scenes created, as by art magic, in the course of our own recollection, and by the efforts of one enterprising individual.

Hardly in any case whatever has the utmost been done that might be done; and what has been ever accomplished in one case, might, with a little immediate trouble and expense-but ultimately with great gain-be accomplished in all. Give us any sort of a river, with banks of any description you please, whether rocky or level, steep or gently sloping, and give us the necessary command of land and funds, and we would undertake, by means of wood, judiciously and economically planted, to produce, in no very long period of years, a series of scenes of surpassing beauty.

It will be seen from this, that our object is much more extensive and vast, than the mere decoration of the grounds of one individual residence, or to bring out the beauties of a single spot, from which the public at large are to be carefully excluded. We leave this to the capability men, whose profession it is, and we wish them all sort of success in their labours, which, as far as they go, are highly useful and meritorious. We, on the contrary, aim at nothing less than the general improvement and decoration of the whole country; we wish to bring out the capabilities of the whole of Scotland-to exhibit her beauties, not to the rich and great only, but to the poorest peasant who treads her soil-to delight the eyes and gratify the feelings, the senses, and the understandings of the humblest traveller who plods his weary way along our high-roads, over our trackless mountains, or through our devious glens.

We wish that we were endowed with the persuasive genius of our native bard, who, by the petition addressed by him, in name of Bruar Water, to his Grace of Athol, induced that revered and patriotic nobleman to clothe its waste and sterile banks with a graceful covering of wood. We would address to all who have the power-to every proprietor of soil throughout broad Scotland, from the humblest portioner of the humblest village, up to the lord of millions, whose possessions extend from sea to sea, this exhortation-plant!

plant! plant! If you would improve and beautify your estate, plant! If you would improve and beautify your country, plant! If you would enjoy the greatest and the purest of all pleasures, plant! If you would increase the comfort, the wealth, and the happiness of your children's children, plant! In short, our advice would be that of old Dumbiedykes What he said on his death-bed to his son Jock, we would say to one and all: "Whenever you have naething else to do, aye be sticking in a tree: it will be growing when ye are sleeping."

This subject is one of the utmost importance; and we might enforce our doctrine by more and greater arguments than we have time or space to introduce in this slight essay. Let us not lay the flattering unction to our souls, because Scotland is not now in the condition in which it was in the days of Dr Johnson; because we have, though exceedingly angry at his sarcasms, wisely profited by them, and planted much within the last half century, that therefore we have done enough and planted enough; and that we may now rest from this species of labour. We say, not the half-not the tenth part has been done, that the country would require, either in point of ornament or shelter, or for the purposes of commerce. Is it not strange, that with so much land, fitted exclusively for the growth of wood, as Scotland possesses, she does not possess as much oak at this moment as would serve our dockyards for a single year; and that all the wood used within the kingdom, in the construction of any dwelling above the poorest cottage, must necessarily be brought from a foreign country?

But to return from this digression -next to planting, the next necessary part of the management and rearing of woods, both with a view to ornament and utility, is thinning. If our exhortation to proprietors is to plant, our exhortation to those who have planted, or who have woods left to their care, which have been planted by others, is-cut, cut, cut! If we have erred in not sufficiently planting, we have equally, perhaps even more atrociously erred, in not sufficiently thinning. In order to understand the benefits, or rather

the necessity of thinning, it is quite unnecessary to go very deep into the study of the physiology of plants, the doctrine of the ascent of the sap in trees, its elaboration by the leaves, which are the lungs of the plant, or its descent to lay a deposit of woody fibre. It is enough to know, that no tree can thrive without having room to spread its roots below and its branches above. The one is necessary for collecting its appropriate food from the juices of the soil; the other for converting that food into nourishment, for the promotion of its growth. Neither of these objects can be attained, if the tree is cramped and confined by other trees in its neighbourhood. The proper rule in all cases is-look at the branches, and see that they do not touch, or press upon the other trees around. If they do not, then there is reason to believe that the tree has room to spread its roots; for the roots in general spread below, nearly in the same extent as the branches above. But if the branches are pressed above, then we may be satisfied that it is necessary to thin.

