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holds the axe or the plough, how much more refined on the contrary those of the European, whose mind is improved by education, example, books, and by every acquired advantage! Those feelings, however, I will delineate as well as I can, agreeably to your earnest request. When I contemplate my wife, by my fire-fide, while she either spins, knits, darns, or suckles our child, I cannot describe the various emotions of love, of gratitude, of conscious pride which thrill in my heart, and often overflow in involuntary tears. I feel the pecessity, the sweet pleasure of acting my part, the part of an husband and father, with an intention and propriety which may entitle me to my good fortune. It is true, these pleasing images vanish with the smoke of my pipe; but though they disappear from my mind, the impression they have made on my heart is indelible. When I play with the infant my warm imagination runs forward, and eagerly an. ticipates his future temper and constitution. I would willingly open the book of fate, and know in which page his destiny is delineated ; alas! where is the father who, in these moments of paternal extacy, can delineate one half of the thoughts which dilate his heart? I am sure I cannot; then again I fear for the health of those who are become so dear to me, and in their ficknesses I severely pay for the joys I experienced while they were well. Whenever I go abroad it is al. ways involuntary. I never return home without feeling some pleasing emotion, which I often suppress as useless and foolish. The instant I enter on my own land, the bright idea of property, of ex. clusive right, of independence exalt my mind. Precious foil, I say to myself, by what fingular custom of law is it that thou wast made to constitute che riches of the freeholder? What should we American farmers be without the diftin&t pofleffion of that foil? It feeds, it cloihes us, from it we draw even a great exuberancy, our beft meat, our richest drink, the very honey of our bees comes from this privileged spot, No wonder we hould thus cherith its poffeffion, no wonder that so many Europeans, who have never been able to fay that such portion of land was theirs, cross the Atlantic, to realize that happiness. This formerly rude foil bias been converted by my father into a pleasant farm, and in recur it has establithed all our rights ; on it is founded our rank, our freedom, our power as citizens, our importance as inhabitants of such a district. These images, I muft confess, I always behold with plcafure, and extend them as far as my imagination can reach: for this is what may be called the true and the only philosophy of an American farmer. Pray do not laugh in thus seeing an artles: countryman tracing himself through the timple modifications of his life; remember that you have required it, therefore with candour, though with difiidence, I endeavour to follow the thread of. my feelings, but I cannot tell you all. Often when I plough my low ground, I place my little boy on a chair which screws to the beam of the plough-its motion and that of the horses please him; he is perfecily happy, and begins to chat. As I lean over the handle, various are the thoughts which croud into my mind. I am now doing for him, I say, what my father formerly did for me, may God enable him to live, that he may perform the fame operacions for the same purposes when I am worn out and old! I relieve his mother of some trouble while I have bim with me, the odoriferous furrow

exhilarates exhilarates his fpirits, and seems to do the child a great deal of good, for he looks more blooming fince I have adopted that practice; can more pleasure, more dignisy be added to that primary occupation ? The father thus ploughing with his child, and to feed his family, is inferior only to the Emperor of China ploughing as an example to his kingdom.'

With what heart-felt regret muft our honest Pennsylvanian look back to these happy moments of his existence, when the innocence, the fimplicity, and the rational employments of his life could only have been equalled in the primitive ages of mankind!

Aureus hanc vitam in terris Saturnus agebat.
Necdum etiam audierant inflari clasica, necdum
Impositos duris crepitare incudibus enses -
Sed nos immenfum spatiis confecimus æquor.

[ To be continued. ]

TH

ART. II. The English Garden: a Poem. In Four Books. Book IV.

By W. Malun, M. A. 4to. 2 s. 6 d. Didley. 1781.
He first Book of this elegant Poem made its appearance

in the year 1772, of which the Reader will find a very ample account in the forty-fixth volume of our Journal, p. 219. Of the second and third Books no other notice was taken at the time of their publication, than barely to announce them; as we waited for the completion of the Writer's plan, that the whole might be included in one general critique. The Poem being now brought to a conclusion, it is with pleasure we resume the confideration of it.

