mm %*^wmm /;:-';;«•;. r n-! \ ;rY'fi<*vy$ - \mm\Wti t; n n : !i! vr li Ic mm$>.w& * i f vV ' ; : ^ iPl»?rp.«?r'S fllMliK ! I LIBRARY OF'THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. GIF"T OF" .^**jr...e_ \..^M. I .MJIill n r a I (& s s a j s THE LIBRARY : EESIDENCE OF THE LATE A. J. DOWNING. NEW YOElv: LEAVITT & ALLEN 1858. RURAL ESSAYS. BY A. J. DOWNING. EDITED, WITH A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR, BY GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS, AND A LETTER TO HIS FRIENDS, BY FREDERIKA BREMER. or THE UNIVERSITY O NEW YOBK : LEAVITT & ALLEN, 379 BEOADWAY. 1857. ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by GEORGE P. PUTNAM & CO., in the -Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New-Xork. JOHN F. PRINTER AND STEREOTYPM, 879 Broadway. PREFACE. rTVHIS posthumous volume completes the series of Mr. •*• Downing's works. It comprises, with one or two ex- ceptions, all his editorial papers in the " Horticulturist." The Editor has preferred to retain their various temporary allusions, hecause they serve to remind the reader of the circumstances under which the articles were prepared. Mr. Downing had designed a work upon the Shade-Trees of the United States, but left no notes upon the subject. In the preparation of the memoir, the Editor has been indebted to a sketch in the Knickerbocker Magazine, by Mrs. Monell, of Newburgh, to Mr. Wilder' s eulogy before the Pomological Congress, and to an article in the " New- York Quarterly," by Clarence Cook, Esq. The tribute to the genius and character of Downing IV PREFACE. by Miss Brerner, although addressed to all his friends, has the unreserved warmth of a private letter. No man has lived in vain who has inspired such regard in such a woman. NEW-YOKK, April, 1853. CONTENTS. PAGE MEMOIRS xi LETTER FROM MISS BREMER . bd HORTICULTURE. I. INTRODUCTORY ....... 3 II. HINTS ON FLOWER-GARDENS ..... 6 IH. INFLUENCE OF HORTICULTURE . . . " . .13 IV. A TALK WITH FLORA AND POMONA . . . . 18 V. A CHAPTER ON ROSES . . . ...... .24 VI. A CHAPTER ON GREEN-HOUSES ... 35 VH. ON FEMININE TASTE IN RURAL AFFAIRS . . .44 VHI. ECONOMY IN GARDENING .... 55 IX. A LOOK ABOUT us ..... 60 X. A SPRING GOSSIP . . . . . . 65 XI. THE GREAT DISCOVERY IN VEGETATION . 72 XII. STATE AND PROSPECTS OF HORTICULTURE ... 77 XIII. AMERICAN vs. BRITISH HORTICULTURE . . . .83 XIV. ON THE DRAPERY OF COTTAGES AND GARDENS . 88 VI CONTENTS. LANDSCAPE GARDENING. PAGB I. TIIE PHILOSOPHY OF RURAL TASTE . . . 101 II. THE BEAUTIFUL IN GROUND . . . . 106 III. HINTS TO RURAL IMPROVERS . . . . .110 IV. A FEW HINTS ON LANDSCAPE GARDENING . . . 119 V. ON THE MISTAKES OF CITIZENS IN COUNTRY LIFE . .123 VL CITIZENS RETIRING TO THE COUNTRY . . . . 131 VII. A TALK ABOUT PUBLIC PARKS AND GARDENS . . . 138 VIII. THE NEW- YORK PARK . . .... 147 IX. PUBLIC CEMETERIES AND PUBLIC GARDENS . . . 154 X. HOW TO CHOOSE A SlTE FOR A COUNTRY-SEAT . . 160 XL HOW TO ARRANGE COUNTRY PLACES . . . .166 XII. THE MANAGEMENT OF LARGE COUNTRY PLACES . 172 XIIL COUNTRY PLACES IN AUTUMN . . . . .177 XIV. A CHAPTER ON LAWNS . . . . 181 XV. MR, TUDOR'S GARDEN AT NAHANT . . . .188 XVI. A VISIT TO MONTGOMERY PLACE . . . . 192 RURAL ARCHITECTURE. I. A FEW WORDS ON RURAL ARCHITECTURE . . . 205 II. MORAL INFLUENCE OF GOOD HOUSES .... 209 ILL A FEW WORDS ON OUR PROGRESS IN BUILDING . . 214 IV. COCKNEYISM IN THE COUNTRY ..... 224 V. ON THE IMPROVEMENTS OF COUNTRY VILLAGES . . 229 VL OUR COUNTRY VILLAGES ..... 236 VIL ON SIMPLE RURAL COTTAGES .... 244 VIIL ON THE COLOR OF COUNTRY HOUSES . . . 252 IX. A SHORT CHAPTER ON COUNTRY CHURCHES . . . 260 X. A CHAPTER ON SCHOOL-HOUSES ..... 265 XL How TO BUILD ICE-HOUSES , ,271 XH. THE FAVORITE POISON OF AMERICA . . . ,278 TREES. L THE BEAUTIFUL IN A TREE .... 289 II. How TO POPULARIZE THE TASTE FOR PLANTING 293 CONTENTS. HI PAGE HI. ON PLANTING SHADE-TREES . . . . .299 IV. TREES IN TOWNS AND VILLAGES . . . . 303 V. SHADE-TREES IN CITIES . . . . . .311 VI. RARE EVERGREEN TREES . . . . . SI 9 VII. A WORD IN FAVOR OF EVERGREENS . . . 327 VIII. THE CHINESE MAGNOLIAS ..... 335 IX. THE NEGLECTED AMERICAN PLANTS . . . .339 X. THE ART OF TRANSPLANTING TREES .... 343 XI. ON TRANSPLANTING LARGE TREES .... 349 XII. A CHAPTER ON HEDGES ..... 357 XIII. ON THE EMPLOYMENT OF ORNAMENTAL TREES AND SHRUBS IN NORTH AMERICA . . . . . . . 374 AGRICULTURE. I. CULTIVATORS, — THE GREAT INDUSTRIAL CLASS OF AMERICA . 385 II. THE NATIONAL IGNORANCE OF THE AGRICULTURAL INTEREST . 390 III. THE HOME EDUCATION OF THE RURAL DISTRICTS . . . 396 IV. HOW TO ENRICH THE SOIL ..... 404 V. A CHAPTER ON AGRICULTURAL SCHOOLS . . . .410 VI. A FEW WORDS ON THE KITCHEN GARDEN . . . 416 VII. A CHAT IN THE KITCHEN GARDEN .... 421 VIII. WASHINGTON, THE FARMER .... 427 FRUIT. I. A FEW WORDS ON FRUIT CULTURE . . . .435 II. THE FRUITS IN CONVENTION . . . . 442 HI. THE PHILOSOPHY OF MANURING ORCHARDS . . . 452 IV. THE VINEYARDS OF THE WEST .... 463 V. ON THE IMPROVEMENT OF VEGETABLE RACES . . .468 LETTERS FROM ENGLAND. I. WARWICK CASTLE: KENILWORTH: STRATFORD-ON-AVON . 475 H. KEW-GARDENS : NEW HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT : A NOBLEMAN'S SEAT . . . . . . . 485 III. CHATSWORTH . . . 497 Till CONTENTS. PAGB IV. ENGLISH TRAVELLING: HADDON HALL: MATLOCK: THE DEKBY ARBORETUM : BOTANIC GARDEN IN REGENT'S PARK . 510 V. THE ISLE OF WIGHT . . . . . .522 VL "WOBURN ABBEY ..... 532 VII. DROPMORE. — ENGLISH RAILWAYS. — SOCIETY . . 538 THE LONDON PARKS ... 647 MEMOIR MEMOIR. A NDREW JACKSON DOWNING was born at New- -IJL burgh, upon the Hudson, on the spot where he always lived, and which he always loved more than any other, on the 30th of October, 1815. His father and mother were both natives of Lexington, Massachusetts, and, upon their marriage, removed to Orange County, New- York, where they settled, some thirty or forty miles from Newburgh. Presently, however, they came from the interior of the county to the banks of the river. The father built a cot- tage upon the highlands of Newburgh, on the skirts of the ttwn, and there his five children were born. He had begun life as a wheelwright, but abandoned the trade to become a nurseryman, and after working prosperously in his garden for twenty-one years, died in 1822. Andrew was born many years after the other children. He was the child of his parents' age, and, for that reason, very dear. He began to talk before he could walk, when he was only nine months old, and the wise village gossips shook their heads in his mother's little cottage, and pro- phesied a bright career for the precocious child. At eleven months that career manifestly began, in the gossips' eyes, by his walking bravely about the room : a handsome, Xll MEMOIR. cheerful, intelligent child; but quiet and thoughtful, pet- ted by the elder brothers and sister, standing sometimes in the door, as he grew older, and watching the shadows of the clouds chase each other over the Fishkill mountains upon the opposite side of the river ; soothed by the uni- versal silence of the country, while the constant occupation of the father, and of the brother who worked with him in the nursery, made the boy serious, by necessarily