The English， in fact， are strongly gifted with the rural feeling. They possess a quick sensibility to the beauties of nature， and a keen relishfor the pleasures and employments of the country. This passion seems inherent in them. Even the inhabitants of cities， born and brought up among brick walls and bustling streets， enter with facility into rural habits， and evince a turn for rural occupation. The merchant has his snug retreat in the vicinity of the metropolis， where he often displays as much pride and zeal in the cultivation of his flower-garden， and the maturing of his fruits， as he does in the conduct of his business， and the success of his commercial enterprises. Even those less fortunate individuals， who are doomed to pass their lives in the midst of din and traffic， contrive to have something that shall remind them of the green aspect of nature. In the most dark and dingy quarters of the city， the drawing-room window resembles frequently a bank of flowers； every spot capable of vegetation has its grass-plot and flower-bed； and every square its mimic park， laid out with picturesque taste， and gleaming with refreshing verdure.
Those who see the Englishman only in town， are apt to form an unfavourable opinion of his social character. He is either absorbed in business， or distracted by the thousand engagements that dissipate time， thought， and feeling， in this huge metropolis. He has， therefore， too commonly a look of hurry and abstraction. Wherever he happens to be， he is on the point of going somewhere else； at the moment he is talking on one subject， his mind is wandering to another； and while paying a friendly visit， he is calculating how he shall economize time so as to pay the other visits allotted to the morning. An immense metropolis like London is calculated to make men selfish and uninteresting. In their casual and transient meetings， they can but deal briefly in common-places. They present but the cold superficies of character— its rich and genial qualities have no time to be warmed into a flow.
It is in the country that the Englishman gives scope to his natural feelings. He breaks loose giadly from the cold formalities and negative civilities of town； throws off his habits of shy reserve， and becomes joyous and free-hearted. He manages to collect round him all the conveniences and elegancies of polite life， and to banish its restraints. His country seat abounds with every requisite， either for studious retirement， tasteful gratification，or rural exercise. Books， paintings， music， horses， dogs， and sporting implements of all kinds， are at hand. He puts no constraint， either upon his guests or himself， but in the true spirit of hospitality provides the means of enjoyment， and leaves every one to partake according to his inclination.
The taste of the English in the cultivation of land， and in what is called landscape gardening， is unrivalled. They have studied nature intently， and discover an exquisite sense of her beautiful forms and harmonious combinations. Those charms， which in other countries she lavishes in wild solitudes， are here assembled round the haunts of domestic life. They seem to have caught her coy and furtive graces， and spread them， like witchery， about their rural abodes.
Nothing can be more imposing than the magnificence of English park scenery. Vast lawns that extend like sheets of vivid green， with here and there clumps of gigantic trees， heaping up rich piles of foliage. The solemn pomp of groves and woodland glades， with the deer trooping in silent herds across them； the hare， bounding away to the covert； or the pheasant， suddenly bursting upon the wing. The brook， taught to wind in the most natural meanderings， or expand into a glassy lake—the sequestered pool， reflecting the quivering trees， with the yellow leaf sleeping on its bosom， and the trout roaming fearlessly about its limpid waters； while some rustic temple or sylvan statue， grown green and dank with age， gives an air of classic sanctity to the seclusion.
These are but a few of the features of park scenery； but what most delights me， is the creative talent with which the English decorate the unostentatious abodes of middle life. The rudest habitation， the most unpromising and scanty portion of land， in the hands of an Englishman of taste， becomes a little paradise. With a nicely discriminating eye， he seizes at once upon its capabilities， and pictures in his mind the future landscape. The sterile spot grows into loveliness under his hand； and yet the operations of art which produce the effect are scarcely to be perceived. The cherishing and training of some trees； the cautious pruning of others； the nice distribution of flowers and plants of tender and graceful foliage； the introduction of a green slope of velvet turf； the partial opening to apeep of blue distance， or silver gleam of water； all these are managed with a delicate tact， a pervading yet quiet assiduity， like the magic touchings with which a painter finishes up a favourite picture.
The residence of people of fortune and refinement in the country has diffused a degree of taste and elegance in rural economy， that descends to the lowest class. The very labourer， with his thatched cottage and narrow slip of ground， attends to their embellishment. The trim hedge， the grass- plot before the door， the little flower-bed bordered with snug box， the woodbine trained up against the wall， and hanging its blossoms about the lattice； the pot of flowers in the window， the holly providently planted about the house， to cheat winter of its deariness， and throw in a semblance of green summer to cheer the fireside； all these bespeak the influence of taste， flowing down from high sources， and pervading the lowest levels of the public mind. If ever Love， as poets sing， delights to visit a cottage， it must be the cottage of an English peasant.