APRIL. 77 



FURTHER RECOLLECTIONS OF ELVASTON. 



Who has not heard of Elvaston ; of its wonderful avenues and quaint 

 parterres ; its clipped evergreens and arboured walks ; of its unri- 

 valled collection of Conifers ; of the marvels there performed in trans- 

 planting ; and, above all, of its rock-work and water ? Hitherto 

 thousands have heard and read of them ; but now, according to your 

 account in last Number, we are to be enabled to look upon the reality. 

 May the day speedily arrive when they are to be thrown open to the 

 public ! from thence will be dated a new era in some departments of 

 ornamental gardening. If they contained nothing beyond the lake 

 and rock-work, it were sufficient to render them celebrated. As a 

 general rule, no departments of design in gardening are so badly 

 conceived and executed as rock and water ; and but few examples 

 could be pointed out which are not burlesques upon what is intended. 

 Artificial water, too, is in a like condition ; good examples of either 

 are rarely to be met with. But at Elvaston the highest aim of art 

 has been reached — that of concealing art. The water, the rocks, 

 the bridge, the planting, are each individually excellent and perfect 

 as a whole. The difficulty is, not to imagine it a natural work 

 embellished by art, but to conceive it a work of art at all. The 

 most enthusiastic disciples of Price and Knight could scarcely see 

 cause for condemnatory criticism. An artist might spend days about 

 it, and record in his sketch-book dozens of beautiful and different 

 views. Now you look upon a broad expanse of water, dotted with 

 numerous water-fowl. The turf slopes gently down to the water's 

 edge, and the water ripples at your feet. On the opposite side 

 tower masses of rock, crag upon crag, amongst which shrubs and 

 trees and creeping plants are flinging their festoons of foliage from 

 ledge and cranny, and casting deep shadows on the lake below. 

 For aught you know, the lake is part of a river, and the rocks the 

 valley through which it flows. You pass on. The water has dis- 

 appeared ; you are in a narrow gorge. Rocks are on your right 

 hand and on your left ; you look up at large trees rooted above your 

 head. Here is a fissure. The water ripples and glistens in the 

 sunbeams. In the distance, the spire and towers of a church ap- 

 pear bosomed amid the trees. You would fain linger ; but we must 

 pass on. What a change ! Rocks, water, and all their accessories, 

 are gone ! You are on a lawn, amongst rare trees and shrubs, which 

 arrest your attention, and would detain you. At every step the scene 

 changes. Some new feature is constantly occurring, and you never 

 tire of the change. You take advantage of a seat which commands 

 one of the principal views, and ruminate on what you have seen. 

 Surely, you inwardly exclaim, the natural advantages must have 

 been great to have succeeded so admirably; much must be due to the 

 genius of the spot. By no means is it so ; nature has done nothing, 

 art all. The place you stand on, the beautiful views which have so 

 delighted you, have all been created. Twenty years ago, the site 

 was but a flat meadow ! G. L. 



