280 THE PLEASURES OF SOLITUDE AND GARDENING 



worldly pomp, ■which have yet proved inadequate to the securing of 



human happiness, or in the threadbare garments of the unfortunate 



and the miserable, whom the heartless worldling spurns from his 



dwelling ; the pleasures of retirement and gardening are varied and 



universal. He views the widely extended country spread around as a 



prolific and luxuriant garden, and, seated on some towering eminence, 



with a favourite author as his only companion, surveys the wonders 



and beauties of Nature with the greatest complacency and delight. 



They produce that calm and placid feeling of tranquil happiness 



which it is absolutely necessary to feel before we can reason calmly on 



the varied aspects of human life, and form just and accurate estimates 



of the characters and dispositions of those among whom our destiny 



has cast us, in whatever sphere that may happen to be. For although 



the busy world is the proper theatre on which our materials must be 



amassed and our observations on passing events made, it is only after 



we have retired from the intoxicating power of their combined influence 



that we can reason calmly on their tendency, and apply our collected 



information to its proper uses. We then feel that soothing balm 



stealing over the soul which, in the toil, and bustle, and anxiety of 



business is always sighed for in vain. The woody dell, the heath-clad 



mountain, the serpentine river, the foaming cataract, all conspire to 



wrap the mind in a pleasing reverie, and to engage it in a train of 



peaceful meditations on the flowery scene around, presenting so many 



prospects of rural repose and pastoral felicity. The cooing of the 



dove on the steep of the mountain, the wild and melancholy wail of the 



curlew on the adjoining moor, the sighing of the breezes through the 



adjoining wood, and the ceaseless murmurings of the hidden river 



heard in the distance below, sound in his delighted ears as but a part 



of the plaintive melody of creation, and in the rapture which fills his 



bosom on witnessing the quiet scene, he feels as happy as his monarch 



on the throne, and exclaims with George Darley — 



" Pleasant in these dim woods, where Quiet dwells, 

 To hold sweet undertalk with her, whose voice, 

 Spirit-like, whispers us beneath the boughs, 

 Herself unseen ! Pleasant, with light foot-fall, 

 To press rich Autumn's bed of russet leaves, 

 Make the warm-smelling moss give out its odour, 

 And here, unbonneted, in sunless noon, 

 Drink the green air. refreshing both to sense 

 And soul, world-wearied!" 



To the man, the springtide of whose years has been spent in the 



