noticed that a very large majority of the successful exhibitors were inhabitants of "Peabody's buildings," houses built by that munificent philanthropist for the better accommodation of the working classes. There could be no more delightful or conclusive proof that he had attained his object than was testified by these plants in bloom; and on those huge blocks of masonry it should be proclaimed in golden letters

"Praises on tombs are words but idly spent

A man's good deeds are his best monument."

Only those who have seen much of poor men's homes know the interest which is felt in their window-plants, alike in the village and the town, or recognize the power of beauty, even on so small a scale, for good. It has been said again and again by clergymen, and others who sympathize in the temporal and spiritual welfare of their fellow-men, that they never meet with a rude reception where flowers are seen in the casement. A touching incident is recorded in metrical and musical lines, which my memory does not retain in their integrity, but the history is this: A little girl lay sick, as it seemed unto death, in the dark room of a narrow court, where the sunlight rarely entered through the panes, which were covered with cobwebs. Into this place of sorrow and of the shadow of death a Christian lady came to see the child, and brought her a plant in flower to cheer her with its scent and beauty. But the plant began to droop for want of light and air, and so the window was washed and opened from

time to time; and then was seen the need of further cleanliness, the walls and floors were scoured, the father came back from his work to mend the broken furniture instead of going to the drink, and saved money to buy better food for the little daughter, whom he dearly loved.

"So the pale sick child,
With light, and air, and strong nutritious food,
Grew strong and healthy, and true happiness
Now reigned, instead of misery, supreme;
And to their great surprise, the father said,
We owe it all to that bright little flower

It is the Fairy, which hath wrought the change."

XV.

THE DESIGN AND THE DELIGHTS OF A GARDEN.

The Love of Famous Men for their Gardens - Milton, Bacon, Sir W. Temple, Pope, Addison - How to make, and how to mar, a Garden- A Large Proportion of Grass Indispensable.

I NEED not remind you of the many famous men of various professions who in all times and climes have verified Lord Bacon's words, that "gardening is the purest of human pleasures, and the greatest refreshment to the spirit of man," or of the many authors who in prose and in verse have celebrated Flora's charms. Hence it appears (Warton writes in his Essays) that the enchanting art of modern gardening, in which this kingdom claims a preference over every nation in Europe, chiefly owes its origin and its improvements to two great poets, Milton and Pope. He who sang of Paradise Lost, not only sang also of Paradise Regained, but he also tried to set before us the nearest approximation to the latter, which we can see on earth, a beautiful garden of trees, and flowers, and fruits, and sunshine, and singing birds. You will remember his description of "delicious Paradise," with its "inclosure green," its "insuperable height of loftiest shade, cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm," and other goodliest trees, loaden with fair

est fruit, blossoms and fruit at once of golden hue, appeared, with gay enamelled colours mixed.

Pope not only sang the praises of a beautiful garden and expounded the truest principles and laws for its formation, such as this

and this

"In all let Nature never be forgot,"

"He wins all points, who pleasingly confounds,
Surprises, varies, and conceals the bounds,"

but he realized in their living growth the visions of his fond imagination and the principles of an exquisite taste. Horace Walpole tells us that "Pope had twisted and twirled, and rhymed and harmonized his five acres of ground at Twickenham, till he had formed two or three sweet little lawns, opening and opening, one behind the other, and the whole surrounded with thick impenetrable woods." Here in the sunlight, on the soft and level sward, or in the cool shade of the neighbouring trees, amid graceful outlines, fair and fragrant flowers, and while

"The mellow ouzel fluted in the elm,

The redcap whistled, and the nightingale
Sang loud, as though he were the bird of day,"

the poet passed sweet hours of rest and meditation --happily without forebodings of a disaster, when, after his decease, Sir William Stanhope bought the house and grounds, hacked and hewed the trees and shrubs, wriggled a gravel-walk through the midst of them, and in short so destroyed the privacy of the place that, as Walpole writes, "There was not

a Muse could walk there, but she was spied by every country fellow with a pipe in his mouth, and the owner was finally compelled to protect himself from public scrutiny by an unsightly wall."

And, ever since, the difference between gardeners good and bad has been this the former have copied, in humble admiration, the outlines, formations, and embellishments of the natural world, while the latter have preferred the novel inventions, absurdities, and vulgarities, of their own self-conceit. While the

one have repeated to the best of their power the graceful curves and deflections, the infinite but harmonious diversities, the exquisite symmetry and adaptation, of the scenes around them, the other have set to work with measuring tapes and compasses to mark out and define in exact proportions, walks in straight lines, and geometrical beds, in precise correspondence and proportion. In the one case, you have a succession and variety as you stroll among the beds with your view restricted to their separate charms; in the other you see all that is to be seen, the moment you enter the garden. It is the difference between a sweet, modest, gentle woman who welcomes you with an unaffected smile and a voice which is soft and low, and the loud, gaudy, ostentatious, haughty dame, who seems to say, with a patronizing nod, "You're a very lucky fellow to see so much beauty for nothing; be thankful, and pass on."

Addison thought that he should be described as "a humorist in gardening," because he mixed together his flowers and vegetables and fruit-trees,