however, can be done in this way with small gardens, which are too near the house-itself an object of the highest art-to be capable of being rendered picturesque.

Still, some few elements of picturesque variety can be now and then introduced to a garden, in the way of old stumps of trees re-animated with a drapery of Ivy and Clematis, or garlanded with Roses; festoons or pillars of several climbers, permitted to grow wildly, after having attained sufficient age and strength; Ivy, reduced by training, to a tree-like stem, of three, four, or five feet in height, and then left to fling abroad its branches, and trail them gracefully down to the ground; and climbers, clothing the stems of living trees, and tangling about their branches. In some retired parts of the garden, rockeries, collections of ferns, rocky streams, waterfalls, or other picturesque objects, can be easily added in many localities, and will be most prolific in all the resources of variety. Rustic arbours or seats-broken pillars, old vases or urns, partially covered with some rude climber-baskets for flowers, made of rough wood, with the bark on, or old trunks of trees, scooped out with the necessary hollow in the centre,-are a few of the more architectural among picturesque decorations.

14. Contrast is a characteristic which, though rarely attainable to any extent in small places, must not be wholly rejected. It has been shown that it may be effective in heightening colour; but it merits, as a principle, a little more development. It necessarily involves a certain amount of suddenness in change, whether as to colour, form, or general character. Very violent transitions are, however, by no means to be included in the idea; at least not so far as its adoption is here considered recommendable.

If a rule might be ventured on in reference to this rather difficult matter, it should assume that harmony ought to reign paramount, and almost alone, over the general features of a place, and that contrast should distinguish its episodes or more detached accessories. What is meant is, that a garden, as viewed from the house, or from most of its own principal points, should consist of parts and objects that have some decided agreement with each other, or that the several constituent parts should blend and interfuse insensibly; while peculiarities, whether of treatment or vegetation, can be reserved for little side scenes,

shut off from the rest, or most imperfectly disclosed, until the observer finds himself all at once in the midst of them. The full effect of a contrast may thus be secured, without any interference with the much more important principles of harmony or congruity.

Still, the occasional admission into a more open landscape of things which will produce contrast, is by no means altogether to be condemned. I remember being frequently attracted, and always with the same pleasure, to a beautiful specimen of the weeping Birch, growing by the side of a noble Cedar of Lebanon, on a lawn attached to a villa near the metropolis. And I have also noticed with admiration, in several parts of the country, a kind of companionship established between Beeches and fine old specimens of the common Yew. In both these instances, there was a marked contrast both of form and colour. But the branches of the two plants were so nicely interwoven, and their foliage so happily mixed together, in broader or smaller patches, towards the junction of the two, that while the strongest contrast was apparent, there was, at the same time, by the irregularity with which the outlines of each were intermingled,-the masses of light and shade gradually losing themselves in each other,a really gentle and easy transition.

The illustrations thus referred to appear to teach several things. If two trees or plants, or two masses of either, having very opposite characters, are sought to be placed side by side, for the purpose of contrast, they should be put near enough to enable their branches to intermix with one another, that the contrast may not be too sudden. In the case of two groups of very different plants, such as light-leaved deciduous and dark-leaved evergreen varieties, being wished to be brought together, a few of each sort should be irregularly thrown into the adjoining group, to produce the same effect as the interwreathing of branches would do with single specimens.

Again, where a contrasted tree or shrub, or group of the same, cannot or is not desired to be placed so near its opposite neighbour as to allow the branches to mingle, or the sorts to blend at the edges of the mass, some intermediate plant or plants, of a quiet neutral tint, or some breadth of lawn, in which the grass will answer the same end, should be interposed between the two, to soften away the abruptness of the change.

The examples further show that the particular expression of contrast which is most desirable to be attained, need not detract from the general harmony of a place. There is that about plants which renders it possible, by letting them grow into each other, as has been shown, to put the most strikingly different species side by side, without any violent or startling effect resulting. If the same thing were done with objects having square or regular edges, that were equally dissimilar, nothing but ugliness and incongruity would follow. The pleasing union of two contrasted things is only capable of being effected when the parts to be joined have an irregular margin, and can be imperceptibly and intricately inwoven.

Certain sorts of plants are much more fitted to produce contrast than others. Those with either pinnated (that is, variously divided or feather-like) leaves, or extremely small or pale green or silvery foliage, or slender or weeping branches, may be particularly noted, as adapted for contrasting with dark and heavy foliaged evergreens. Acacias, several species of Sumach, Ailanthus, common Ash, weeping Willow, deciduous Cypress, weeping Birch, and common Larch, are examples of the first class. Cedars, Yews, Pines, and evergreen Oaks, are some of the opposite kinds. Early and gay-flowering shrubs, or those which have white blossoms, show to great advantage when backed by evergreens. An Almond supported by two or three Pines, a few red-flowering Currants scattered among Rhododendrons, Syringas flanked by Hollies, and Rhododendrons in which the pale flowers and dark leaves are united, make excellent contrasts.

