broad that the individual objects at first fix the attention, and it is
only by a process of synthesis that the unity of the landscape finally
becomes apparent. This is admirably illustrated in photographs. One of
the first surprises that the novice experiences in the use of the camera
is the discovery that very tame scenes become interesting and often even
spirited in the photograph. But there is something more than mere
condensation in this vitalizing and beautifying effect of the photograph
or the painting: individual objects are so much reduced that they no
longer appeal to us as distinct subjects, and however uncouth they may
be in the reality, they make no impression in the picture; the thin and
sere sward may appear rather like a closely shaven lawn or a new-mown
meadow. And again, the picture sets a limit to the scene; it frames it,
and thereby cuts off all extraneous and confusing or irrelevant
landscapes.

These remarks are illustrated in the aesthetics of landscape gardening.
It is the artist's one desire to make pictures in the landscape. This is
done in two ways: by the form of plantations, and by the use of vistas.
He will throw his plantations into such positions that open and yet more
or less confined areas of greensward are presented to the observer at
various points. This picture-like opening is nearly or quite devoid of
small or individual objects, which usually destroy the unity of such
areas and are meaningless in themselves. A vista is a narrow opening or
view between plantations to a distant landscape. It cuts up the broad
horizon into portions that are readily cognizable. It frames parts of
the country-side. The verdurous sides of the planting are the sides of
the frame; the foreground is the bottom, and the sky is the top. It is
of the utmost importance that good views be left or secured from the
best windows of the house (not forgetting the kitchen window); in fact,
the placing of the house may often be determined by the views that may