depravity of his Taste, and riot for life upon distiller's grains.

But the Taste in writing is not, cannot be worse, than it is in music,
as well as in all theatrical entertainments. In architecture indeed
there are some elegant and magnificent works arising, at a very proper
time to restore the nation to some credit with its neighbours in this
article; after its having been exposed to such repeated disgraces by
a triumvirate of awkward clumsey piles, that are not ashamed to shew
their stupid heads in the neighbourhood of Whitehall: and one more,
that ought to be demolished; if it was for no other reason but to
restore the view of an elegant church, which has now for many years
been buried alive behind the Mansion-house.

It is indeed some comfort, that while Taste and Genius happen to be
very false and impotent in most of the fine arts, they are not so in
all. The arts of Gardening particularly, and the elegant plan of
a farm, have of late years displayed themselves in a few spots to
greater advantage in England, than perhaps ever before in any part
of Europe. This is indeed very far from being universal; and some
gardens, admired and celebrated still, are so smoothly regular, so
over-planted, and so crowded with affected, impertinent, ridiculous
ornaments of temples, ruins, pyramids, obelisks, statues, and a
thousand other contemptible whims, that a continuation of the same
ground in its rude natural state, is infinitely more delightful. You
must often have seen fine situations ruined with costly pretences to
_improvement_. The most noble and romantic situation of any gardens
I have seen, is near Chepstow; and the gentleman who possesses
that delightful spot, has shewn great judgment and a true taste, in
meddling so little with Nature where she wanted so little help.