and could prevail upon the proprietor to confine himself, either to those found in the native woods, or to such as accord with them.  This is, indeed, the main point; for, much as these scenes have been injured by what has been taken from them—­buildings, trees, and woods, either through negligence, necessity, avarice, or caprice—­it is not the removals, but the harsh additions that have been made, which are the worst grievance—­a standing and unavoidable annoyance.  Often have I felt this distinction, with mingled satisfaction and regret; for, if no positive deformity or discordance be substituted or superinduced, such is the benignity of Nature, that, take away from her beauty after beauty, and ornament after ornament, her appearance cannot be marred—­the scars, if any be left, will gradually disappear before a healing spirit; and what remains will still be soothing and pleasing.—­

              Many hearts deplored
    The fate of those old trees; and oft with pain
    The traveller at this day will stop and gaze
    On wrongs which Nature scarcely seems to heed: 
    For sheltered places, bosoms, nooks, and bays,
    And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed,
    And the green silent pastures, yet remain.

There are few ancient woods left in this part of England upon which such indiscriminate ravage as is here ‘deplored,’ could now be committed.  But, out of the numerous copses, fine woods might in time be raised, probably without sacrifice of profit, by leaving, at the periodical fellings, a due proportion of the healthiest trees to grow up into timber.—­This plan has fortunately, in many instances, been adopted; and they, who have set the example, are entitled to the thanks of all persons of taste.  As to the management of planting with reasonable attention to ornament, let the images of Nature be your guide, and the whole secret lurks in a few words; thickets or underwoods—­single trees—­trees clustered or in groups—­groves—­unbroken woods, but with varied masses of foliage—­glades—­invisible or winding boundaries—­in rocky districts, a seemly proportion of rock left wholly bare, and other parts half hidden—­disagreeable objects concealed, and formal lines broken—­trees climbing up to the horizon, and, in some places, ascending from its sharp edge, in which they are rooted, with the whole body of the tree appearing to stand in the clear sky—­in other parts, woods surmounted by rocks utterly bare and naked, which add to the sense of height, as if vegetation could not thither be carried, and impress a feeling of duration, power of resistance, and security from change!