delightful and cherished object, seems dashed and marred if it has no privacy. It is a luxury to walk, sit, or recline at ease, on a summer's day, and drink in the sights and sounds and perfumes peculiar to a garden, without fear of interruption; or of dress, or attitude, or occupation being observed and criticised. Something more, however, than mere privacy is involved in the idea of snugness. It includes shelter, warmth, shade; agreeable seats for rest, arbours for a rural meal, and velvety slopes of turf, overshadowed or variously chequered by foliage, to recline upon. A room that may fitly be called snug is small in its dimensions, and rather amply furnished, with its window not open at any point to the public gaze. A garden, likewise, to deserve the same epithet, should have its principal or subordinate parts of rather contracted limits, be furnished somewhat liberally with tall-growing plants and trees, which will produce some degree of shade, and present an air of comparative isolation. Where there is sufficient extent, it is probably better to have one or more small nooks, or partially detached gardens of a particular kind, to realise something of both snugness and seclusion, and give the leading and broader portions of the garden a more airy and open character. Still, in any case, unless it be purely for show, a certain amount of privacy ought assuredly to be sought after. And the more thoroughly it is gained, the more pleasurable to most persons, and the more accordant with good taste, will be the entire production. One of the elements most conducive to seclusion in a garden will be walks that are arranged in a series of gentle curves, so that it does not require a constant effort of thought to attend to the changes of line, while it is impossible to see along them for any considerable length. On the same principle, straight walks will, of course, have a contrary effect, for the moment we enter them we see, or are seen, throughout their entire length. 6. Unity and congruity of parts are probably among the easiest things to attend to, yet the most seldom attained. Curved walks along the front of a house,-figures, vases, and other architectural ornaments in a different style to that of the principal building, straight walks passing off obliquely from other straight ones, or even curved lines issuing from or crossing straight ones at an oblique angle,-a mixture of general styles of treatment, gay roses or honeysuckles twining around funereal pillars or urns,-the most sombre-looking plants placed against a building in a florid style of architecture,—the commonest greenhouses tacked on to structures of some pretension as to correctness and purity of manner;-these, and a variety of similar incongruities, are most abundant and conspicuous in gardens. Taste, on the other hand, demands that there should be a perfect harmony between the various portions of a garden, both with respect to each other and to its buildings. Every structure ought to have its appropriate garden fittings, to impart or preserve to it its proper expression. The part just around a house should be treated somewhat architecturally or formally; and the transitions from this to the more distant portions of a garden, and from these again to the field, and so on to the surrounding country, be gradual and almost imperceptible. And where any sort of rusticity or picturesqueness is wished for, or some other feature essentially distinct from those which characterise the garden generally, such pieces ought to be separated from the rest by a well-marked though inartificial division, so that the two are not seen together. Connexion and order are the laws of universal nature, and can seldom be safely infringed by art. Contrast, it is true, may sometimes be admitted into a garden, and will occasionally be very effective; but it is available chiefly in small matters of detail, such as the colours of leaves and flowers, the habits of plants, their heights, &c. Harmony in other things is of far more consequence. It is the only true foundation of greatness or excellence. To have several notable characteristics, or to perform many things well, falls to the lot of very few individuals; and a garden that affects to have more than one marked expression or tone, is too frequently a failure. Unity, however, and a well-balanced and well-blended adjustment of parts, impart to it a weight of character and a dignity of aspect which are sure, in the end, to win for it esteem. That which is really good and tasteful, while it is certain to obtain the approbation of those capable of judging it, will quite as surely at some period, however remote, secure the suffrages of the multitude. An inferior object, on the contrary, may please for a time, but will speedily E grow distasteful. It is only for true beauty that a lasting and general relish is excited. 7. Isolation of parts and ornaments is the converse of connexion, and would be quite alien to all beauty. Garden decorations mostly require supporting. Nakedness is commonly repulsive to right feeling in art: drapery, furniture, and accompaniments being demanded. The bare outline of a plantation, or a solitary specimen or group, will appear harsh and out of joint. Openings or glades, that are perfectly simple and unfurnished, also present a certain hardness and severance of parts. They look like mere gaps. It is in the artistic distribution of plants and groups, so as to do away with continuity of lines, and blend perceptibly each individual object with all the rest, that the highest power of a garden or other scene will reside. And the greatest praise that could be bestowed on any garden design would be that its various parts appear to fit into their proper places, and belong to each other, so that none of them could be removed without detriment. In thus nicely linking together the different features and objects in a garden, the rarest skill and judgment are sometimes demanded. It is not sufficient that all should be harmonious; everything should likewise be blended and welded together. Architectural fittings, for example, should not stand out bare and alone, as they are often made to do, but be so accompanied by vegetation, whether of grass or shrubs, as to mingle properly with the general garden scenery. There should further be a decided connectedness between the several departments of a place, so that the idea of disunion or divorce may nowhere be suggested. 