Those who are familiar with the less-frequented parts of the noble public park at Richmond, in Surrey, will no doubt remember, on the edge of the picturesque slope which follows the course of the Thames, a number of fine old Thorns, many of which are most pleasingly mantled with Ivy. When the delicate young foliage of these Thorns is first developed, and when the white blossoms are added, and, even in winter, when the bushes are laden with bright red haws, the contrast between any of these and the tufted Ivy,-the latter sometimes clothed with its yellowish blossoms, or black berries,-is very noticeable, and affords an excellent example of the point now under discussion.

In colours, the deepest contrast may sometimes be had without at all trenching on the laws of harmony. White flowers,

whether in borders or in beds, where only one colour is used, will always match well with any shade of red or blue; and yet nothing could be a greater contrast. Green will likewise adapt itself to any other colour, and perhaps all the more appropriately the more it is in contrast with it. Dark green is the best contrast and the nicest mixture with white, and pale yellow green with dark red or deep blue. Green also seems to improve a light stone colour; and hence houses built of common white stone, as it is called, look best when they are reposing on grass; and the pedestals of vases or other sculptured figures follow the like rule. It may be doubted, however, whether houses or objects formed of red sandstone, will not, for a similar reason, please the eye better when they stand on a broad paved terrace of white stone or whitish gravel; though such is the harmonising power of grass that it will not appear unsuitable even in

such cases.

15. Although everything approaching to eccentricity has been fully deprecated in a former page, a few lines may now be devoted to advocating originality, as a principle to be aimed at in a garden. The scenes of nature are continually sought, because, while they are "ever charming," they are likewise 66 ever new." And a garden should be made to combine some little freshness-something that will distinguish it from other gardens. Departure from rule is not, it will readily be believed, the kind of originality to be desired. It is rather such as results from newness of arrangement, of combinations, of expression, and character. It is rare, indeed, that two places will have the same shape, soil, aspect, surface, and accompaniments: and every peculiarity that is not really bad should be seized upon, and worked into some kind of novelty.

Originality is antagonistic to all sorts of tameness. Even a slight deviation from established laws will often be preferable to their dull and expressionless embodiment, though such a course cannot at all be allowed to be necessary. That which is common-place, which is the exact counterpart of what everybody else has, never leaves any impression upon the observer's mind, or wins him back to a second inspection.

Freshness of aspect may be the result of any one particular circumstance, or a combination of them. The treatment of the foreground of a place may produce it, by presenting the trees

and shrubs brought up nearer to the house than usual, (but not so as to darken or make it damp,) narrowing the lawn very much at that point, and letting it gradually expand towards the boundary, so that the house will appear, from a distance, to be a species of nest in the midst of a plantation, though not actually so. The boundary lines, again, may be treated so as to get the greatest possible freshness of view both within and beyond them, and plants of an uncommon kind may be liberally introduced. In some districts, certain sorts of trees and shrubs and flowers abound, and are met with in every place. They seem to have acquired a local standing, and to be distributed from one neighbour to another. It will be well, therefore, to break through these prescribed limits, and select something altogether different.

By giving a chosen tribe of plants the chief place in a garden, originality is not unfrequently hit upon. The almost total exclusion of deciduous plants will have a very marked effect, if the evergreens be well selected, and those which bear flowers predominate; otherwise they will be rather dull in summer. Azaleas, or Roses, or any other very showy class of plants, which produce a great blaze of flowers, will, if not too exclusively grown, contribute to the same end. A garden might be tolerably well furnished with the tribe known as "American plants," with a very little aid from other quarters. I have known persons travel for miles to see a bank of Rhododendrons in full bloom; and the masses of Azaleas and other "Americans" at the Bagshot nurseries, are the astonishment and admiration of all who visit them in the flowering season. In small places, too, which have no bad surrounding objects to hide, forest trees might be altogether dispensed with.

In these and many other ways, which local considerations will suggest and decide, originality will be found of comparatively easy attainment. I have merely specified a few, by way of hints, to show that something can be done. The mention of groups of pillar-Roses,-elegant climbers trained into a tent-like shape, -little temples or alcoves of wire, covered with climbers,bowers composed of trees, trimmed on the inside, and open at the top, so that patches of sky and stars are seen as from a kind of well, but through an irregular aperture,―small bell-shaped canvas tents, for a lawn,-architectural objects placed at the