leaving him much alone. In the little cottage upon the Newburgh higt lands, looking down upon the broad bay which the Hudson river there makes, before winding in a narrow stream through the highlands of West Point, and looking eastward across the river to the Fishkill hiUs, which rise gradually from the bank into a gentle mountain boldness, and northward, up the river, to shores that do not obstruct the horizon, — passed the first years of the boy's life, thus early befriend- ing him with one of the loveliest of landscapes. While his father and brother were pruning and grafting their trees, and the other brother was busily at work in the comb fac- tory, where he was employed, the young Andrew ran alone about the garden, playing his solitary games in the pre- sence of the scene whose influence helped to mould his life, and which, even so early, filled his mind with images of rural beauty. His health, like that of most children born in their parents' later years, was not at all robust. The father, watching the slight form glancing among his trees, and the mother, aware of her boy sitting silent and thoughtful, had many a pang of apprehension, which was not relieved by the ominous words of the gossips that it was " hard to raise these smart children," — the homely modern echo of the old Greek fancy, " Whom the gods love die young." MEMOIR, Xlll The mother, a thrifty housekeeper and a religious wo- man, occupied with her many cares, cooking, mending, scrubbing, and setting things to rights, probably looked forward with some apprehension to the future condition of her sensitive Benjamin, even if he lived. The dreamy, shy ways of the boy were not such as indicated the stern stuff that enables poor men's children to grapple with the world. Left to himself, his will began to grow imperious. The busy mother could not severely scold her ailing child ; but a sharp rebuke had probably often been pleasanter to him than the milder treatment that resulted from affec- tionate compassion, but showed no real sympathy. It is evident, from the tone in which he always spoke of his childhood, that his recollections of it were not alto- gether agreeable. It was undoubtedly clouded by a want of sympathy, which he could not understand at the time, but which appeared plainly enough when his genius came into play. It is the same kind of clouded childhood that so often occurs in literary biography, where there was great mutual affection and no ill feeling, but a lack of that in- stinctive apprehension of motives and aims, which makes each one perfectly tolerant of each other. When Andrew was seven years old, his father died, and his elder brother succeeded to the management of the nursery business. Andrew's developing tastes led him to the natural sciences, to botany and mineralogy. As he grew older he began to read the treatises upon these favor- ite subjects, and went, at length, to an academy at Mont- gomery, a town not far from Newburgh, and in the same county. Those who remember him here, speak of him as a thoughtful, reserved boy, looking fixedly out of his large, dark brown eyes, and carrying his brow a little inclined forward, as if slightly defiant. He was a poor boy, and XIV MEMOIR. very proud. Doubtless that indomitable will had already resolved that he should not be the least of the men that he and his schoolfellows would presently become. He was shy, and made few friends among the boys. He kept his own secrets, and his companions do not remember that he gave any hint, while at Montgomery Academy, of his peculiar power. Neither looking backward nor forward, was the prospect very fascinating to his dumb, and proba- bly a little dogged, ambition. Behind were the few first years of childhood, sickly, left much alone in the cottage and garden, with nothing in those around him (as he felt without knowing it) that strictly sympathized with him ; and yet, as always in such cases, of a nature whose devel- opment craved the most generous sympathy : these few years, too, cast among all the charms of a landscape which the Fishkill hills lifted from littleness, and the broad river inspired with a kind of grandeur ; years, which the univer- sal silence of the country, always so imposing to young imaginations, and the rainbow pomp of the year, as it came and went up and down the river-banks and over the mountains, and the general solitude of country life, were not very likely to enliven. Before, lay a career of hard work in a pursuit which rarely enriches the workman, with little apparent promise of leisure to pursue his studies or to follow his tastes. It is natural enough, that in the midst of such prospects, the boy, delicately organized to appreciate his position, should have gone to his recitations and his play in a very silent — if not stern: — manner, all the more reserved and silent for the firm resolution to master and not be mastered. It is hard to fancy that he was ever a blithe boy. The gravity of maturity came early upon him. Those who saw him only in later years can, probably, easily see the boy at Montgomery Academy, MEMOIR. XV by fancying him quite as they knew him, less twenty or twenty-five years. One by one, the boys went from the academy to college, or into business, and when Andrew was sixteen years old, he also left the academy and return- ed home. He, too, had been hoping to go to college; but the family means forbade. His mother, anxious to see him early settled, urged him, as his elder brothers were both doing well in business — the one as a nurseryman, and the other, who had left the comb factory,- practis- ing ably and prosperously as a physician — to enter as a clerk into a drygoods store. That request explains the want of delight with which he remembered his childhood : because it shows that his good, kind mother, in the midst of her baking, and boiling, and darning the children's stockings, made no allowance — as how should she, not being able to perceive them — for the possibly very positive tastes of her boy. Besides, the first duty of each member of the poor household was, as she justly con- ceived, to get a living ; and as Andrew was a delicate child, and could not lift and carry much, nor brave the chances of an out-door occupation, it was better that he should be in the shelter of a store. • He, however, a youth of sixteen years, fresh from the studies, and dreams, and hopes of the Montgomery Academy, found his first duty to be the gentle withstanding of his mother's wish ; and quite willing to " settle," if he could do it in his own way, joined his brother in the management of the nursery. He had no doubt of his vocation. Since it was clear that he must directly do something, his fine taste and exquisite appreciation of natural beauty, his love of natural forms, and the processes and phenomena of natural life, im- mediately determined his choice. Not in vain had his XVI MEMOIR. eyes first looked upon the mountains and the river. Those silent companions of his childhood claimed their own in the spirit with which the youth entered upon his profes- sion. To the poet's eye began to be added the philoso- pher's mind ; and the great