would be much better. The catalogues now furnish us those of all sizes, and of every variety of form and tint of leaf which vegetation is known to assume. They may be used as fringes to groups of trees, giving an easy sweep from the branches to the grass beneath. They may be trained as miniature trees, or kept in low, dense banks of foliage, or cut into any shape which the fancy may dictate. They answer an excellent purpose, also, as screens to hide the rear premises from the ornamental portions; and, when coupled with vines, to link the house to the grounds about it. In small places, like city and village lots, they may be arranged on the same artistic principles as trees in a more ample domain, and the effect will be to give such grounds an appearance of larger extent. Mr. Kemp and Mr. Sargent give us some excellent hints on the management of lawns; we could only wish that they had gone more largely into the subject. No feature of a countryplace is more important than this. It matters not how numerous and costly its other decorations may be. A fine house, groups and avenues of goodly trees, flower-beds, statues, and fountains are all very well; but they do not completely fill the eye of correct taste unless they rest upon a broad base of smooth turf. It is questionable whether the ground immediately about the dwelling should be devoted, in any considerable degree, to flowers. It is not easy to keep cultivated beds in a state of perfect neatness, and if it were, the eye would sooner tire of their glittering colors than of a simple, unbroken expanse of grass. The prevailing expression of a country home should be that of repose, and this expression is interfered with if the lawn is cut up into flower-beds. The flowers themselves are gay and exhilarating, and the sight of parterres suggests thoughts of the time and labor necessary to construct them and to keep them in order. If flowers are admitted to the front lawn, it should be only a few constant bloomers set in small, circular beds cut out of the turf by the margins of the walks. Of this, however, we shall speak again in another place. A well-kept lawn possesses an air of refinement. It distinguishes the place at once from the uncultivated wildness of nature. It speaks of the hand of taste, which has fenced it in from the common earth, smoothing down its roughnesses, heightening its native charms, and still watching over it with affectionate care. It links the spot by association with the elegant and happy homes of other lands and other times. It is "dipped in poetry." Lawns have a permanent beauty. In spring, the grass starts up at the first song of the robin; in summer, if the ground is fertile, it is nearly as fresh as in spring; the fragrance of its frequent mowings is more delicious than the "extracts" of Parisian apothecaries; the sight of children at play upon it, or of tree-shadows stretching across it, at morning and evening, is a study which painters love; it heeds not the winds which despoil trees and flowers of their beauty; and in autumn, amid falling leaves and prevailing gloom, it retains its cheerful verdure until hidden by winter snows. A good lawn is never found ready made: it is a work of art. If the soil is stiff and wet, it should be drained; for in such ground sorrel and mosses will soon outroot the finer grasses, and trees and shrubs will lead only a miserable existence. Draining should be followed by a thorough breaking up of the soil two feet in depth. The chief reason why so many lawns turn brown in summer is that the ground is so poor and shallow. Trench and enrich it, and the grasses will flourish in unchanging green. It is not enough to manure the surface; that may cause the grass to start vigorously in the spring, but will not insure its freshness throughout the summer. Make the soil deep and moderately fertile through its whole depth, and it will furnish a fine, thick sward, patiently enduring the heat of the dog-star and the withholding of the latter rain. This foundation-work being done, the surface may be raked smooth and sowed with grass-seed. If red-top and blue-grass are used, because they make so excellent a turf, let a little white clover and sweet-scented grass be thrown into the mixture, for the sake of their rich fragrance. If the space is quite small, seeding may be dispensed with, and the ground covered at once with sods from the road-side. To this we might add, that a lawn will not take care of itself. It must be mowed once in ten days or a fortnight, and frequently rolled. Every few years, a light dressing of old manure or of guano should be applied, and a little fresh grassseed scattered over the surface. Leaving now the subject of lawns, we beg leave to add a few words on the position of flower-gardens. In excluding flowers mostly from the lawn, we would by no means exclude them from our grounds. Rather would we give them a sunny and somewhat retired position on one side of the residence, laying out the beds with care, and making the whole spot as attractive as possible. Here would we gather the plants of old renown, as well as the modern favorites. Fox-glove, monkshood, pæonies, pinks, and poppies should have equal honor with Salvias, Tritomas, Dicentras, and Japan lilies. Of annuals, perennials, and flowering vines and shrubs, some would be too straggling and ill-assorted for the highly-dressed grassplat; but here they should all have their own ways, and their waxing and waning beauty should gladden the eyes of all who love flowers for their own sake, and not for their mere fashionableness. We would, however, venture to set a few plants in other and distant parts of the grounds, before masses of shrubbery, and by the side of walks, and in sheltered nooks and unlooked-for places. The unexpected pleasure they would afford might atone for their violation of any canon of the authors. Our limits will not allow us to enlarge upon