreed with me on this point. The place above- 
 mentioned, which he was employed to layout in my neighbourhood, is situ- 
 ated on an eminence, commanding a very rich distance, terminated by bold 
 and high mountains; but in the front of the house is a kitchen garden, 
 bounded by a common, over which the proprietor had no power, it being in 
 a different manor. Mr. Brown, in this case, would have turned the garden 
 into a little lawn, surrounded by a sunk fence, a belt of low shrubs, and a 
 serpentine gravel walk; and, if permission could have been obtained for 
 more extensive improvements, would have cleared the common of its fern 
 and heath, and have dotted it with clumps. Mr. Repton, at that time, acted 
 upon better principles, at least in this instance, and therefore determined to 
 let the old garden remain ; justly observing, that it served better both as a 
 skreen to the common, and a foreground to the distance, than any thing 
 which he could substitute in so limited a space. Whether his taste has been v 
 since vitiated by habit, or whether he found by experience that the public 
 taste had been previously so vitiated, that professional prudence obliged him 
 
• 103 
 
 to comply with it, I shall not presume to inquire : his Letter to Mr. Price 
 seems to imply the former ; but the reception which his plans of this place 
 met with from the proprietor, incline me to suspect the latter. The preser- 
 vation of the kitchen garden, though the only part of them which would have 
 pleased a landscape painter, was the only part which did not please that gen- 
 tleman; who, though a man of sense and information, had never turned his 
 attention to the subject, and therefore only employed an improver, to be like 
 the rest of the world, and have his grounds laid out in the newest fashion : 
 according to which, he knew that the kitchen garden ought to be remote, or 
 at least concealed from the house. 
 
 Though in writing upon landscape, I have confined my remarks to pictu- 
 resque decoration, I agree with Mr. Replon, that it is the business of a prac- 
 tical landscape gardener to exercise his profession upon a more enlarged plan, 
 and to take domestic convenience as well as rural embellishment into his 
 consideration. He must therefore, in order to be perfect in it, join the taste 
 of the artist to the skill of the mechanic; but as he also justly observes, and 
 as has often been justly observed before, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing: 
 it engenders conceit and pedantry, and makes men arrogant in the display of 
 what they neither know the principles nor the use. I remember a country 
 clockmaker, who being employed to clean a more complex machine than he 
 had been accustomed to, very confidently took it to pieces; but finding, 
 when he came to put it together again, some wheels of which he could not 
 discover the use, very discreetly carried them off in his pocket. The simple 
 artifice of this prudent mechanic always recurs to my mind, when I observe 
 the manner in which our modern improvers repair and embellish old places: 
 not knowing how to employ the terraces, mounds, avenues, and other features 
 which they find there, they take them all away, and cover the places which 
 they occupied with turf. It is a short and easy method of proceeding; and 
 if their employers will be satisfied with it, they are not to be blamed for per- 
 
104 
 
 severing in it, as it may be executed by proxy as well as in person ; and, 
 like Dr. Sangrado's system of physic, be learned in an hour as completely as 
 in an age, and be applied to all cases as skilfully and effectually by the com- 
 mon labourer or journeyman, as by the great professor himself. All that I 
 entreat is, that they will not at this time, when men's minds are so full of 
 plots and conspiracies, endeavour to find analogies between picturesque com- 
 position and political confusion ; or suppose that the preservation of trees 
 and terraces has any connection with the destruction of states and kingdoms, 
 
THE GETTY CENTER 
 UBRARV