spectacle of Nature which he had loved as beauty, began to enrich his life as knowledge. Yet I remember, as showing that with all his accurate science he was always a poet, he agreed in many con- versations that the highest enjoyment of beauty was quite independent of use ; and that while the pleasure of a botanist who could at once determine the family and species of a plant, and detail all the peculiarities and fit- ness of its structure, was very great and inappreciable, yet that it was upon a lower level than the instinctive delight in the beauty of the same flower. The botanist could not have the highest pleasure in the flower if he were not a poet. The poet would increase the variety of his pleasure, if he were a botanist. It was this constant sub- jection of science to the sentiment of beauty that made him an artist, and did not leave him an artisan ; and his science was always most accurate and profound, because the very depth and delicacy of his feeling for beauty gave him the utmost patience to learn, and the greatest rapidity to adapt, the means of organizing to the eye the ideal image in his mind. About this time the Baron de Liderer, the Austrian Consul General, who had a summer retreat in Newburgh, began to notice the youth, whose botanical -and mineral- ogical tastes so harmonized with his own. Nature keeps fresh the feelings of her votaries, and the Baron, although an old man, made hearty friends with Downing ; and they explored together the hills and lowlands of the neighbor- hood, till it had no more vegetable nor mineral secrets from MEMOIR. XVil ,viain;siasts. Downing always kept in the hall of his . a cabinet; containing mineralogical specimens col- lected^ iii those excursions. At the house of the Baron, also, and in th&t of his wealthy neighbor, Edward Arm- strong, Downing discovered how subtly cultivation refines men as wsll ao plants, and there first met that polished society whose elegance and grace could not fail to charm him as essential to tb.e aicst satisfactory intercourse, while it presented the most entry contrast to the associations of his childhood. It is not difficult to fancy the lonely child, playing unheeded in the garden, and the dark, shy boy, of the Montgomery Academy, meating with a thrill of satisfac- tion, as if he had been waiting for them, the fine gentle- men and ladies at the Consul General' o, and the wealthy neighbor's, Mr. Armstrong, at whose country-seat he was in- troduced to Mr. Charles Augustus Murray > when, for the first time, he saw one of the class that he never ceased to honor for their virtues and graces — the English gentleman. At this time, also, the figure of Kaphael Hoyle, an English / landscape painter, flits across his history. Congenial in taste and feeling, and with varying knowledge, the two young men rambled together over the country near New- burgh, and while Hoyle caught upon canvas the colors and forms of the flowers, and the outline of the landscape, Downing instructed him in their history and habits, until they wandered from the actual scene into discussions dear to both, of art, and life, and beauty ; or the artist piqued the imagination of his friend with stories of English parks, and of Italian vineyards, and of cloud-capped Alps, embracing every zone and season, as they rose, — while the untravelled youth looked across the river to the Fish- Mil hills, and imagined Switzerland. This soon ended. Raphael Hoyle died. The living book of travel and XY111 MEMOIR. romantic experience, in which the youth who had wandered no farther than to Montgomery Academy and to the top of the South Beacon, — the highest hill of the Fishkiil range, — had so deeply read of scenes and a life that suited him, was closed forever. Little record is left of these years of application, of work, and study. The Fishkiil hills and the broad river, in whose presence he had always lived, and the quiet country around Newburgh, which he had BO thoroughly ex- plored, began to claim some visible token of their influence. It is pleasant to know that his first literary works were re- cognitions of their charms. It shows the intellectual integ- rity of the man that, despite glowing hopes and restless ambition for other things, his first essay was written from his experience ; it was a description of the " Danskamer," or Devil's Dancing-Ground — a point on the Hudson, seven miles above Newburgh — published in the New- York Mirror. A description of Beacon Hill followed. He wrote, then, a discussion of novel-reading, and some botanical papers, which were published in a Boston journal. Whether he was discouraged by the ill success of these attempts, or perceived that he was not yet sufficient mas- ter of his resources to present them properly to the public, does not appear, but he published nothing more for several years. Perhaps he knew that upon the subjects to which his natural tastes directed his studies, nothing but experience spoke with authority. Whatever the reason of his silence, however, he worked on unyieldingly, studying, proving, succeeding ; finding time, also, to read the poets and the philosophers, and to gain that familiarity with elegant literature which always graced his own composition. Of this period of his life, little record, but great results, remain. With his pen, and books, and microscope, in the MEMOIR. XIX red house, and his priming-knife and sharp eye in the nursery and garden, he was learning, adapting, and tri- umphing,— and also, doubtless, dreaming and resolving. If any stranger wishing to purchase trees at the nursery of the Messrs. Downing, in Newburgh, had visited that pleasant town, and transacted business with the younger partner, he would have been perplexed to understand why the younger partner with his large knowledge, his remark- able power of combination, his fine taste, his rich cultiva- tion, his singular force and precision of expression, his evi- dent mastery of his profession, was not a recognized authority in it, and why he had never been heard of. For it was remarkable in Downing, to the end, that he always attracted attention and excited speculation. The boy of the Montgomery Academy carried that slightly defiant head into the arena of life, and seemed always too much a critical observer not to challenge wonder, sometimes, even, to excite distrust. That was the eye which in the vege- table world had scanned the law through the appearance, and followed through the landscape the elusive line of beauty. It was a full, firm, serious eye. He did not smile with his eyes as many do, but they held you as in a grasp, looking from under their cover of dark brows. The young man, now twenty years old or more, and hard at work, began to visit the noble estates upon the banks of the Hudson, to extend his experience, and confirm his nascent theories of art in landscape-gardening. Study- ing in the red cottage, and working in the nursery upon the Newburgh highlands, he had early seen that in a new, and unworked, and quite boundless country, with every variety of kindly climate and available soil, where fortunes arose in a night, an opportunity was offered to Art, of