Perhaps we cannot give the Reader a juster idea of the plan and conduct of this pleasing performance, than in the words of Mr. Mason's own analysis of it, as it is sketched out in his General Poftfcript. "The first Book,' says he, 'contains the general Principles of the Art, which are shewn to be no other than those which conftitute Beauty in the fifter art of Landscape Painting; Beauty which results from a wellchosen variety of curves; in contradiftinction to that of Architecture, which arises from a judicious fymmetry of right lines, and which is there shewn to have afforded the principle on which that formal disposition of Garden Ground, which our anceftors borrowed from the French and Dutch, proceeded. A principle never adopted by Nature herself, and therefore conftantly to be avoided by those whose business it is to embellish Nature.'

• The second Book proceeds to a more praétical discusion of the fubject, but confines itself to one point only, the disposition of the ground-plan, and, that very material business immediately united with it, the proper disposition and formation of the paths and fences. The necefity of attending constantly to the curvilinear principle is

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firft shewn, not only in the formation of the ground-plan with respect to its exteroal boandary, but in its internal swellings and linkings, where all abruptness or angular appearances are as much to be avoided as in the form of the outline that surrounds the whole.

• The pathways or walks are next considered, and that peculiar curve recommended for their imitation which is so frequently found in common roads, foot-paths, &c. and which being casually produced appears to be the general curve of Nature.

The rest of the book is employed in minutely describing the method of making funk fences, and other necessary divisions of the pleasure-ground or lawn from the adjacent field or park; a part of the art which is of most essential consequence, and which is frequently very difficult both to design and execute.'

This Book closes with the apposite story of Abdalominus, who was found working in his garden when Alexander came to impose upon, or rather, to restore to him, the crown of Sidon.

• The third Book proceeds to add natural ornament to that groundplan which the second Book had ascertained, in its two capital branches, Wood and Water.'

• Factitious or artificial ornaments, in contradisinction to natural ones laft treated, form the general subject of the fourth Book, and conclude the plan. By these is meant not only every aid which the art borrows from architecture ; but those smaller pieces of separate scenery appropriated either to ornament or use, which do not make a necessary part of the whole ; and which, if admitted into it, would frequently occasion a littleness ill suiting with that unity and simpli. city which should ever be principally attended to in an extentive pleasure-ground.'

Apprehensive that descriptive poetry, however varied, might pall when continued through so long a poem, Mr. Mason has contrived to interweave a tale with the general theme.' "The idea, says he, was new, and I found the execution of it somewhat difficult. In justice, however, to the Poet's art, it must be acknowledged, his success has been more than equal to the difficulty of the attempt. This interesting story is thus introduced : • But precep's tire, and this fastidious

age
Rejects the strain didactic: Try we then
In livelier Narrative the truths to veil
We dare not di&tate. Sons of Albion, bear!
The tale I tell is full of strange event,
And piceous circumstance; yet deem not ye,
If names I feign, that therefore facts are feignid:
Nor hence refuse (what moft augments the charm
Of storied woe) chat fond credulity

Which binds th' attentive fool in closer chains.' Paffing over the introductory description of Alcander's domain, and its situation on the coast, proceed we to the commencement of this affe&ing, though romantic and improbable narrative, so full of strange event and pi: nus circumstance."

* One vernal morn, as urging here the work
Surrounded by his binds, from mild to cold
The season chang’d, from cold to sudden form,
From storm to whirlwind. To the angry main
Swiftly he turns, and sees a laden thip
Dilmafted by its rage. Hie, hie we all,"
ALCANDER cry'd, “ quick to the neighb'ring beach.''
They few; they came, but only to be hold,
Tremendous fight! the vessel dalh its poop
Amid ihe boiling breakers. Need I tell
What Itrenuous arts were us’d, when all were us'd,
To save the finking Crew? One tender Maid
Alone escap'd, sav'd by ALCANDER's arm,
Who boldly swam to snatch her from the plank
To which the feebly clung; swiftly to thore,
And swifter to his home, the youth convey'd
His clay-cold prize, who at his portal firkt
By one deep figh a sign of Life betray'd,
A Maid fo sav'd, if but by Nature blert
With common charms, had soon awak'd a flame
More strong than Piry, in that melting heart
Which Pity warmid before. But she was fair
As Poets pi&ture Hebe, or the Spring;
Graceful withal, as if each limb were caft
In that ideal mould whence RAPHAEL drew
His Galatea *: Yes, th' impaflion'd Youth
Felt more than pity when he view'd her charms,
Yet she, (ah, strange to tell) tho' much he lov'd,
Supprelt as much that sympathetic flame
Which Love like his should kindle: Did he kneel
In rapture at her feet? The bow'd the head,
And coldly bad bim rise; or did he plead,
In terms of purelt passion, for a smile?
She

