wooed the rustic muse in elegy, ode, and pastoral ballad, sounding upon the vocal reed the beauties of simplicity and the vanity of ambition, and mingling with these strains complaints of Delia’s cruelty and of the shortness of his own purse, which hampered him seriously in his gardening designs.  Mr. Saintsbury has described Shenstone as a master of “the artificial-natural style of poetry."[39] His pastoral insipidities about pipes and crooks and kids, Damon and Delia, Strephon and Chloe, excited the scorn of Dr. Johnson, who was also at no pains to conceal his contempt for the poet’s horticultural pursuits.  “Whether to plant a walk in undulating curves and to place a bench at every turn where there is an object to catch the view; to make water run where it will be seen; to leave intervals where the eye will be pleased, and to thicken the plantation where there is something to be hidden, demands any great powers of mind, I will not enquire.”  The doctor reports that Lyttelton was jealous of the fame which the Leasowes soon acquired, and that when visitors to Hagley asked to see Shenstone’s place, their host would adroitly conduct them to inconvenient points of view—­introducing them, e.g., at the wrong end of a walk, so as to detect a deception in perspective, “injuries of which Shenstone would heavily complain."[40] Graves, however, denies that any rivalry was in question between the great domain of Hagley and the poet’s little estate.  “The truth of the case,” he writes, “was that the Lyttelton family went so frequently with their company to the Leasowes, that they were unwilling to break in upon Mr. Shenstone’s retirement on every occasion, and therefore often went to the principal points of view, without waiting for anyone to conduct them regularly through the whole walks.  Of this Mr. Shenstone would sometimes peevishly complain.”

Shenstone describes in his “Thoughts on Gardening,” several artifices that he put in practice for increasing the apparent distance of objects, or for lengthening the perspective of an avenue by widening it in the foreground and planting it there with dark-foliaged trees, like yews and firs, “then with trees more and more fady, till they end in the almond-willow or silver osier.”  To have Lord Lyttelton bring in a party at the small, or willow end of such a walk, and thereby spoil the whole trick, must indeed have been provoking.  Johnson asserts that Shenstone’s house was ruinous and that “nothing raised his indignation more than to ask if there were any fishes in his water.”  “In time,” continues the doctor, “his expenses brought clamors about him that overpowered the lamb’s bleat and the linnet’s song; and his groves were haunted by beings very different from fawns and fairies;” to wit, bailiffs; but Graves denies this.