achieving a new and characteristic triumph. To touch XX MEMOIR. the continent lying chaotic, in mountain, and lake, and forest, with a finger that should develop all its resources of beauty, for the admiration and benefit of its children, seemed to him a task worthy the highest genius. This was the dream that dazzled the silent years of his life in the garden, and inspired and strengthened him in every exertion. As he saw more and more of the results of this spirit in the beautiful Hudson country-seats, he was, naturally, only the more resolved. To lay out one garden well, in conformity with the character of the sur- rounding landscape, in obedience to the truest taste, and to make a man's home, and its grounds, and its accesso- ries, as genuine works of art as any picture or statue that the owner had brought over the sea, was, in his mind, the first step toward the great result. At the various places upon the river, as he visited them from time to time, he was received as a gentleman, a scho- lar, and the most practical man of the party, would neces- sarily be welcomed. He sketched, he measured ; " in a walk he plucks from an overhanging bough a single leaf, examines its color, form and structure ; inspects it with his microscope, and, having recorded his observations, pre- sents it to his friend, and invites him to study it, as sug- gestive of some of the first principles of rural architecture and economy." No man enjoyed society more, and none ever lost less time. His pleasure trips from point to point upon the river were the excursions of the honey-bee into the flower. He returned richly laden ; and the young partner, feeling from childhood the necessity of entire self- dependence, continued to live much alone, to be reserved, but always affable and gentle. These travels were usually brief, and strictly essential to his education. He was wisely getting ready ; it would be so fatal to speak without autho- MEMOIR. XXI rity, and authority came only with much observation and many years. But, during these victorious incursions into the realms of experience, the younger partner had himself been con- quered. Directly opposite the red cottage, upon the other side of the river, at Fishkill Landing, lay, under blossoming locust trees, the estate and old family mansion of John P. De Wint, Esq. The place had the charms of a " moated grange," and was quite the contrast of the ele- gant care and incessant cultivation that marked the grounds of the young man in Newburgh. But the fine old place, indolently lying in luxuriant decay, was the seat of bound- less hospitality and social festivity. The spacious piazzas, and the gently sloping lawn, which made the foreground of one of the most exquisite glimpses of the Hudson, rang all summer long with happy laughter. Under those blossom- ing locust trees were walks that led to the shore, and the moon hanging over Cro' Nest recalled to all loiterers along the bank the loveliest legends of the river. In winter the revel shifted from the lawn to the frozen river. One such gay household is sufficient nucleus for endless enjoyment. From the neighboring West Point, only ten miles distant came gallant young officers, boating in summer, and skat- ing in winter, to serenade under the locusts, or join thf dance upon the lawn. Whatever was young and gay wag drawn into the merry maelstrom, and the dark-haired boy from Newburgh, now grown, somehow, to be a gentleman of quiet and polished manners, found himself, even when in the grasp of the scientific coils of Parmentier, Kepton, Price, Loudon, Lindley, and the rest, — or busy with knife, clay, and grafts, — dreaming of the grange beyond the river, and of the Marianna he had found there. Summer lay warm upon the hills and river ; the land- XX1J MEMOIR. scape was yet untouched by the scorching July heats ; and on the seventh of June, 1838, — he being then in his twenty-third year, — Downing was married to Caroline, eldest daughter of J. P. De Wint, Esq. At this time, he dissolved the business connection with his elder brother, and continued the nursery by himself. There were other changes also. The busy mother of his childhood was busy no longer. She had now been for several years an invalid, unable even to walk in the garden. She continued to live in the little red cottage which Downing afterwards re- moved to make way for a green-house. Her sons were men now, and her daughter a woman. The necessity for her own exertion was passed, and her hold upon Hie was gradually loosened, until she died in 1839. Downing now considered himself ready to begin the career for which he had so long been preparing ; and very properly his first work was his own house, built in the gar- den of his father, and only a few rods from the cottage in which he was born. It was a simple house, in an Eliz- abethan style, by which he designed to prove that a beau- tiful, and durable, and convenient mansion, could be built as cheaply as a poor and tasteless temple, which seemed to be, at that time, the highest American conception of a fine residence. In this design he entirely succeeded. His house, which did not, however, satisfy his maturer eye, was externally very simple, but extremely elegant ; indeed, its chief impression was that of elegance. Internally it was spacious and convenient, very gracefully proportioned and finished, and marked every where by the same spirit. Wherever the eye fell, it detected that a wiser eye had been before it. All the forms and colors, the style of the furniture, the frames of the mirrors and pictures, the pat- terns of the carpets, were harmonious, and it was a har- MEMOIR. xxiii mouy at* easily achieved by taste as discord by vulgarity. There was no painful conformity, no rigid monotony , there wa3 i^otbiag finical nor foppish in this elegance — it was the necessary result of knowledge and skill. While the house was building, he lived with his wife at her father's. He personally superintended the work, which went briskly forward. From the foot of the Fishkill hills beyond the river, other eyes superintended it, also, scan- ning, with a telescope, the Newburgh garden and growing house ; and, possibly, from some lude telegraph, as a white cloth upon a tree, or a blot of black paint upon a smooth board, Hero knew whether at evening to expect her Le- ander. The house was at length finished. A graceful and beautiful building stood in the garden, higher and hand- somer than the little red cottage — a very pregnant symbol to any poet who should chance that way and hear the history of the architect. Once fairly established in his house, it became the seat of the most gracious hospitality, and was a beautiful illus- tration of that " rural home " upon whose influence Down- ing counted so largely for the education and intelligent patriotism of his countrymen. His personal exertions were unremitting. He had been for some time projecting a work upon his favorite art of Landscape Gardening, and presently began to throw it into form. His time for liter- ary labor was necessarily limited by his superintendence of the nursery. But the book was at length completed, and in the