and we cannot contemplate the lordly dwelling and the richly decorated land around it—­and the neatness and security and order of the whole scene—­without associating them with the high accomplishments and refined tastes that in all probability distinguish the proprietor and his family.  It is a strange mistake to suppose that nothing is natural beyond savage ignorance—­that all refinement is unnatural—­that there is only one sort of simplicity.  For the mind elevated by civilization is in a more natural state than a mind that has scarcely passed the boundary of brutal instinct, and the simplicity of a savage’s hut, does not prevent there being a nobler simplicity in a Grecian temple.

Kent[117] the famous landscape gardener, tells us that nature abhors a straight line.  And so she does—­in some cases—­but not in all.  A ray of light is a straight line, and so also is a Grecian nose, and so also is the stem of the betel-nut tree.  It must, indeed, be admitted that he who should now lay out a large park or pleasure-ground on strictly geometrical principles or in the old topiary style would exhibit a deplorable want of taste and judgment.  But the provinces of the landscape gardener and the parterre gardener are perfectly distinct.  The landscape gardener demands a wide canvas.  All his operations are on a large scale.  In a small garden we have chiefly to aim at the gardenesque and in an extensive park at the picturesque.  Even in the latter case, however, though

    ’Tis Nature still, ’tis nature methodized: 

Or in other words: 

    Nature to advantage dressed.

for even in the largest parks or pleasure-grounds, an observer of true taste is offended by an air of negligence or the absence of all traces of human art or care.  Such places ought to indicate the presence of civilized life and security and order.  We are not pleased to see weeds and jungle—­or litter of any sort—­even dry leaves—­upon the princely domain, which should look like a portion of nature set apart or devoted to the especial care and enjoyment of the owner and his friends:—­a strictly private property.  The grass carpet should be trimly shorn and well swept.  The trees should be tastefully separated from each other at irregular but judicious distances.  They should have fine round heads of foliage, clean stems, and no weeds or underwood below, nor a single dead branch above.  When we visit the finest estates of the nobility and gentry in England it is impossible not to perceive in every case a marked distinction between the wild nature of a wood and the civilized nature of a park.  In the latter you cannot overlook the fact that every thing injurious to the health and growth and beauty of each individual tree has been studiously removed, while on the other hand, light, air, space, all things in fact that, if sentient, the tree could itself be supposed to desire, are most liberally supplied.  There is as great a difference between the general aspect of the trees in a nobleman’s pleasure ground and those in a jungle, as between the rustics of a village and the well bred gentry of a great city.  Park trees have generally a fine air of aristocracy about them.