bove, I may ask, if anything connected with
the families of Howard and Percy, and their rank and influence, and thus
with the state of government and society, could, in the present age, be
deemed a recompence for their thrusting themselves in between us and
Nature. Surely it is a substitution of little things for great when we
would put a whole country into a nobleman's livery. I know nothing which
to me would be so pleasing or affecting, as to be able to say when I am
in the midst of a large estate--This man is not the victim of his
condition; he is not the spoiled child of worldly grandeur; the thought
of himself does not take the lead in his enjoyments; he is, where he
ought to be, lowly-minded, and has human feelings; he has a true relish
of simplicity, and therefore stands the best chance of being happy; at
least, without it there is no happiness, because there can be no true
sense of the bounty and beauty of the creation, or insight into the
constitution of the human mind. Let a man of wealth and influence shew,
by the appearance of the country in his neighbourhood, that he treads
in the steps of the good sense of the age, and occasionally goes
foremost; let him give countenance to improvements in agriculture,
steering clear of the pedantry of it, and showing that its grossest
utilities will connect themselves harmoniously with the more
intellectual arts, and even thrive the best under such connection; let
him do his utmost to be surrounded with tenants living comfortably,
which will bring always with it the best of all graces which a country
can have--flourishing fields and happy-looking houses; and, in that part
of his estate devoted to park and pleasure-ground, let him keep himself
as much out of sight as possible; let Nature be all in all, taking care
that everything done by man shall be in the way of being adopted by her.
If people chuse that a great mansion should be the chief figure in a
country, let this kind of keeping prevail through the picture, and true
taste will find no fault.

I am writing now rather for writing's sake than anything else, for I
have many remembrances beating about in my head which you would little
suspect. I have been thinking of you, and Coleridge, and our Scotch
Tour, and Lord Lowther's grounds, and Heaven knows what. I have had
before me the tremendously long ell-wide gravel walks of the Duke of
Athol, among the wild glens of Blair, Bruar Water, and Dunkeld, brushed
neatly, witho