Many people think it necessary that woods should be more close and thick in exposed than in sheltered situations; but the very reverse of this is the case. In exposed and high situations, the trees require more head room than in those which are low and sheltered, being not only hurt by touching and pressing on each other, but also by their lashing one another with their branches during violent winds. In such places, therefore, they require more than in any other to stand in "open order," not merely that they may not touch, but that they may have room to play without injury, during the prevalence of tempests.

The operation of thinuing is a laborious one, and where woods are extensive requires constant, assiduous, persevering exertion, year after year. It also requires judgment, and, where ornament and beauty are objects to be attended to, no small portion of taste. Among younger woods, the choice of plants to be left and to be cut, is comparatively easy, the object being to cut the feeble, the sickly, the ill-grown, the deformed, and leave the healthy and more perfect plants. But when the wood has

attained a greater age and large size, the cutting of every tree is a matter of some importance, and there is often occasion of doubt which of two trees, standing too near each other, ought to be cut, and which ought to be left. In ornamental wood near a residence, this is a matter upon which a proprietor alone can properly decide. The office is too responsible to be committed to a country carpenter or overseer.

No rules can be given for the thinning of ornamental wood. Every thing depends on the circumstances, the situation, the object in view. Let a plan be formed, and let it be considered whether we wish to have a wood as close as the trees will grow, or an open grove with glades and vistas, and the trees thrown into groups, or merely detached trees and open dispositions to afford variety to a lawn. We must consider before we make an opening, what will be its form and effect, and what objects will be seen through and behind it. A wood before it is thinned is like a block of marble, from which a vast variety of figures may be cut; and we are to consider ourselves as artists, working not with the insignificant tools of man's invention, but with the mighty materials of nature. The art is not to be practised with advantage without a knowledge of landscape painting, and a familiarity with the effects exhibited in the works of the best masters in that department. It even affords room for the exercise of genius, or that species of taste which is akin to genius, not less so perhaps than the kindred art of the painter. In practice, it requires no little study and no small degree of consideration. In cases where it is practised with success, it affords the highest degree of delight. When a plan has been carefully formed, and is steadily carried into execution, we have ourselves (for we have been amateurs in the art in a small way) experienced the satisfaction, the surprise, almost the ecstasy, which attend its successful evolution-when one after another of the obstructions is removed, and one after another of our favourite objects is seen for the first time in its proper point of view, until the whole scene which had been preconceived by the prophetic

eye of taste, is made to stand forth entire in all its completeness and all its loveliness.

Besides the other qualities which the successful performance of thinning requires, no one is more necessary than a certain species of courage and firmness. In order to carry into execution a plan of uniform character, such as every plan for the improvement of landscape scenery ought to be, it will often be necessary to doom to the axe many a beautiful and promising plant; and misgivings may sometimes come over the mind of the sternest improver, whether he is really pursuing the proper course-whether another and a more beautiful picture might not be formed, by leaving another class of objects, and by cutting out some that he has determined to spare. He may have many doubts, whether he should leave in one spot a handsome beech or plane, or a promising and thriving oak. He may even be sorely tried by the petitions and solicitations of the young and the fair, to spare this or that favourite which he has doomed to destruction, and of which his plan demands the entire removal. But after all, the decision must be made; the resolution, once cautiously formed, must be adhered to; the directing mind must throw aside all these weak compunctious visitings; and his commands, once issued, must be absolute and despo

tic.

In cutting, we are not merely to consider the immediate effect. We are to consider that a tree never stands still. We must not limit our view to the present, but look forward to what is to be the result of future growth. Keeping this in view, an experienced woodman will often find it necessary or expedient to carry the thinning operation farther than the mere landscape amateur, judging from immediate effect, would desire. He is not alarmed, in thinning a young and thriving wood, when he finds that the removal of a particular tree or trees has left rather a larger gap than he had anticipated, or that some of his newly thinned trees are rather more bare of branches than a lover of beauty would desire. He knows that in a few years at the most these apparent defects will disappear, that the

growth of one or two seasons will be sufficient to remove much of this bareness, fill up the unsightly gaps, give a fulness and roundness to the forms, take away the hard and raw effect of recent cutting, and restore the rich and harmonious appearance of old and natural wood.