year 1841, the Author being then twenty-six years old, Messrs. Wiley & Putnam published in New- York and London, "A Treatise on the Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening, adapted to North America, with a view to the Improvement of Country Kesidences. With XXIV MEMOIR. Kemarks on Rural Architecture. By A. J. Downing." The most concise and comprehensive definition of Land- scape Gardening that occurs in his works, is to be found in the essay, " Hints on Landscape Gardening." " It is an art," he says, " which selects from natural materials that abound in any country its best sylvan features, and by giving them a better opportunity than they could otherwise obtain, brings about a higher beauty of de- velopment and a more perfect expression than nature herself offers." The preface of the book is quite with- out pretence. "The love of country," says our author, with a gravity that overtops his years, "is inseparably connected with the love of home. Whatever, therefore, leads man to assemble the comforts and elegancies of life around his habitation, tends to increase local attach- ments, and render domestic life more delightful ; thus, not only augmenting his own enjoyment, but strengthening his patriotism, and making him a better citizen. And there is no employment or recreation which affords the mind greater or more permanent satisfaction than that of cultivating the earth and adorning our own property. ' God Almighty first planted a garden ; and, indeed, it is the parent of human pleasures/ says Lord Bacon. And as the first man was shut out from the garden, in the cul- tivation of which no alloy was mixed with his happiness, the desire to return to it seems to be implanted by nature, more or less strongly, in every heart." This book passed to instant popularity, and became a classic, invaluable to the thousands in every part of the country who were waiting for the master-word which should tell them what to do to make their homes as beau- tiful as they wished. Its fine scholarship in the literature and history of rural art ; its singular dexterity in stating MEMOIR. XXV the great principles of taste, and their application to actual circumstances, with a clearness that satisfied the dullest mind ; its genial grace of style, illuminated by the sense of that beauty which it was its aim to indicate, and with a cheerfulness which is one of the marked characteristics of Downing as an author ; the easy mastery of the subject, and its intrinsic interest ; — all these combined to secure to the book the position it has always occupied. The tes- timony of the men most competent to speak with author- ity in the matter was grateful, because deserved, praise. London, the editor of " Kepton's Landscape Gardening," and perhaps at the time the greatest living critic in the department of rural art, at once declared it "a masterly work ;" and after quoting freely from its pages, remarked : " We have quoted largely from this work, because in so doing we think we shall give a just idea of the great merit of the author/' Dr. Lindley, also, in his " Gardener's Chronicle/' dissented from " some minor points," but said : " On the whole, we know of no work in which the fundamental principles of this profession are so well or so concisely expressed : " adding, " No English landscape gardener has written so clearly, or with so much real in- tensity." The "quiet, thoughtful, and reserved boy" of the Montgomery Academy had thus suddenly displayed the talent which was not suspected by his school-fellows. The younger partner had now justified the expectation he aroused ; and the long, silent, careful years of study and experience insured the permanent value of the results he announced. The following year saw the publication of the " Cottage Kesidences," in which the principles of the first volume were applied in detail. For the same reason it achieved a success similar to the " Landscape Gardening/1 . XXVI MEMOIR. Eural England recognized its great value. Loudon said : " It cannot fail to be of great service." Another said : "We stretch our arm across the 'big water' to tendei our Yankee coadjutor an English shake and a cordial re- cognition." These welcomes from those who knew what and why they welcomed, founded Downing's authority in the minds of the less learned, while the simplicity of his own statements confirmed it. From the publication of the "Landscape Gardening" until his death, he continued to be the chief American authority in rural art. European honors soon began to seek the young gardener upon the Hudson. He had been for some time in corres- pondence with Loudon, and the other eminent men of the profession. He was now elected corresponding member of the Royal Botanic Society of London, of the Horticultural Societies of Berlin, the Low Countries, &c. Queen Anne of Denmark sent him " a magnificent ring," in acknow- ledgment of her pleasure in his works. But, as the years slowly passed, a sweeter praise saluted him than the Queen's ring, namely, the gradual improvement of the na- tional rural taste, and the universal testimony that it was due to Downing. It was found as easy to live in a hand- some house as in one that shocked all sense of propriety and beauty. The capabilities of the landscape began to develop themselves to the man who looked at it from his windows, with Downing's books in his hand. Mr. Wilder says that a gentleman " who is eminently qualified to form an enlightened judgment," declared that much of the im- provement that has taken place in this country during the last twelve years, in rural architecture and in ornamental gardening and planting, may be ascribed to him. Another gentleman, " speaking of suburban cottages in the West," says : " I asked the origin of so much taste, and was told MEMOIR. XXVll it might principally be traced to i Downing's Cottage Resi- dences ' and the i Horticulturist/ " He was naturally elect- ed an honorary member of most of the Horticultural Soci- eties in the country ; and as his interest in rural life was universal, embracing no less the soil and cultivation, than the plant, and flower, and fruit, with the residence of the cultivator, he received the same honor from the Agricultu- ral Associations. Meanwhile his studies were unremitting ; and in 1845 Wiley & Putnam published in New- York and London "The Fruits and Fruit Trees of America/7 a volume of six hundred pages. The duodecimo edition had only lineal drawings. The large octavo was illustrated with finely colored plates, executed in Pans, from drawings made in this country from the original fruits. It is a masterly resume of the results of American experience in the his- tory, character, and growth of fruit, to the date of its pub- lication. The fourteenth edition was published in the year 1852. It was in May of the year 1846 that I first saw Down- ing. A party was made up under the locusts to cross the river and pass the day at "Highland Gardens," as his place was named. The river at Newburgh is about a mile wide, and is crossed by a quiet country ferry, whence the view downward toward the West Point Highlands, Butter Hill, Sugar-Loaf, Cro' Nest, and