1 66 THE PRAISE OF GARDENS 



almost counting every brick and pane of glass, and telling 

 them at the same time, with a sigh, you are going to leave 

 them. Oh ! happy modification of matter ! they will remain 

 insensible of thy loss. But how wilt thou be able to part 

 with thy garden? The recollection of so many pleasing walks 

 must have endeared it to you. The trees, the shrubs, the 

 flowers, which thou rearedst with thy own hands, will they not 

 droop and fade away sooner upon thy departure? Who will 

 be thy successor to nurse them in thy absence? Thou wilt 

 leave thy name upon the myrtle-tree. If trees and shrubs and 

 flowers could compose an elegy, I should expect a very plaintive 

 one upon this subject. — Letters to Miss L. {afterwards Sterne^s 

 wife and Editress of his Letters dedicated to David Garrick^ 

 Jujie 1775, by Lydia Sterne de Medalle). 



— -AlVv^f— 



DIDEROT'S npHE French, plunged so long in barbarism, had no ideas of 



^^^CYCLO- 1 ^]^Q decoration of gardens or of gardening, before the age 



(1751-1765). of Louis XIV. It is in the reign of that prince that this art 



was on the one hand created, perfected by la Quintinie for 



utility, and by le Notre for pleasure. . . . 



Let us, without partiality, cast our eye over this century. 

 How do we at present decorate the most beautiful situations of 

 our choice, with which, le Notre would have been able to achieve 

 wonders ? We bring to bear upon them a ridiculous and paltry 

 taste. The long straight alleys appear to us insipid; the 

 palissades cold and formless ; we delight in devising twisted 

 alleys, scroll-work parterres and shrubs pruned into tufts ; the 

 largest portions are divided-up into little lots always decorated 

 without grace, without nobility, without simplicity. Baskets of 

 flowers, faded after a few days, have taken the place of lasting 

 flower-beds ; we see everywhere vases of terra-cotta, Chinese 

 grotesques, caricatures, and other such works in sculpture of 

 mean workmanship, which plainly enough prove to us that 

 mediocrity has extended its empire over all our productions of 

 this kind. 



