IV 
in Park Scenery we may realise the landscapes of Claude and Poussin: 
but in Garden Scenery we delight in the rich embellishments, the blended 
graces of Watteau, where nature is dressed, but not disfigured by art, 
and where the artificial decorations of Architecture and Sculpture are 
softened down by natural accompaniments of vegetation. In the Park 
and Forest, let the Painter be indulged with the most picturesque objects 
for his pencil to imitate; let the sportsman be gratified with rough 
coverts and impenetrable thickets ; let the active mind be soothed with 
all the beauty of Landscape, and the contemplative mind roused by all 
the sublimity of Prospect that nature can produce; but we must also 
provide artificial scenes, less wild, though not less interesting, for 
“ Retired Leisure, 
“ That in trim Gardens takes his pleasure.” Milton. 
For these reasons I cannot too strongly recommend a due attention 
to the following circumstances, which will be deemed innovations in the 
modern system, by those who contend that Landscape forms the basis 
of Landscape Gardening, viz. First, To reduce the size of the pleasure 
ground, as it is called, within such limits that it may be kept with the 
utmost artificial neatness. Secondly, Not to aim even at the appearance 
of extent in Garden Scenery, without marking its artificial boundary or 
separature from the natural Landscape. Thirdly, When the dressed 
ground forms part of the view from the windows, especially those of 
the principal rooms, let it be artificial in its keeping, and in its embel- 
lishments; let it rather appear to be the rich frame of the Landscape, 
than a part of the Picture. Fourthly, Whether the dressed Garden be 
seen from the windows, or in a detached situation, let it be near the 
house, and if possible, connected with it by a sheltered, if not a covered 
way. And lastly, As the winter of England extends from November to 
May, it is highly desirable to provide a Garden for those months, and 
thereby artificially to prolong our summers beyond the natural limits of 
our precarious climate. 
In the summer every field is a Garden, but in the winter our open 
Gardens are bleak, unsheltered, dreary fields. Where the walks are 
extended to the lengths which too commonly prevail, we find that no 
one uses them except the nursemaid and children, who are compelled 
to do so; or the unfortunate visitor, who is not less compelled to walk 
round the place on the first day of his visit, and who ever afterwards 