8. That a palpable attention to symmetry should distinguish gardens laid out in a formal manner, no one will now be forward to dispute. The ridicule conveyed in the well-known couplet "Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother, is, though widely circulated, and often revived, by no means to be admitted as the "test of truth." Such gardens would be nothing unless the nicest balance was preserved. Symmetry and regularity are their very essence, as well as that of archi tecture, on which they are founded; for in good models of the most irregular buildings, the truest adjustment of parts is strictly observed. There should also be a beautiful balance maintained, however subtle and disguised it may be, in the proportions of every garden, whatever be its style. Not that the same description of objects, placed in similar positions, should be found on the opposite sides of gardens, but that their general effect should be that one side is, as a whole, about equal to the other in height and breadth; or, at least, that such an impression should remain on the mind of any one glancing over the two. 9. Gradation, or the agreeable transition of one part of a garden into the other, without any decided breaks, or marked interference with harmony, should always be striven after, as it will enable the designer to use parts of different styles and a variety of ornaments, and yet preserve enough of consistency and smoothness. But the gradation to which I would most directly advert is that which treats the different parts of a place as so many ascending steps, until the highest and best points are reached. As in a house, the exterior should be but little decorated, the vestibule or porch plain, the hall only a trifle more ornate, and the various rooms more and more enriched, till the saloon or drawing-room, which is the most showy of all, is arrived at; so, in the out-door domain, the exterior look, while unexceptionable, should be quiet and by no means attractive, the approach private and not adorned with flowers, the pleasure garden a little more enriched, and the front of the house, with its lawn and flower-beds or flower-garden, be in the very highest style of art and beauty. It may, perhaps, be impossible to develop this system of arrangement fully, in consequence of the shape, or size, or peculiar accessibility of the land, or from other local considerations. But the more thoroughly it is inwoven into the plan of the place, the more perfect and pleasurable will that place be made. Where the best parts of a garden are open to every one who approaches from the outside road to the house, there is not merely no privacy, but nothing to mark any distinction between the treatment of friends and casual callers. All the delight of showing the former round the garden, and revealing its more sacred and elaborate features, is completely sacrificed if they can see them before reaching the house. In this respect, a garden should be a sort of practical climax. 10. A great deal of ingenuity is often demanded to give apparent extent to a place that is, in fact, extremely small. There are several ways of contributing to the attainment of this. Attention to some of the points already discussed will partly accomplish it. If a garden be simple in its plan, there will be a good deal of open space in it, and a dash of intricacy will rather heighten than diminish such an effect. Harmony of parts will further maintain the idea of size; for, where everything is linked together to form a united whole, there will be none of that distractedness of attention, and division of interest, which tend to make a small place appear still smaller. Repose is indispensable to the production of an appearance of extent in a narrow compass, and unless everything conspires to maintain the idea, no attempt to awaken it will be successful. Breadth of lawn must be fully attained before any notion of extent can be conveyed. A garden will always look meagre without a good open lawn. One broad glade of grass should, therefore, stretch from the best windows of the house to within a short distance of the boundary, with as little interruption from walks as possible. The plants and groups may be ranged irregularly on either side of this opening, and, where the space will permit, there may be smaller glades through and among these at varied intervals. If such a broad glade of greensward can be had on two or even three sides of the house, the effect of size will be still more fully realised. The openness here advocated must not on any account be converted into plainness. There is no more common error than to suppose that a place which has simple borders along two or three of its sides, and the enclosed area entirely unfurnished, presents the best possible representation of size. Because a very small space, such as a room, will appear larger for being nearly or quite empty, it must not be assumed that a garden is to be judged of similarly: on the contrary, a simple area, which is taken in by the eye at one glance, invites attention to the sharpness of its boundaries. That which requires no mental effort to understand and embrace will never seem extensive, unless of gigantic proportions. The notion of size is not to be realised, within straitened limits, by mere simplicity. It is indefiniteness |