MARCH. 125 



leani the work we have to do : for nature, who is tlie only 

 correct teacher, is here before us, uudespoiled, as in the mother 

 country, by the vagaries of ostentatious improvers. The 

 English artists in landscape have made only a few advances 

 towards what may be truly styled the natural system of lay- 

 ing out grounds. They have studied nature, for their artis- 

 tical purposes, only with reference to her forms. They do 

 not follow her in her groupings of natural objects. In their 

 works we see the taste of the painter and the cultivator, 

 and the proofs of but little sympathy with the poet or the 

 naturalist. In a perfect landscape the ideas of each should 

 be incorporated in one great harmonious design : and this 

 will seldom be done, because it can be carried out only by 

 the sacrifice of one's vanity. 



No circumstance that does not immediately affect the hapr 

 piness of the community seems to me of greater importance, 

 than to preserve these natural landscapes, like those from 

 which I have drawn my illustrations, in their present condi- 

 tion. Almost every village in New England contains more 

 or less of them, but they are rapidly disappearing before the 

 besom of " enterprise." They are most numerous and char- 

 acteristic in those old towns which have been long occupied 

 almost exclusively by farmers, and which have not been ex- 

 posed t(t the ravages of a more advanced civilization ; for 

 what the Goths and Vandals were to the cities of Greece and 

 Rome, the enterprising classes of the Anglo-Americans are to 

 all these beautiful haunts of the Rural Deities. The rustic 

 may for centuries dwell harmlessly by their side, and work 

 hand in hand with nature, and see the face of the country 

 improving in beauty with each succeeding generation. But 

 let there be a sudden inroad of that sort of people who are 

 supposed to be the true representatives of Young America, 

 and with " enterprise" for their motto, they lay in ruins, 

 with remorseless sacrilege, every object that would delight 

 the heart of a true lover of nature, and then point exultingly 

 to the bald hills and plains, as if their ravages were proofs of 

 their civilization. 



