in
landscape gardening, which he exercised at Enfield Chase and afterward at
Hayes.[41] Thomson, who was Lyttelton's guest at Hagley every summer
during the last three or four years of his life, was naturally familiar
with the Leasowes. There are many references to the "sweet descriptive
bard," in Shenstone's poems[42] and a seat was inscribed to his memory in
a part of the grounds known as Vergil's Grove. "This seat," says
Dodsley, "is placed upon a steep bank on the edge of the valley, from
which the eye is here drawn down into the flat below by the light that
glimmers in front and by the sound of various cascades, by which the
winding stream is agreeably broken. Opposite to this seat the ground
rises again in an easy concave to a kind of dripping fountain, where a
small rill trickles down a rude niche of rock work through fern,
liverwort, and aquatic weeds. . . The whole scene is opaque and
gloomy."[43]

English landscape gardening is a noble art. Its principles are sound and
of perpetual application. Yet we have advanced so much farther in the
passion for nature than the men of Shenstone's day that we are apt to be
impatient of the degree of artifice present in even the most skillful
counterfeit of the natural landscape. The poet no longer writes odes on
"Rural Elegance," nor sings

"The transport, most allied to song,
In some fair valley's peaceful bound
To catch soft hints from Nature's tongue,
And bid Arcadia bloom around;
Whether we fringe the sloping hill,
Or smooth below the verdant mead;
Or in the horrid brambles' room
Bid careless groups of roses bloom;
Or let some sheltered lake serene
Reflect flowers, woods and spires, and brighten all the scene."

If we cannot have the mountains, the primeval forest, or the shore of the
wild sea, we can at least have Thomson's "great simple country," subdued
to man's use but not to his pleasure. The modern mood prefers a lane to
a winding avenue, and an old orchard or stony pasture to a lawn decorated
with coppices. "I do confess," says Howitt, "that in the 'Leasowes' I
have always found so much ado about nothing; such a parade of miniature
cascades, lakes, streams conveyed hither and thither; surprises in the
disposition of woods and the turn of walks. . . that I have heartily
wished myself out upon a good rough heath."

For the "artificial-natural" was a trait of Shenstone's gardening no less
than of h