Having adverted to the feelings that justify the introduction of a few exotic plants, provided they be confined almost to the doors of the house, we may add, that a transition should be contrived, without abruptness, from these foreigners to the rest of the shrubs, which ought to be of the kinds scattered by Nature, through the woods—­holly, broom, wild-rose, elder, dogberry, white and black thorn, &c.—­either these only, or such as are carefully selected in consequence of their being united in form, and harmonising in colour with them, especially with respect to colour, when the tints are most diversified, as in autumn and spring.  The various sorts of fruit-and-blossom-bearing trees usually found in orchards, to which may be added those of the woods,—­namely, the wilding, black cherry tree, and wild cluster-cherry (here called heck-berry)—­may be happily admitted as an intermediate link between the shrubs and the forest trees; which last ought almost entirely to be such as are natives of the country.  Of the birch, one of the most beautiful of the native trees, it may be noticed, that, in dry and rocky situations, it outstrips even the larch, which many persons are tempted to plant merely on account of the speed of its growth.  The Scotch fir is less attractive during its youth than any other plant; but, when full grown, if it has had room to spread out its arms, it becomes a noble tree; and, by those who are disinterested enough to plant for posterity, it may be placed along with the sycamore near the house; for, from their massiveness, both these trees unite well with buildings, and in some situations with rocks also; having, in their forms and apparent substances, the effect of something intermediate betwixt the immoveableness and solidity of stone, and the spray and foliage of the lighter trees.  If these general rules be just, what shall we say to whole acres of artificial shrubbery and exotic trees among rocks and dashing torrents, with their own wild wood in sight—­where we have the whole contents of the nurseryman’s catalogue jumbled together—­colour at war with colour, and form with form?—­among the most peaceful subjects of Nature’s kingdom, everywhere discord, distraction, and bewilderment!  But this deformity, bad as it is, is not so obtrusive as the small patches and large tracts of larch-plantations that are overrunning the hill sides.  To justify our condemnation of these, let us again recur to Nature.  The process, by which she forms woods and forests, is as follows.  Seeds are scattered indiscriminately by winds, brought by waters, and dropped by birds.  They perish, or produce, according as the soil and situation upon which they fall are suited to them:  and under the same dependence, the seedling or the sucker, if not cropped by animals, (which Nature is often careful to prevent by fencing it about with brambles or other prickly shrubs) thrives, and the tree grows, sometimes single, taking its own shape without constraint, but