st, in the approach, we have one component
part of effect, which may be called peculiarly our own, and which
requires much study before it can be managed well,--the avenue. It is
true that we meet with noble lines of timber trees cresting some of the
larger bastions of Continental fortified cities; we see interminable
regiments of mistletoed apple trees flanking the carriage road; and
occasionally we approach a turreted chateau[26] by a broad way, "edged
with poplar pale." But, allowing all this, the legitimate glory of the
perfect avenue is ours still, as will appear by a little consideration
of the elements which constitute its beauty.

[Footnote 26: Or a city. Any one who remembers entering Carlsruhe from
the north by the two miles of poplar avenue, remembers entering the most
soulless of all cities, by the most lifeless of all entrances.]

152. The original idea was given by the opening of the tangled glades in
our most ancient forests. It is rather a curious circumstance that, in
those woods whose decay has been most instrumental in forming the bog
districts of Ireland, the trees have, in general, been planted in
symmetrical rows, at distances of about twenty feet apart. If the
arrangement of our later woods be not quite so formal, they at least
present frequent openings, carpeted with green sward, and edged with
various foliage, which the architect (for so may the designer of the
avenue be entitled) should do little more than reduce to symmetry and
place in position, preserving, as much as possible, the manner and the
proportions of nature. The avenue, therefore, must not be too long. It
is quite a mistake to suppose that there is sublimity in a monotonous
length of line, unless indeed it be carried to an extent generally
impossible, as in the case of the long walk at Windsor. From three to
four hundred yards is a length which will display the elevation well,
and will not become tiresome from continued monotony. The kind of tree
must, of course, be regulated by circumstances; but the foliage must be
unequally disposed, so as to let in passages of light across the path,
and cause the motion of any object across it to change, like an
undulating melody, from darkness to light. It should meet at the top, so
as to cause twilight, but not obscurity; and the idea of a vaulted roof,
without rigidity. The ground should be green, so that the sunlight may
tell with force wherever it strikes. Now, this kind of rich and shadow