gave him but a tear: his manly form,
His virtues, ev'm the courage that preserv'd
Her life, beseem'd ro sentiment to wake
Warmer iban gratitude ; and yet the love
Withheld from him she freely gave his scenes ;
On all their charms a just applause beftow'd ;
And, if she e'er was happy, only then
When wand'ring where those charms were most display'd.

' As thro’a neighb'ring Grove, where ancient beech
Their awful foliage fiung, ALCANDER led
The penfive Maid along, “ Tell me," she cry'd,

Alluding to a letter of that famous paincer, written to his friend Count Baltaser Caftiglione, when he was painting his celebrated pic. ture of Galatea, in which he tells him,“ essendo carestia di belle donne, io mi servo di certa idea che viene alla mente." See Bellori Diferiz. delle imagini dipinte da Raffaello d'Urbino, or the Life of B. Cattiglione, prefixed to the London edition of his book entitled, il Cortegiaso.

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• Why

61 Why, on these forest features all-intent,
“ Forbears my friend some scene diftinct to give
“ To Flora and her fragrance? Well I know
“ That in the general Landscape's broad expanse
“ Their little blooms are lost; but here are glades,
“ Circled with shade, yet pervious to the sun,
" Where, if enamell’d with their rainbow.hues,
“ The eye would catch their splendor : turn thy Tafe,
“ Ev'n in this grassy circle where we fland,
• To form their plots; there weave a woodbine Bower,
" And call that Bower Nerina's.” At the word
ALCANDER smild; his fancy instant form'd
The fragrant scene the wish'd; and Love, with Art
Uniting, foon produc'd the finish'd whole.

• Down to the South the glade by Nature lean'd;
Art form’d the slope ftill forier, opening there
Its foliage, and to cach Etesian gale
Admittance free dispensing ; tbickelt niade
Guarded the reft. His taite will beit conceive

The new arrangement, whose free fooilleps, u'd
To forest haunts, have pierc'd their opening deils,
Where frequent tufts of sweetbriar, box or thorn,
Steal on the green sward, but admit fair space
For many a mossy maze to wind between.
sa here did Art arrange her flow'ry groups
Irregular, yet not in patches quaint
But interpos'd between the wand'ring lines
Of haven turf which cwifted to the path,
Gravel or sand, that in as wild a wave
Stole round the verdant limits of the scene ;
Leading the eye to many a sculptur'd buit
On Tapely pedestal, of Sage or Bard,
Bright heirs of fame, who living lov'd the haunts
So fragrant, so fequefter'd. Many an Urn

There too had place, with votive lay inscrib'd
To Freedom, Friendship, Solitude, or Love.

And now each flow's chat bears transplanting change,
Or blooms indigenous, adorn'd the scene;
Only Nerina's wish, her woodbine bower,

• There is nothing in picturesque Gardening which should not have its archetype in unadorned Nature. Now, as we never fee any of her plains dotted with diffevered patches of any sort of vegetables, except, perhaps, some of her more barren heaths, where even Furze can grow but sparingly, and which form the moft disagreeable of her scenes, therefore the present common mode of dotring clumps of fowers, or thrubs on a grass-plat, without union, and without other meaning than that of appearing irregular, ought to be avoided. It is the form and easy flow of the graffy interftices (if I may so call chem) that the designer ought first co have a regard to; and if these be well formed, the spaces for flowers or thrubbery will be at the same time ascertained.

Remain'd

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