One important matter in the arrangement of a country residence, The must always be the walks. formation of these must go hand and hand with every thing else. It is always desirable, in laying out new plantations, to leave walks or drives through them, by which they may be accessible at all times, so that their state and progress may be more easily ascertained, and so as sheltered walks may be had as soon as they come to increase in growth. Sometimes, when this has been neglected, or when the original walks are found insufficient, it is necessary to cut new ones. In all cases the object is the same, to obtain an easy access through the most beautiful parts of the grounds, and particularly to those points where the best and most extensive views are to be had, or where any particular scene or object exists. that may deserve the attention of a visitor. With this view, paths should be cut in a winding manner, and with an easy ascent, so as to afford access to the highest wooded prominences in the hills. It will generally be desirable to have these terminated by a seat, where an opening may be made in the wood to afford a view; and seats may be disposed at various points, so as to afford at the same time rest to the weary, and variety of prospect to lovers of the picturesque. The banks of a river ought in all cases to be made accessible by some kind of walk or road; and every steep bank, or hanging wood, should be intersected with walks in all directions. These paths through the woods should not be made like garden walks, covered with gravel, and kept trim by the hoe and the roller. The expense of keeping walks in this style, if they are as extensive as we would wish them to be, is quite enormous; and putting expense out of the question, they are not in character with woodland scenery, which ought to be natural and easy, not associated with the idea of any great labour in the

keeping. We would have them, both on the score of economy and taste, to resemble as much as possible the ordinary, footpaths, formed by the passage of the country people and labourers; and the only way we know of making them look like this, is that they should actually be so. We have no idea of that dull aristocratic and selfish spirit which would exclude servants and labourers from the grounds of a gentleman or nobleman's place. On the contrary, if we had a place of our own, the greater and more splendid it might be, we would think it the more desirable that its beauties should be seen and appreciated by all and sundry. We would think that our lawns and walks acquired an accession of cheerfulness by the occasional appearance of human figures gliding among the trees, or appearing through the openings. We would have no objection, and would even enjoy, to hear amidst these scenes "The ploughman's whistle, or the milkmaid's song ;"

and hard would be his heart who would refuse the accommodation of a rustic seat to "talking age or whispering lovers." We would delight to see the sons and daughters of labour, upon the morning or afternoon of their weekly holydays, coming in little parties and in their best array, with content in their looks and respect in their demeanour, to survey the beauties which nature has spread, and which should be enjoyed alike by all.

By allowing your walks and footpaths through the woods to be used by the labourers, in going to and returning from their work, they will be kept plain and beaten, and just in that state that is desirable for a footpath. If not used in this way, they will soon become overgrown with grass and weeds, and will require to be cleaned two or three times a-year by hand labour, an expense which will be almost entirely saved by following the simple plan we have mentioned. Nothing more will be necessary than to go over them once a-year, and repair any little damage that accident may have occasioned, by removing stones and other rubbish which may have fallen down upon them; for this a very little at

tention will suffice,after the paths are once brought into a proper state.

There is one feature in scenery, which has received little or no attention from our professed landscape improvers, but which it would be unpardonable to omit in any account professing to treat of the scenery and landscape of Scotland. We allude to the glens and ravines, with which almost every part of the country abounds, both in the Highlands and Lowlands, formed by the narrow beds and more or less precipitous banks of those innumerable rivulets and mountain streams, by which the hilly grounds are everywhere indented and intersected. The characters of these glens are as diverse as that of the countries they intersect, varying from the mildest and richest beauty, up to the sublime of savage horror. Rock, wood, and water, form the materials of them all, but these are combined in a variety that may well be called infinite. In Glencoe, we see every variety of rugged and precipitous rocks, frowning around in terrific majesty. In the ravine of the Foyers, this is combined with the rush and roar of mighty cataracts. Less terrific than these, are the ravine and falls already mentioned of Bruar, the Cauldron Linn upon the Devon, and various parts of Glen Tilt, where the scenes formed by precipitous rocks and foaming waterfalls, are softened and shaded by overhanging woods and vocal groves. From these we pass to the fairy bowers of Moness, the far-famed Birks of Aberfeldy, the description of which by our rustic bard is not more poetical than literally correct.