Skunnymunk, is as beautiful a river view as can be seen upon a summer day. It was a merry party which crossed, that bright May morning, and broke, with ringing laughter, the silence of the river. Most of us were newly escaped from the city, where we had been blockaded by the winter for many months, and although often tempted by the warm days that came in March, opening the windows on Broadway and ranging XXV111 MEMOIR. the blossoming plants in them, to believe that summer had fairly arrived, we had uniformly found the spring to be that laughing lie which the poets insist it is not. There was no doubt longer, however. The country was so brilliant with the tender green that it seemed festally adorned, and it was easy enough to believe that human genius could have no lovelier nor loftier task than the development of these colors, and forms, and opportunities, into their greatest use and adaptation to human life. " God Almighty first planted a garden, and, indeed, it is the first of human pleasures/' Lord Bacon said it long ago, and the bright May morning echoed it, as we crossed the river. I had read Downing's books ; and they had given me the impression, naturally formed of one who truly said of himself, "Angry volumes of politics have we written none : but peaceful books, humbly aiming to weave something more into the fair garland of the beautiful and useful that encircles this excellent old earth." His image in my mind was idyllic. I looked upon him as a kind of pastoral poet. I had fancied a simple, abstracted cultivator, gentle and silent. We left the boat and drove to his house. The open gate admitted us to a smooth ave- nue. We had glimpses of an Arbor- Vitae hedge, — a small and exquisite lawn — rare and flowering trees, and bushes beyond — a lustrous and odorous thicket — a gleam of the river below — "a feeling" of the mountains across the river — and were at the same moment alighting at the door of the elegant mansion, in which stood, what ap- peared to me a tall, slight Spanish gentleman, with thick black hair worn very long, and dark eyes fixed upon me with a searching glance. He was dressed simply in a cos- tume fitted for the morning hospitalities of his house, or MEMOIR. XXIX for the study, or the garden. His welcoming smile was reserved, but genuine, — his manner singularly hearty and quiet, marked by the easy elegance and perfect savoir faire which would have adorned the Escurial. We passed into the library. The book-shelves were let into the wall, and the doors covered with glass. They occupied only part of the walls, and upon the space above each was a bracket with busts of Dante, Milton, Petrarch, Franklin, Linnaeus, and Scott. There was a large bay window opposite the fireplace. The forms and colors of this room were delight- ful. It was the retreat of an elegantly cultivated gentle- man. There were no signs of work except a writing-table, with pens, and portfolios, and piles of letters. Here we sat and conversed. Our host entered into every subject gayly and familiarly, with an appreciating deference to differences of opinion, and an evident tenacity of his own, all the while, which surprised me, as the pecu- liarity of the most accomplished man of the world. There was a certain aristocratic hauteur in his manner, a constant sense of personal dignity, which comported with the reserve of his smile and the quiet welcome. His intellectual atti- tude seemed to be one of curious criticism, as if he were sharply scrutinizing all that his affability of manner drew forth. No one had a readier generosity of acknowledgment, and there was a negative flattery in his address and atten- tion, which was very subtle and attractive. In all allu- sions to rural affairs, and matters with which he was entirely familiar, his conversation was not in the slightest degree pedantic, nor positive. He spoke of such things with the simplicity of a child talking of his toys. The workman, the author, the artist, were entirely subjugated in him to the gentleman. That was his favorite idea. The gentle- man was the full flower, of which all the others were sug- XXX MEMOIR. gestions and parts. The gentleman is, to the various pow- ers and cultivations of the man, what the tone is to the picture, which lies in no single color, but in the harmony of the whole. The gentleman is the final bloom of the man. But no man could be a gentleman without original nobleness of feeling and genuineness of character. Gentle- ness was developed from that by experience and study, as the delicate tinge upon precious fruits, by propitious circum- stances and healthy growth. In this feeling, which was a constituent of his charac- ter, lay the secret of the appearance of hauteur that was so often remarked in him, to which Miss Bremer al- ludes, and which all his friends perceived, more or less dis- tinctly. Its origin was, doubtless, twofold. It sprang first from his exquisite mental organization, which instinct- ively shrunk from whatever was coarse or crude, and which made his artistic taste so true and fine. That easily ex- tended itself to demand the finest results of men, as of trees, and fruits, and flowers ; and then committed the natural error of often accepting the appearance of this re- sult, where the fact was wanting. Hence he had a natural fondness for the highest circles of society- — a fondness as deeply founded as his love of the best possible fruits. His social tendency was constantly toward those to whom great wealth had given opportunity of that ameliorating culture, — of surrounding beautiful homes with beautiful grounds, and filling them with refined and beautiful persons, which is the happy fortune of few. Hence, also, the fact that his introduction to Mr. Murray was a remembered event, be- cause the mind of the boy instantly recognized that society to which, by affinity, he belonged ; and hence, also, that admiration of the character and life of the English gentle- man, which was life-long with him, and which made him, MEMOIR. XXXI when he went to England, naturally and directly at home among them. From this, also, came his extreme fondness for music, although he had very little ear ; and often when his wife read to him any peculiarly beautiful or touching passage from a book, he was quite unable to speak, so much was he mastered by his emotion. Besides this deli- cacy of organization, which makes aristocrats of all who have it, the sharp contrast between his childhood and his mature life doubtlessly nourished a kind of mental protest against the hard discomforts, want of sympathy, and mis- understandings of poverty. I recall but one place in which he deliberately states this instinct of his, as an opinion. In the paper upon " Improvement of Vegetable Kaces," April, 1852, he says : " We are not going to be led into a physiological digres- sion on the subject of the inextinguishable rights of a su- perior organization in certain men, and races of men, which Nature every day reaffirms, notwithstanding the social- istic and democratic theories of our politicians." But this statement only asserts the difference of organization. No man was a