The Redskins; or, Indian and Injin, Volume 1.: Being the Conclusion of the Littlepage ManuscriptsCooper, James Fenimore
History
The Redskins; or, Indian and Injin, Volume 1.: Being the Conclusion of the Littlepage Manuscripts
Cooper, James Fenimore
Indians of North America -- Fiction; New York (State) -- History -- Colonial period, ca. 1600-1775 -- Fiction
Little else had been done at Ravensnest than to profit by the native
growth of the trees, and to take advantage of the favourable
circumstances in the formation of the grounds. Most travellers imagine
that it might be an easy thing to lay out a park in the virgin forest,
as the axe might spare the thickets, and copses, and woods, that
elsewhere are the fruits of time and planting. This is all a mistake,
however, as the rule; though modified exceptions may and do exist. The
tree of the American forest shoots upward toward the light, growing so
tall and slender as to be unsightly; and even when time has given its
trunk is due size, the top is rarely of a breadth to ornament a park or
a lawn, while its roots, seeking their nourishment in the rich alluvium
formed by the decayed leaves of a thousand years, lie too near the
surface to afford sufficient support after losing the shelter of its
neighbours. It is owing to reasons like these that the ornamental
grounds of an American country-house have usually to be commenced _ab
origine_, and that natural causes so little aid in finishing them.
My predecessors had done a little towards assisting nature, at the Nest,
and what was of almost equal importance, in the state of knowledge on
this subject as it existed in the country sixty years since, they had
done little to mar her efforts. The results were, that the grounds of
Ravensnest possess a breadth that is the fruit of the breadth of our
lands, and a rural beauty which, without being much aided by art, was
still attractive. The herbage was kept short by sheep, of which one
thousand, of the fine wool, were feeding on the lawns, along the slopes,
and particularly on the distant heights, as we crossed the grounds on
our way to the doors.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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