"The braes ascend like lofty wa's, The foaming stream deep roaring fa's, O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,

The Birks of Aberfeldy.

"The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, White o'er the linns the burnie pours, And rising weets wi' misty showers

The Birks of Aberfeldy."

From these scenes, in which the sublime and the picturesque are blended in happiest union with the beautiful, we may descend, without much feeling of regret, to those quieter scenes of gentle beauty to be found so often in the deep wind

ings of our lowland valleys. Need we do more than mention the classic retreats of Roslin and Hawthornden? These are well known, and generally visited by all strangers of taste; but they are merely a specimen, a favourable one perhaps, of a kind of scenery which, to one who is fond of exploring nature's secret haunts, may be found in hundreds and thousands of places in the Scottish lowlands, many of which are little known or heard of even among those who live within a few miles of them. One such we know, which, without any pretensions to grandeur of character, or greatness of dimension, contains within a very narrow space, almost every variety of picturesque beauty. In one turn of the valley, the rivulet winds round a mass of rock, forming a peninsula, on which grows and flourishes a vigorous oak, fed by the scanty soil with which the rock is covered; while other aged trees, spreading their branches over the rushing stream, form a grateful shade impervious even at noon-day. In another spot, a space of level ground affords room for two or three smiling cottages, whose whitened walls and smoking chimneys give this part of the valley a look of cheerfulness and happy retirement. Behind this, but quite out of sight of the cottages, the rivulet precipitates itself into a darksome den, forming a cascade of no great height, but the sound of which is reverberated from the opposite rocks, in such a way as to give it the effect of a much larger fall. The opposite bank, above the rocks, is steep and high, covered with hazels and other brushwood, while a few picturesque firs, happily placed, vary its outline, and offer good objects for the pencil. Farther up, the rivulet works its way over a rocky but not a steep bed, round another field or haugh overhung with woods, chiefly oak, growing upon the surrounding banks. From this we pass to another narrow den, where a rustic bridge has been thrown across, just below another little fall entirely shaded with oaks and hazels. Above this, on one side, we have a small but neat picturesque plat of greensward, girt round with magnificent oaks, through which we see the rivulet brawling down its rocky

course; and beyond it a fine hanging bank of wood of considerable height, almost excluding the light of the sun. The wood on the other side is thinner, and of no great depth, but the trees are of considerable age and dimensions. This green plat, with its accompaniments, have struck more than one, as suited to the performance of the play in the Midsummer Night's Dream.

Passing from this scene, we have on the left a frowning rock of considerable height. Part of this is bare and overhanging; on either side is a continuation of the same rock, partially covered with soil and shaded by trees, some of them bent and hanging over in picturesque and varied forms; the peeps and views through which at various points, might afford endless studies to the young painter.

Above this, we have another glade or opening, the steep banks opposite covered with wood, and shewing occasional points of rock and trees, in conspicuous and picturesque positions. Another turn of the glen brings us just over a third fall, or rather rapid, which we hear only, but do not perfectly see, owing to the steepness of the bank and the thickness of the underwood. The effect of the rushing water here, joined with the shade of the trees, is refreshing, and invites to rest on one of the numerous seats. Farther on we have another den, still narrower and darker than any of the preceding, at the head of which we have a fourth fall entirely closed in with rocks, trees, and undergrowth. Nothing can exceed the coolness and the sense of entire seclusion inspired by this scene, when we descend to the surface of the water in a panting summer's day. Above this point, the country opens, the glen loses its character of seclusion, and the rivulet appears to wind through fields of a tame and ordinary cast. In returning, however, we have an opportunity of viewing the same objects from above, in totally different points of view, from which they sometimes appear in such a way as to produce the happiest effects; every step we take affording a different combina tion.

Our readers may perhaps be tired of the minuteness of this descrip