The Domain of Arnheim, or The Landscape Garden
The garden like a lady fair was cut,
That lay as if she slumbered in delight,
And to the open skies her eyes did shut.
The azure fields of Heaven were 'sembled right
In a large round, set with the flowers of light.
The flowers de luce, and the round sparks of dew.
That hung upon their azure leaves did shew
Like twinkling stars that sparkle in the evening blue.
FROM his cradle to his grave a gale of prosperity bore my friend Ellison along. Nor do I
use the word prosperity in its mere worldly sense. I mean it as synonymous with
happiness. The person of whom I speak seemed born for the purpose of foreshadowing
the doctrines of Turgot, Price, Priestley, and Condorcet --- of exemplifying by individual
instance what has been deemed the chimera of the perfectionists. In the brief existence of
Ellison I fancy that I have seen refuted the dogma, that in man's very nature lies some
hidden principle, the antagonist of bliss. An anxious examination of his career has given
me to understand that in general, from the violation of a few simple laws of humanity
arises the wretchedness of mankind --- that as a species we have in our possession the as
yet unwrought elements of content --- and that, even now, in the present darkness and
madness of all thought on the great question of the social condition, it is not impossible
that man, the individual, under certain unusual and highly fortuitous conditions, may be
happy.
With opinions such as these my young friend, too, was fully imbued, and thus it is
worthy of observation that the uninterrupted enjoyment which distinguished his life was,
in great measure, the result of preconcert. It is indeed evident that with less of the
instinctive philosophy which, now and then, stands so well in the stead of experience, Mr.
Ellison would have found himself precipitated, by the very extraordinary success of his
life, into the common vortex of unhappiness which yawns for those of pre-eminent
endowments. But it is by no means my object to pen an essay on happiness. The ideas of
my friend may be summed up in a few words. He admitted but four elementary
principles, or more strictly, conditions of bliss. That which he considered chief was
(strange to say!) the simple and purely physical one of free exercise in the open air. "The
health," he said, "attainable by other means is scarcely worth the name." He instanced the
ecstasies of the fox-hunter, and pointed to the tillers of the earth, the only people who, as
a class, can be fairly considered happier than others. His second condition was the love of
woman. His third, and most difficult of realization, was the contempt of ambition. His
fourth was an object of unceasing pursuit; and he held that, other things being equal, the
extent of attainable happiness was in proportion to the spirituality of this object.
Ellison was remarkable in the continuous profusion of good gifts lavished upon him by
fortune. In personal grace and beauty he exceeded all men. His intellect was of that order
to which the acquisition of knowledge is less a labor than an intuition and a necessity. His
family was one of the most illustrious of the empire. His bride was the loveliest and most
