And I have now mentioned all
      the provinces in which even the most liberal understanding of the
      poetic sentiment has declared this sentiment capable of
      expatiating. I mean the most liberal public or recognized
      conception of the idea involved in the phrase “poetic sentiment.”
      But Mr. Ellison imagined that the richest, and altogether the
      most natural and most suitable province, had been blindly
      neglected. No definition had spoken of the Landscape-Gardener, as
      of the poet; yet my friend could not fail to perceive that the
      creation of the Landscape-Garden offered to the true muse the
      most magnificent of opportunities. Here was, indeed, the fairest
      field for the display of invention, or imagination, in the
      endless combining of forms of novel Beauty; the elements which
      should enter into combination being, at all times, and by a vast
      superiority, the most glorious which the earth could afford. In
      the multiform of the tree, and in the multicolor of the flower,
      he recognized the most direct and the most energetic efforts of
      Nature at physical loveliness. And in the direction or
      concentration of this effort, or, still more properly, in its
      adaption to the eyes which were to behold it upon earth, he
      perceived that he should be employing the best means—laboring to
      the greatest advantage—in the fulfilment of his destiny as Poet. “Its adaptation to the eyes which were to behold it upon earth.”
      In his explanation of this phraseology, Mr. Ellison did much
      towards solving what has always seemed to me an enigma. I mean
      the fact (which none but the ignorant dispute) that no such
      combinations of scenery exist in Nature as the painter of genius
      has in his power to produce. No such Paradises are to be found in
      reality as have glowed upon the canvass of Claude. In the most
      enchanting of natural landscapes, there will always be found a
      defect or an excess—many excesses and defects. While the
      component parts may exceed, individually, the highest skill of
      the artist, the arrangement of the parts will always be
      susceptible of improvement. In short, no position can be
      attained, from which an artistical eye, looking steadily, will
      not find matter of offence, in what is technically termed the
      composition of a natural landscape. And yet how unintelligible is
      this! In all other matters we are justly instructed to regard
      Nature as supreme. With her details we shrink from competition. Who shall presume to imitate the colors of the tulip, or to
      improve the proportions of the lily of the valley? The criticism
      which says, of sculpture or of portraiture, that “Nature is to be
      exalted rather than imitated,” is in error. No pictorial or
      sculptural combinations of points of human loveliness, do more
      than approach the living and breathing human beauty as it
      gladdens our daily path. Byron, who often erred, erred not in
      saying, I’ve seen more living beauty, ripe and real, than all the
      nonsense of their stone ideal. In landscape alone is the
      principle of the critic true; and, having felt its truth here, it
      is but the headlong spirit of generalization which has induced
      him to pronounce it true throughout all the domains of Art. Having, I say, felt its truth here. For the feeling is no
      affectation or chimera. The mathematics afford no more absolute
      demonstrations, than the sentiment of his Art yields to the
      artist. He not only believes, but positively knows, that such and
      such apparently arbitrary arrangements of matter, or form,
      constitute, and alone constitute, the true Beauty. Yet his
      reasons have not yet been matured into expression. It remains for
      a more profound analysis than the world has yet seen, fully to
      investigate and express them. Nevertheless is he confirmed in his
      instinctive opinions, by the concurrence of all his compeers. Let
      a composition be defective; let an emendation be wrought in its
      mere arrangement of form; let this emendation be submitted to
      every artist in the world; by each will its necessity be
      admitted. And even far more than this, in remedy of the defective
      composition, each insulated member of the fraternity will suggest
      the identical emendation. I repeat that in landscape arrangements, or collocations alone,
      is the physical Nature susceptible of “exaltation” and that,
      therefore, her susceptibility of improvement at this one point,
      was a mystery which, hitherto I had been unable to solve. It was
      Mr. Ellison who first suggested the idea that what we regarded as
      improvement or exaltation of the natural beauty, was really such,
      as respected only the mortal or human point of view; that each
      alteration or disturbance of the primitive scenery might possibly
      effect a blemish in the picture, if we could suppose this picture
      viewed at large from some remote point in the heavens. “It is
      easily understood,” says Mr. Ellison, “that what might improve a
      closely scrutinized detail, might, at the same time, injure a
      general and more distantly observed effect.” He spoke upon this
      topic with warmth: regarding not so much its immediate or obvious
      importance (which is little), as the character of the conclusions
      to which it might lead, or of the collateral propositions which
      it might serve to corroborate or sustain. There might be a class
      of beings, human once, but now to humanity invisible, for whose
      scrutiny and for whose refined appreciation of the beautiful,
      more especially than for our own, had been set in order by God
      the great landscape-garden of the whole earth. In the course of our discussion, my young friend took occasion to
      quote some passages from a writer who has been supposed to have
      well treated this theme. “There are, properly,” he writes, “but two styles of
      landscape-gardening, the natural and the artificial. One seeks to
      recall the original beauty of the country, by adapting its means
      to the surrounding scenery; cultivating trees in harmony with the
      hills or plain of the neighboring land; detecting and bringing
      into practice those nice relations of size, proportion and color
      which, hid from the common observer, are revealed everywhere to
      the experienced student of nature. The result of the natural
      style of gardening, is seen rather in the absence of all defects
      and incongruities—in the prevalence of a beautiful harmony and
      order, than in the creation of any special wonders or miracles. The artificial style has as many varieties as there are different
      tastes to gratify.