She does not shape her forms by a common model.

Not one of Eve's numerous progeny in all respects resembles her who first culled the flowers of Eden.

To the infinite variety and picturesque inequality of Nature we owe the great charm of her uncloying beauty.

Look at her primitive woods; scattered trees, with moist sward and bright mosses at their roots; great clumps of green shadow, where limb intwists with limb and the rustle of one leaf stirs a hundred others,--stretching up steep hillsides, flooding with green beauty the valleys, or arching over with leaves the sharp ravines, every tree and shrub unlike its neighbor in size and proportion,--the old and storm- broken leaning on the young and vigorous,--intricate and confused, without order or method.

Who would exchange this for artificial French gardens, where every tree stands stiff and regular, clipped and trimmed into unvarying conformity, like so many grenadiers under review?
Who wants eternal sunshine or shadow?
Who would fix forever the loveliest cloudwork of an autumn sunset, or hang over him an everlasting moonlight?
If the stream had no quiet eddying place, could we so admire its cascade over the rocks?
Were there no clouds, could we so hail the sky shining through them in its still, calm purity?
Who shall venture to ask our kind Mother Nature to remove from our sight any one of her forms or colors?
Who shall decide which is beautiful, or otherwise, in itself considered?
There are too many, like my fastidious friend, who go through the world "from Dan to Beersheba, finding all barren,"-- who have always some fault or other to find with Nature and Providence, seeming to consider themselves especially ill used because the one does not always coincide with their taste, nor the other with their narrow notions of personal convenience.