truer American than Downing ; no man more opposed to all kinds of recognition of that difference in intellectual organization by a difference of social rank. That he considered to be the true democracy which as- serted the absolute equality of opportunity ; — and, there- fore, he writes from Warwick Castle, a place which in every way could charm no man more than him : " but I turned my face at last westward toward my native land, and with uplifted eyes thanked the good God that, though to England, the country of my ancestors, it had been given to show the growth of man in his highest development of class or noble, to America has been reserved the greater blessing of solving for the world the true problem of all XXX11 MEMOIR. humanity, — that of the abolition of all castes, and the re- cognition of the divine rights of every human soul." On that May morning, in the library, I remember the conver- sation, drifting from subject to subject, touched an essay upon " Manners/' by Mr. Emerson, then recently pub- lished ; and in the few words that Mr. Downing said, lay the germ of what I gradually discovered to be his feeling upon the subject. This hauteur was always evident in his personal intercourse. In his dealings with workmen, with publishers, with men of affairs of all kinds, the same feel- ing, which they called "stiffness," coldness," "pride," " haughtiness," or " reserve," revealed itself. That first morning it only heightened in my mind the Spanish im- pression of the dark, slim man, who so courteously wel- comed us at his door. It was May, and the magnolias were in blossom. Un- der our host's guidance, we strolled about his grounds, which, although they comprised but some five acres, were laid out in a large style, that greatly enhanced their appar- ent extent. The town lay at the bottom of the hill, be- tween the garden and the water, and there was a road just at the foot of the garden. But so skilfully were the trees arranged, that all suspicion of town or road was removed. Lying upon the lawn, standing in the door, or sitting under the light piazza before the parlor windows, the enchanted visitor saw only the garden ending in the thicket, which was so dexterously trimmed as to reveal the loveliest glimpses of the river, each a picture in its frame of foliage, but which was not cut low enough to betray the presence of road or town. You fancied the estate extended to the river ; yes, and probably owned the river as an ornament, and in- cluded the mountains beyond. At least, you felt that here was a man who knew that the best part of the land- MEMOIR. XXX111 scape could not be owned, but belonged to every one who could appropriate it. The thicket seemed not only to con- ceal, but to annihilate, the town. So sequestered and sat- isfied was the guest of that garden, that he was quite care- less and incurious of the world beyond. I have often passed a week there without wishing to go outside the gate, and entirely forgot that there was any town near by. Sometimes, at sunset or twilight, we stepped into a light wagon, and turning up the hill, as we came out of the grounds, left Newburgh below, and drove along roads hang- , ing over the river, or, passing Washington's Head Quar- ters, trotted leisurely along the shore. Within his house it was easy to understand that the home was so much the subject of his thought. Why did he wish that the landscape should be lovely, and the houses graceful and beautiful, and the fruit fine, and the flowers perfect, but because these were all dependencies and orna- <' ments of home, and home was the sanctuary of the high- est human affection. This was the point of departure of his philosophy. Nature must serve man. The landscape must be made a picture in the gallery of love. Home was the pivot upon which turned all bis theories of rural art. All his efforts, all the grasp of genius, and the cunning of talent, were to complete, in a perfect home, the apotheosis of love. It is in this fact that the permanence of his in- fluence is rooted. His works are not the result of elegant taste, and generous cultivation, and a clear intellect, only ; but of a noble hope that inspired taste, cultivation, and intellect. This saved him as an author from being wrecked upon formulas. He was strictly scientific, few men in his department more so ; but he was never rigidly academical. He always discerned the thing signified through the ex- pression ; and, in his own art, insisted that if there was 3 XXXIV MEMOIR. nothing to say, nothing should be said. He knew per- fectly well that there is a time for discords, and a place for departures from rule, and he understood them when they came, — which was peculiar and very lovely in a man of so delicate a nervous organization. This led him to be tolerant of all differences of opinion and action, and to be sensitively wary of injuring the feelings of those from whom he differed. He was thus scientific in the true sense. In his department he was wise, and we find him writing from Warwick Castle again, thus : " Whoever designed this front, made up as it is of lofty towers and irregular walls, must have been a poet as well as architect, for its com- position and details struck me as having the proportions and congruity of a fine scene in nature, which we feel is not to be measured and defined by the ordinary rules of art." His own home was his finest work. It was materially beautiful, and spiritually bright with the purest lights of affection. Its hospitality was gracious and graceful. It consulted the taste, wishes, and habits of the guest, but with such unobtrusiveness, that the favorite flower every morning by the plate upon the breakfast-table, seemed to have come there as naturally, in the family arrangements, as the plate itself. He held his house as the steward of his friends. His social genius never suffered a moment to drag wearily by. No man was so necessarily devoted to his own affairs, — no host ever 'seemed so devoted to his guests. Those guests were of the most agreeable kind, or, at least, they seemed so in that house. Perhaps the inter- preter of the House Beautiful, she who — in the poet's natural order — was as " moonlight unto sunlight," was the universal solvent. By day, there were always books, conversation, driving, working, lying on the lawn, excur- MEMOIR. XXXV sions into the mountains across the river, visits to beau- tiful neighboring places, boating, botanizing, painting, — or whatever else could be done in the country, and done in the pleasantest way. At evening, there was music, — fine playing and singing, for the guest was thrice welcome who was musical, and the musical were triply musical there, — dancing, charades, games of every kind, — never suffered to flag, always delicately directed, — and in due season some slight violation of the Maine Law. Mr. Downing liked the Ohio wines, with which his friend, Mr. Longworth, kept him supplied, and of which he said, with his calm good sense, in the " Horticulturist," August, 1850, — " We do not mean to say that men could not live and breathe just as well if there were no such thing as wine known ; but that since