494 
APPENDIX. 
Mr. Milestone.— You are right, Miss Graziosa : your taste is correct 
perfectly en regie . Now, here is the same place corrected— trimmed — 
polished — decorated— adorned. Here sweeps a plantation, in that beau- 
tiful regular curve : there winds a gravel walk : here are parts of the 
old wood, left in these majestic circular clumps disposed at equal distan- 
ces with wonderful symmetry : there are some single shrubs scattered in 
elegant profusion; here a Portugal laurel, there a juniper; here a lau- 
ristinus, there a spruce fir ; here a larch, there a lilac ; here a rhododen- 
dron, there an arbutus. The stream, you see, is become a canal : the 
banks are perfectly smooth and green, sloping to the water’s edge ; and 
there is Lord Littlebrain, rowing in an elegant boat. 
Squire Headlong — Magical, faith ! 
Mr. Milestone. — Here is another part of the grounds in its natural 
state. Here is a large rock, with the mountain-ash rooted in its fissures, 
overgrown, as you see, with ivy and moss ; and from this part of it bursts 
a little fountain, that runs bubbling down its rugged sides. 
Miss Tenorina. — O how beautiful ! How I should love the melody 
of that miniature cascade ! 
Mr. Milestone. — Beautiful, Miss Tenorina ! Hideous. Base, com- 
mon, and popular. Such a thing as you may see anywhere, in wild and 
mountainous districts. Now, observe the metamorphosis. Here is the 
same rock, cut into the shape of a giant. In one hand he holds a horn, 
through which the little fountain is thrown to a prodigious elevation. In 
the other is a ponderous stone, so exactly balanced as to be apparently 
ready to fall on the head of any person who may happen to be beneath :* 
and there is Lord Littlebrain walking under it. 
Squire Headlong. — Miraculous, by Mahomet ! 
Mr. Milestone.— This is the summit of a hill, covered, as you per- 
ceive, with wood, and with those mossy stones scattered at random under 
the trees. 
Miss Tenorina. — What a delightful spot to read in, on a summer’s 
day ! The air must be so pure, and the wind must sound so divinely 
in the tops of those old pines ! 
Mr. Milestone.— Bad taste, Miss Tenorina. Bad taste, I assure 
you. Here is the spot improved. The trees are cut down : the stones 
are cleared away ; this is an octagonal pavilion, exactly on the centre of 
* See Knight on Taste. 
