annihilate it. There is nothing flowing in its lines, or soft in its forms. As extremes are said to meet, so, in the perfection of the formal and picturesque manners, there is something in common. Both call for angularity of figure, and sharp projections. But the angles of the one are according to rule; those of the other cannot be too irregular. And while serpentine lines mark the mixed style; zigzag, broken, rugged lines (fig. 97) stamp the

· picturesque. It recognises no symmetry, and abhors everything allied to law and system.

And yet, in those examples deducible from the vegetable kingdom which may be accounted picturesque, there is much of wild grace and eccentric softness, and an indescribable but charming balance of parts. Although nothing may bear the trammels of a rule, or yield to the fetters of definition in language, there is no want of the flowingness, the connexion, the harmony, so ravishing to the eye; interrupted, it may be, by some accident, or sudden gap, or abrupt pause; but still full of spirit, and eloquent of beauty. For after all, Nature's forms lie nearest to man's heart, and no devotion to habit will conjure away their magic power. The very instincts of our souls ally us to what is naturally beautiful.

canvas.

Picturesqueness is by some restricted in its application to whatever is fitted for being effectively represented in pictures; -that, in fact, which an artist would choose to transfer to his I have here given it no such limited meaning. Possibly, however, that view of the term may help to illustrate and develop the sense more generally attached to it. For it is with wildness, ruggedness, broken ground, straggling and bold herbage, dashing water, fantastic groups of vegetation, the cracked and discoloured stems and tortuous branches of trees, ruins nearly dismantled, except of the Ivy and the Fern, rude huts or cottages

with their loose and mossy thatch, or buildings copiously stained by time and lichen, that an artist would usually prefer to work. And it is these that go far towards comprising the picturesqueness of which I now treat. As a piece of general landscape, of the picturesque class, fig. 98 may assist in explaining the views thus advanced; while fig. 97, on a previous page, will give an

idea of the same kind on a smaller scale, and more in reference to lesser details.

On the whole, the mixed style, with a little help from both the formal and the picturesque, is altogether best suited for small gardens. And while the purely geometrical manner may be adopted under favourable conditions, that which is simply picturesque can never be applied to an entire place, but will be well worthy of use in detached and retired portions. An absolute adherence to one style is not, therefore, to be reckoned among the paramount virtues of the art; but only one style should predominate, and either of the others be quietly introduced, and gradually blended, as subordinate features.

18. Notwithstanding all the rules hitherto furnished, there is a principle yet to be considered, which can alone give them their proper weight, and ensure their being of any real use, and that is-adaptation. In every place that can be met with, or conceived of, there are always peculiarities which should influence the disposal of the various parts, and give their cast and colouring to the whole design. And it is in the adaptation of particular styles, rules, or modes of treatment to the circumstances or objects actually existing, that the credit of the landscape gardener and the satisfaction of the owner can alone be attained.

Very seldom will it be found that a garden is without something or other that may be regarded as a fixture. Buildings, and the position of their entrances and windows, trees, swells or variations in the surface of the ground, external gates or entrances, fences, and numberless other things, may be already on the ground, and it may not be desirable to remove them. And the scenery of the outlying country will ordinarily, likewise, be beyond the reach of the designer. It will be needful, then, to fit in every part of the plan to what is really on the ground and must be retained there; not neglecting to take advantage of everything that can be made to give greater effect, or to keep out of sight such objects as may be considered deformities. Dealing cleverly with difficulties, so as to leave no evidence that they have had to be encountered, is not the least or the lowest merit of the art; and, as I have frequently heard remarked, it is out of awkward and apparently intractable irregularities that a competent designer may generally manufacture the most characteristic and remarkable beauties.

While deliberating on this subject, the shape of the ground, its aspect, the nature of its surface, the wants and tastes of the family, the character of the neighbourhood, and the probabilities as to what it may become, or what might be done by adjoining owners, will all pass under review. Nor will the nature of the local climate, and the necessities that spring out of that consideration, be forgotten. Particular climates may require more shelter, and a limited selection of plants; certain neighbourhoods may demand extra security from theft or other injury; in many localities, such as the nearer suburbs of large towns, plants that endure smoke will be wanted, and the whiter kinds of architectural ornament must be omitted as liable to get too much stained and blackened; one family may prefer sunshine, openness, and display, another shade, privacy, and quiet enjoyment; and ugly things will require excluding, or fine objects be just glanced at through a small opening, as it were by stealth, for fear of admitting what will offend.

Great natural features abounding in the neighbourhood of a place, especially within view of its windows, ought seldom to be multiplied within it. If the sea or a large river, for instance, be visible from the house, it will seem ridiculous to have an artificial pool of water for ornament in the garden or park. In the same manner, should the district be a rocky one, and good specimens of rocky scenery be within sight of the garden, there will be equal weakness in forming an artificial rockery within the place. The mind will be continually instituting comparisons between the feebleness of Art's creations, however well arranged, and the nobler forms of Nature, thus brought into immediate conjunction; and the result must inevitably be to the disparagement of the former.

Thrown in a tract of country where a sylvan character is the reigning one, an exception in the treatment of a garden to the rule just given may very likely be prudent. Here it will be the aim to blend the garden as much as possible with the outer district, so as to make them appear one property; only giving to the garden the warmth of evergreens, and the cultivation which rarer plants will express, as a foreground to the larger scene. It is a very great point to adapt the garden so to the surrounding scenery that there is no break to its apparent continuity.

Perhaps a small garden in the outskirts of a town should have

more flowering-plants and flowers cultivated in it than would be wanted in the country; as flowers are much valued, and produce a more delightful contrast in such situations. It is very doubtful, however, how far training climbers to town-houses, in the cottage or village style, is accordant with good taste, especially as they seldom look healthy, or flower freely. Consistently with a good supply of flowering plants, moreover, a-town garden cannot well have too many evergreens, for they produce liveliness and verdure at a season of the year when, in towns, the most leaden dulness often reigns in the atmosphere.

19. Fitness is a variety of adaptation that has little claim to be regarded by itself; and yet it will suggest another thought. A thing may or may not exhibit fitness for accomplishing its intention. It may be unhappily conceived, or carelessly executed. There might be a deficiency of right feeling displayed in it. The expression of a place might be unfitted to the character and habits of its owner. Its style may be too ambitious for its keeping. Certain plants in it may be out of tone. On the other hand, there may be an appropriateness in everything, even the minutest. The very turf may, by its fineness, and freshness, and smoothness, and freedom from coarse weeds, denote the proprietor's attachment to his garden, and elegance of taste; while larger matters will always be in the right place, and of a suitable class.

20. Appropriation is an idea to be realised in gardening on a small scale, which, though already more than once glanced at, calls for a separate elucidation. It is that appearance of possessing property which, though it may be continually belied by one's own consciousness, is productive of almost as much pleasure to the eye, at least, as though it were really owned. Everyday experience will confirm the familiarity of the remark, that some individuals glean more delight from the opportunity of inspecting another person's property than the owners themselves. Extensive proprietors of beautiful estates rarely appreciate them. Men generally value less what they hold by no uncertain tenure. The things which we retain on sufferance, or which we may some day be deprived of, are those which, if we are not overburdened with them, we most earnestly cling to, and perseveringly admire. And this tendency is neither illegitimate nor pernicious, in reference to natural objects; while it may entail much innocent gratification.