the time of Noah men will not be contented with merely living and breathing ; and it is therefore better to provide them with proper and wholesome food and drink, than to put improper aliments within their reach." Charades were a favorite diversion, in which sev- eral of his most frequent guests excelled. He was always ready to take part, but his reserve and self-consciousness interfered with his success. His social enjoyment was always quiet. He rarely laughed loud. He preferred rather to sit with a friend and watch the dance or the game from a corner, than to mingle in them. He wrote verses, but never showed them. They were chiefly rhyming let- ters, clever and graceful, to his wife, and her sisters, and some intimate friends, and to a little niece, of whom he was especially fond. One evening, after vainly endeavoring to persuade a friend that he was mistaken in the kind of a fruit, he sent him the following characteristic lines : XXXVI MEMOIR. "TO THE DOCTOR, ON HIS PASSION FOE THE 'DUCHESS OP OLDENBUKGH.' " " Dear Doctor, I write you this little effusion, On learning you're still in that fatal delusion Of thinking the object you love is a Duchess, When 'tis only a milkmaid you hold in your clutches ; Why, 'tis certainly plain as the spots in the sun, That the creature is only a fine Dutch Mignonne. She is Dutch — there is surely no question of that, — She's so large and so ruddy — so plump and so fat ; And that she's a Mignonne — a beauty — most moving, Is equally proved by your desperate loving ; But that she's a Duchess I flatly deny, There's such a broad twinkle about her deep eye ; And glance at the russety hue of her skin — A lady — a noble — would think it a sin ! Ah no, my dear Doctor, upon my own honor, I must send you a dose of the true Bella donna ! " I had expressed great delight with the magnolia, carried one of the flowers in my hand during our morning stroll. At evening he handed me a fresh one, and every day while I remained, the breakfast-room was perfumed by the magnolia that was placed beside my plate. This deli- cate thoughtfulness was universal with him. He knew all the flowers that his friends especially loved ; and in his notes to me he often wrote, " the magnolias are waiting for you," as an irresistible allurement — which it was very apt to prove. Downing was in the library when I came down the morning after our arrival. He had the air of a man who has been broad awake and at work for several hours. There was the same quiet greeting as before — a gay conversation, glancing at a thousand things — and breakfast. After breakfast he disappeared ; but if, at any time, an excursion was proposed, — to climb some hill, to explore some meadows rich in rhododendron, to visit MEMOIR. XXXV11 some lovely lake, — he was quite ready, and went with the same unhurried air that marked all his actions. Like Sir Walter Scott, he was producing results implying close application and labor, hut without any apparent expense of time or means. His step was so leisurely, his manner so composed, there was always such total absence of wea- riness in all he said and did, that it was impossible to be- lieve he was so diligent a worker. But this composure, this reticence, this leisurely air, were all imposed upon his manner by his regal will. He was under the most supreme self-control. It was so abso- lute as to deprive him of spontaneity and enthusiasm. In social intercourse he was like two persons : the one con- versed with you pleasantly upon every topic, the other watched you from behind that pleasant talk, like a senti- nel. The delicate child, left much to himself by his parents, naturally grew wayward and imperious. But the man of shrewd common sense, with his way to make in the world, saw clearly that that waywardness must be sternly subjugated. It was so, and at the usual expense. What the friend of Downing most desired in him was a frank and unreserved flow of feeling, which should drown out that curious, critical self-consciousness. He felt this want as much as any one, and often playfully endeavored to supply it. It doubtless arose, in great part, from too fine a ner- vous organization. Under the mask of the finished man of the world he concealed the most feminine feelings, which often expressed themselves with pathetic intensity to the only one in whom he unreservedly confided. This critical reserve behind the cordial manner invested his whole character with mystery. The long dark hair, the firm dark eyes, the slightly defiant brow, the Spanish mien, that welcomed us that May morning, seemed to XXXY111 MEMOIR. me always afterward, the symbols of his character. A cloud wrapped his inner life. Motives, and the deeper feel- ings, were lost to view in that ohscurity. It seemed that within this cloud there might be desperate struggles, like the battle of the Huns and Komans, invisible in the air, but of which no token escaped into the experience of his friends. He confronted circumstances with the same composed and indomitable resolution, and it was not possible to tell whether he were entertaining angels, or wrestling with demons, in the secret chambers of his soul. There are passages in letters to his wife which indicate, and they only by impli- cation, that his character was tried and tempered by strug- gles. Those most intimate letters, however, are full of expressions of religious faith and dependence, sometimes uttered with a kind of clinging earnestness, as if he well knew the value of the peace that passes understanding. But nothing of all this appeared in his friendly inter- course with men. He had, however, very few intimate friends among men. His warmest and most confiding friendships were with women. In his intercourse \\ith them, he revealed a rare and beautiful sense of the uses of friendship, which united him very closely to them. To men he was much more inaccessible. It cannot be denied that the feeling of mystery in his character affected the im- pression he made upon various persons. It might be called as before, " haughtiness/' " reserve," " coldness/7 or " hardness," but it was quite the same thing. It re- pelled many who were otherwise most strongly attracted to him by his books. In others, still, it begot a slight dis- trust, and suspicion of self-seeking upon his part. I remember a little circumstance, the impression of which is strictly in accordance with my feeling of this sin- gular mystery in his character. We had one day been MEMOIR. XXXIX sitting in the library, and he had told me his intention of building a little study and working-room, adjoining the house : " but I don't know/' he said, "where or how to connect it with the house." But I was very well convinced that he would arrange it in the best possible manner, and was not surprised when he afterward wrote me that he had made a door through the wall of the library into the new building. This door occupied just the space of one of the book-cases let into the wall, and, by retaining the double doors of the book-case precisely as they were, and putting false books behind the glass of the doors, the appears uce of the library was entirel/ u.mi "em .', wL