ADVICE FOR LACKLAND. 39 



"But the misfortune is, the view is only to 

 be seen to advantage from my wash-room door, or 

 from one spot in the garden just now encumber- 

 ed with enormous Lawton briars. The first posi- 

 tion is soapy and damp for visitors, and the last 

 tedious. 



" What I wish of you," my friend Lackland con- 

 tinues to write, " is to give me a hint or two about 

 the combing of this rough little home of mine into 

 shape. And in order to a more definite understand- 

 ing I will tell you briefly what I don't want, and next 

 what I do want. 



"And first, being a plain man, I don't want 

 crooked walks, for the mere sake of having them 

 crooked ; I don't want to go into my gate in a hurry 

 when I know dinner is already smoking on the 

 table and yet, after entrance, be compelled to describe 

 a circle planted with I know not what barbarian ever- 

 gi'eens, before I can get to my door. 



" I don't want my stable yard absolutely in sight ; 

 least of all do I wish to be compelled to traverse it, 

 before I can get sight of my pet mare. 



" I don't wish a carriage drive to my door-step, 

 when my door is only fifty feet from the road by a 

 tape-line. 



" I don't want to pull down or to move the present 

 house, because in so doing I should sacrifice a capital 



