will search with scrutinizing care care for groups and combinations, such as his memory recalls in the pictures of the best masters; these groups he will studiously leave in such places as will best display their varied or combined forms: he will also discover beauties in a tree which the others would condemn for its decay; he will rejoice when he finds two trees whose stems have long grown so near each other that their branches are become interwoven; he will examine the outline formed by the combined foliage of many trees thus collected in groups, and removing others near them, he will give ample space for their picturesque effect: sometimes he will discover an aged thorn or maple at the foot of a venerable oak, these he will respect, not only for their antiquity, being perhaps coeval with the father of the forest, but knowing that the importance of the oak is comparatively increased by the neighbouring situ ation of these subordinate objects; this will sometimes happen when young trees grow near old ones, as when a light airy ash appears to rise from the same root with an oak or an elm. These are all circumstances dependent on the sportive accidents of nature, but even where art has interfered, where the long and formal line of a majestic avenue shall be submitted to his decision, the man of taste will pause, and not always break their venerable ranks, for his hand is not guided by the levelling principles or sudden innovations of modern fashion; he will reverence the glory of former ages, while he cherishes and admires the ornament of the present, nor will he neglect to foster and protect the tender sapling, which promises, with improving beauty, to spread a grateful shade for future "tenants of the soil."

To give, however, such general rules for thinning woods as might be understood by those who have never attentively and scientifically considered the subject, would be like attempting to direct a man who had never used a pencil, to imitate the groups of a Claude or a Poussin.*

On this head I have frequently found my instructions

It is in the act of removing trees and thinning woods that the landscape gardener must shew his intimate knowledge of pleasing combinations, his genius for painting, and his acute preception of the principles of an art which transfers the imitative, though permanent beauties of a picture, to the purposes of elegant and comfortable habitation, the ever-varying effects of light and shade, and the inimitable circumstances of a natural landscape.

opposed, and my reasons unintelligible to those who look at a wood, as an object of gain; and for this reason I am not sorry to have discovered some arguments in favour of my system, of more weight, perhaps, than those which relate to mere taste and beauty: these I shall beg leave to mention, not as the foundation on which my opinion is built, but as collateral props to satisfy those who require such support.

1st. When two or more trees have long grown very near each other, the branches form themselves into one mass, or head; and if any part be removed, the remaining trees will be more exposed to the power of the wind, by being heavier on one side, having lost their balance. 2nd. If trees have long grown very near together, it will be impossible to take up the roots of one without injuring those of another: and, lastly, although trees at equal distances may grow more erect, and furnish planks for the use of the navy, yet not less valuable to the ship-builder are those naturally crooked branches, or knees, which support the decks, or form the ribs, and which are always most likely to be produced, from the outside trees of woods, or the fantastic forms which arise from two or more trees having grown very near each other in the same wood, or in hedgerows.

It is therefore not inconsistent with the considerations of profit, as well as picturesque effect, to plant or to leave trees very near each other, and not to thin them in the usual manner without caution.

In some places belonging to ancient noble families, it is not uncommon to see woods of vast extent intersected by vistas and glades in many directions; this is particularly the case at BURLEY and at CASHIOBURY. It is the property of a straight glade or vista to lead the eye to the extremity of a wood, without attracting the attention to its depth.

I have occasionally been required to fell great quantities of timber, from other motives than merely to improve the landscape; and in some instances this work of necessity has produced the most fortunate improvements. I do not hesitate to say, that some woods might be increased five-fold in apparent quantity, by taking away a prodigious number of trees, which

are really lost to view; but unless such necessity existed, there is more difficulty and temerity in suggesting improvement by cutting down, however profitable, and however suddenly the effect is produced, than by planting, though the latter be tedious and expensive.

I have seldom found great opposition to my hints for planting, but to cutting down trees innumerable obstacles present themselves; as if, unmindful of their value, and heedless of their slow growth, I should advise a military abbatis, or one general sweep, denuding the face of a whole country. What I should advise both at BURLEY and at CASHIOBURY, would be to open some large areas within the woods, to produce a spacious internal lawn of intricate shape and irregular surface, preserving a sufficient number of detached trees or groups, to continue the general effect of one great mass of wood.

This advice has been followed at Cashiobury since the above pages were written, and the effect is all that I had promised to myself.

CHAPTER VI.

Of Fences-The Boundary-The Separation-Example from SHEFFIELD PLACE-Fence to Plantations only temporary-The double GateLINES of Fences—of Roads—of Walks-of Rivers—all different.

THAT the boundary-fence of a place should be concealed from the house, is among the few general principles admitted in modern gardening; but even in this instance, want of precision has led to error; the necessary distinction is seldom made between the fence which encloses a park, and those fences which are adapted to separate and protect the subdivisions within such enclosure. For the concealment of the boundary various methods have been adopted, on which I shall make some observations.

1. A plantation is certainly the best expedient for hiding the pales; but in some cases it will also hide more than is required. And in all cases, if a plantation surround a place in the manner commonly practised under the name of a belt, it becomes a boundary scarce less offensive than the pale itself. The mind feels a certain disgust under a sense of confinement in any situation, however beautiful; as Dr. Johnson has forcibly illustrated, in describing the feeling of Rasselas, in the happy valley of Abyssinia.

2. A second method of concealing a fence is, by making it of such light materials as to render it nearly invisible; such are fences made of slender iron and wire painted green.

3. A third method is, sinking the fence below the surface of the ground, by which means the view is not impeded, and the continuity of lawn is well preserved. Where this sunk fence or fosse is adopted, the deception ought to be complete; but this cannot be where grass and corn-lands are divided by such a fence: if it is used betwixt one lawn and another, the mind acquiesces in the fraud even after it is discovered, so long as the fence itself does not obtrude on the sight. We

must therefore so dispose a fosse, or ha! ha! that we may look across it and not along it. For this reason a sunk fence must be straight and not curving, and it should be short, else the imaginary freedom is dearly bought by the actual confinement, since nothing is so difficult to pass as a deep sunk fence.

4. A fourth expedient I have occasionally adopted, and which (if I may use the expression) is a more bold deception than a sunk fence, viz., a light hurdle instead of paling; the one we are always used to consider as a fixed and immovable fence at the boundary of a park or lawn; the other only as an occasional division of one part from the other: it is a temporary inconvenience, and not a permanent confinement.

It is often necessary to adopt all these expedients in the boundaries and subdivisions of parks; but the disgust excited at seeing a fence may be indulged too far, if in all cases we are to endeavour at concealment; and therefore the various situations and purposes of different sorts of fences deserve consideration.

However we may admire natural beauties, we ought always to recollect, that, without some degree of art and management, it is impossible to prevent the injury which vegetation itself will occasion: the smooth bowling-green may be covered by weeds in a month, while the pastured ground preserves its neatness throughout the year. There is no medium between the keeping of art and of nature, it must be either one or the other, art or nature, that is, either mowed, or fed by cattle; and this practical part of the management of a place forms one of the most difficult points of the professors of art, because the line of fence, which separates the dressed ground from the pasture, is too often objectionable; yet there is not less impropriety in admitting cattle to feed in a flower-garden, than in excluding them from such a tract of land as might be fed with advantage.

At SHEFFIELD PLACE, the beautiful and long meadow in Arno's Vale is a striking example of what I have mentioned; because, if it were possible, or on the principle of economy advisable, to keep all this ground as neatly rolled and mowed as the lawn near the house, by which it would always appear as it does the first week after the hay is carried off; yet I