sized copy of some famous scene has been chosen,—for the landscape artist loves to hitch his wagon to a star,—just as we might, if imitating some one else, pick on a great man, or a very noble and charming woman. The only difference would be that we should probably hit on some angularity of character, some extravagance that seemed to make for individuality,—for how often are bad manners copied because they are the unhappy endowment of a famous politician, or of a duchess, or a well-known beauty!—instead of eliminating the ugly details, as the Japanese does in his landscape picture, using only those salient features that will at once adorn the place and yet carry on the real spirit of the model.
All this having been done, the pattern is fitted to the cloth, and carefully cut, having had its design already modified, according to the size and character of the ground, and—though this is of less importance—due consideration having been given to such stones and lanterns and existing trees as the owner may have on hand, and may wish to use. Of course, this has all been studied out beforehand, and the artist has taken as his leitmotiv the best thing—whether lake, or waterfall, or rocky hill—he finds there. If the place commands a view (only it seldom does, except in miniature, as they build in valleys mostly, and leave the hill-tops for temples), then the garden is made the foreground,
