It has a certain general relation to the
      various styles of building. There are the stately avenues and
      retirements of Versailles; Italian terraces; and a various mixed
      old English style, which bears some relation to the domestic
      Gothic or English Elizabethan architecture. Whatever may be said
      against the abuses of the artificial landscape-gardening, a
      mixture of pure art in a garden scene, adds to it a great beauty. This is partly pleasing to the eye, by the show of order and
      design, and partly moral. A terrace, with an old moss-covered
      balustrade, calls up at once to the eye, the fair forms that have
      passed there in other days. The slightest exhibition of art is an
      evidence of care and human interest.”

      “From what I have already observed,” said Mr. Ellison, “you will
      understand that I reject the idea, here expressed, of ‘recalling
      the original beauty of the country.’ The original beauty is never
      so great as that which may be introduced. Of course, much depends
      upon the selection of a spot with capabilities. What is said in
      respect to the ‘detecting and bringing into practice those nice
      relations of size, proportion and color,’ is a mere vagueness of
      speech, which may mean much, or little, or nothing, and which
      guides in no degree. That the true ‘result of the natural style
      of gardening is seen rather in the absence of all defects and
      incongruities, than in the creation of any special wonders or
      miracles,’ is a proposition better suited to the grovelling
      apprehension of the herd, than to the fervid dreams of the man of
      genius. The merit suggested is, at best, negative, and appertains
      to that hobbling criticism which, in letters, would elevate
      Addison into apotheosis. In truth, while that merit which
      consists in the mere avoiding demerit, appeals directly to the
      understanding, and can thus be foreshadowed in Rule, the loftier
      merit, which breathes and flames in invention or creation, can be
      apprehended solely in its results. Rule applies but to the
      excellences of avoidance—to the virtues which deny or refrain. Beyond these the critical art can but suggest. We may be
      instructed to build an Odyssey, but it is in vain that we are
      told how to conceive a ‘Tempest,’ an ‘Inferno,’ a ‘Prometheus
      Bound,’ a ‘Nightingale,’ such as that of Keats, or the ‘Sensitive
      Plant’ of Shelley. But, the thing done, the wonder accomplished,
      and the capacity for apprehension becomes universal. The sophists
      of the negative school, who, through inability to create, have
      scoffed at creation, are now found the loudest in applause. What,
      in its chrysalis condition of principle, affronted their demure
      reason, never fails, in its maturity of accomplishment, to extort
      admiration from their instinct of the beautiful or of the
      sublime. “Our author’s observations on the artificial style of gardening,”
      continued Mr. Ellison, “are less objectionable. ‘A mixture of
      pure art in a garden scene, adds to it a great beauty.’ This is
      just, and the reference to the sense of human interest is equally
      so. I repeat that the principle here expressed, is
      incontrovertible; but there may be something even beyond it. There may be an object in full keeping with the principle
      suggested—an object unattainable by the means ordinarily in
      possession of mankind, yet which, if attained, would lend a charm
      to the landscape-garden immeasurably surpassing that which a
      merely human interest could bestow. The true poet possessed of
      very unusual pecuniary resources, might possibly, while retaining
      the necessary idea of art or interest or culture, so imbue his
      designs at once with extent and novelty of Beauty, as to convey
      the sentiment of spiritual interference. It will be seen that, in
      bringing about such result, he secures all the advantages of
      interest or design, while relieving his work of all the harshness
      and technicality of Art. In the most rugged of wildernesses—in
      the most savage of the scenes of pure Nature—there is apparent
      the art of a Creator; yet is this art apparent only to
      reflection; in no respect has it the obvious force of a feeling. Now, if we imagine this sense of the Almighty Design to be
      harmonized in a measurable degree, if we suppose a landscape
      whose combined strangeness, vastness, definitiveness, and
      magnificence, shall inspire the idea of culture, or care, or
      superintendence, on the part of intelligences superior yet akin
      to humanity—then the sentiment of interest is preserved, while
      the Art is made to assume the air of an intermediate or secondary
      Nature—a Nature which is not God, nor an emanation of God, but
      which still is Nature, in the sense that it is the handiwork of
      the angels that hover between man and God.”

      It was in devoting his gigantic wealth to the practical
      embodiment of a vision such as this—in the free exercise in the
      open air, which resulted from personal direction of his plans—in
      the continuous and unceasing object which these plans afforded—in
      the high spirituality of the object itself—in the contempt of
      ambition which it enabled him more to feel than to affect—and,
      lastly, it was in the companionship and sympathy of a devoted
      wife, that Ellison thought to find, and found, an exemption from
      the ordinary cares of Humanity, with a far greater amount of
      positive happiness than ever glowed in the rapt day-dreams of De
      Staël. MAELZEL’S CHESS-PLAYER


      Perhaps no exhibition of the kind has ever elicited so general
      attention as the Chess-Player of Maelzel. Wherever seen it has
      been an object of intense curiosity, to all persons who think. Yet the question of its _modus operandi_ is still undetermined. Nothing has been written on this topic which can be considered as
      decisive—and accordingly we find every where men of mechanical
      genius, of great general acuteness, and discriminative
      understanding, who make no scruple in pronouncing the Automaton a
      _pure machine_, unconnected with human agency in its movements,
      and consequently, beyond all comparison, the most astonishing of
      the inventions of mankind. And such it would undoubtedly be, were
      they right in their supposition. Assuming this hypothesis, it
      would be grossly absurd to compare with the Chess-Player, any
      similar thing of either modern or ancient days. Yet there have
      been many and wonderful automata. In Brewster’s Letters on
      Natural Magic, we have an account of the most remarkable.