other topics suggested by these volumes. Much might be said of the healthfulness of the rural pursuits herein set forth, bring - * Since the publication of the volumes before us, accounts have appeared in the English horticultural papers of a proposed substitute for grass in the formation of lawns. It is producing a great "sensation" abroad. Its name is Spergula pilifera, and its description, a good deal toned down, is this: A dwarf, perennial Alpine plant, with close, compact, grass-like stems from a quarter to half an inch in height. When once established, it forms a thick, velvet sward, which is uninjured by heat or cold, shade or sunshine. It blooms in July, and "its small, salver-shaped white flowers present the picture of an emerald carpet, spangled with innumerable silver stars." It is so dwarfish in its habit, that it requires no mowing, but is improved by a thorough sweeping after the flowers have dried up. It should be rolled once a month. Whether this novel plant will flourish as well amid the vicissitudes of an American climate as under an English sky, remains to be seen. It will undoubtedly be soon tried. If any of our readers wish to construct a formal flower-garden, in antique style, we advise them to consult Lord Bacon's famous essay, "Of Gardens," in which they will find all the details. ing one, as they do, into the open air, and amid the cheerful aspects of nature, and furnishing salutary exercise. We might discourse, also, of their moral influence. They withdraw one from manifold scenes of temptation; they retain him within the conservative atmosphere of home; they tend to repress evil passions; they foster habits of industry and order; they shed over the daily path an air of refinement and grace; they cherish intelligent sympathy with Nature's processes and laws, and inspire a feeling of dependence on the care of Divine Providence. To the happiness of these pursuits, all history and all literature bear testimony. From the beginning, it has been held the most desirable mode of life to reside in the country, surrounded by accessories of rural comfort and taste. 66 "God Almighty first planted a garden," says Bacon, "and indeed it is the purest of human pleasures; it is the greatest refreshment to the spirits of man, without which buildings and palaces are but gross handiworks." Man's primal home was a garden, and even now, in his better moments, he yearns for that scene of beauty. Behold the patriarch Jacob solacing himself among his herbs and shrubs, at Hebron. Was not Solomon quite a botanist for his time, and did he not lay out grounds, and plant trees, and build fountains, just outside the holy city? If indeed he wrote "Vanity and Vexation of Spirit" on his garden wall, yet doubtless his training and pruning eased the burden of his kingly crown. Homer fondly recalls his paternal orchard, with its thirteen pear-trees. Need we speak of Horace, among his mallows; or of Cicero at Tusculum; or of Pliny, recording for posterity the plan of his garden, and a list of all the plants growing in the Roman empire; or of Buffon at Montbard; or of Evelyn, Walpole, Temple, and in short of nearly all the poets, statesmen, and philosophers of England, who have borne testimony to their love of gardens? More than one has declared, with Pope, that of all his works he was proudest of his garden; and with Scott, that of all his compositions he thought most highly of his composition for making trees grow. "I never had any other desire so strong and so like to covetousness," says Cowley, "as that one which I have always had, - that I might be master at last of a small house and a large garden, with very moderate conveniences joined to them, and there dedicate the remainder of my life only to the culture of them and the study of nature." Nor have these pursuits been the delight of illustrious men alone. The poor and the unlettered, within narrower limits and with less numerous and less costly trees and plants, have found in what fortune permitted them a pleasure none the less sweet. God has hidden a great deal of happiness in the culture of a single rood of ground. Ofttimes the humble man has found more enjoyment in his vine-clad cottage, and his little, well-tilled garden, than the king in his broad domains. At the present day, horticulture in some form is a very general pursuit. The man of business finds in it a pleasing recreation from care; it is a bath to the student's heated brain; the statesman, while occupied in it, meets no rivalries or thwarted plans, and rejoices to see that, for once, his speculations do no serious injury. Where is childhood happier than in the garden plucking flowers, sowing and planting and pulling up daily, to see how the little things get on? Youth and manhood here find agreeable occupation, and in life's Indian summer the calm retreat and friendly aspect of the garden seem specially adapted to man's condition and wants. There is much landscape-gardening in dream-land. It is practised chiefly by dwellers in cities, and those who possess real estate only in anticipation. Their grounds lie mostly in the clouds of sunset. Perpetual summer reigns there. The fruits are abundant, and of exquisite flavor; flowers fill the air with celestial odors, and birds carol songs of unimagined sweetness. Bees gather the honey of Hymettus in the vales, and on the lawny slopes fair-haired children sing and play. The philosopher's stone is there, and the fountain of perpetual youth. The atmosphere is seldom so clear as to disclose the rigid outlines of things. Even the nearest objects are veiled with a dreamy, rose-tinted haze, and the distant mountains fade off into an uncertain sky. Such trees and plants never grew before. Such velvet lawns, purling brooks, and leaping fountains mortal eye never saw. No devastating storms break over these fair gardens; no untimely frost or mildew blights their VOL. XCI.-NO. 188. 4 |