formation and culture of gardens. Its results are culinary vegetables, fruits, and flowers. On one side it is allied to agriculture, from which, however, it is distinguished by the nature of its products, and by the smaller extent and greater complexity of its operations; on the other side, in its processes of embellishments, it approaches the arts of the landscape artist and the forester, from which, however, it also retires in the comparative minuteness of its details. Like other arts, horticulture borrows its principles from the general sciences. To botany, it is beholden for the facts and theories of vegetable physiology; to chemistry, for assistance in reference to soils, manures, and artificial heat; and to meteorology, for a knowledge of many circumstances which very materially affect the labours of the gardener. With these subjects, the philosophical horticulturist should not fail to make himself familiar. It is very desirable that such information should be extensively diffused among practical men; as it is only from this quarter that much improvement, in our present state of knowledge, can be expected. Truth, however, obliges us to admit, that gardening has been most successfully practised, when treated as an empirical art. Few of those who are minutely conversant with its numerous manipulations have undergone such an intellectual training as to enable them to wield general principles with effect. Many who are not inexpert or unsuccessful while they follow the routine practice, (a practice, be it remembered, founded on long experience,) egregiously fail, when, with imperfect information, or ill-advised ingenuity, they endeavour to strike out new paths for themselves. The object of the art, too, limits the application of the deductions of science. Its whole business consists in the imitation of nature, whose processes may indeed be, in some measure, originated, as when a seed is inserted in the ground, or modified, as in the artificial training of fruit trees, but which may not be entirely controlled, much less counteracted. The principle of vegetable life, will not endure interference beyond a certain point, and our theoretical views should be so directed as to interfere with it as little as possible. Observation and experiment are the grand means by which the art has arrived at its present state of advancement; at the same time, it is obvious, that an enlarged acquaintance with science will aid us in imitating the processes of nature, guide the hand of experiment, suggest contrivances, and enable us to guard against error; and, above all, will tend to dispel those prejudices which practitioners in the empirical arts are so prone to cherish. Gardening, Mr. Walpole observes, ́ was probably one of the first arts which succeeded to that of building houses, and naturally attended property and individual possession. Culinary, and afterwards medicinal herbs, were objects in request by every head of a family; and it became convenient to have them within reach, without searching for them in woods, in meadows, or on mountains, as they might be wanted. Separate enclosures for rearing herbs were soon found expedient. Fruits were in the same predicament; and those most in use, or the cultivation of which required particular attention, must early have entered into and extended the domestic enclosure. Such may be deemed the leading heads of a conjectural history of the art; and, indeed, if we would ascend into remote antiquity, we can have recourse only to conjecture; for although, in the sacred writings, and in the earliest profane authors, allusions to gardens occur, little is told us either of their productions or their culture. At the close of the Roman commonwealth, the catalogue of fruits had be come considerable, the principles of grafting and pruning were understood and practised, and shortly afterwards, even artificial heat seems to have been partially employed. With the decline of the empire, horticulture also declined or became stationary; but, at the revival of learning, it arose from the slumber of the dark ages, encumbered, it is true, by the dreams of the alchymists, the restrictions of unlucky days, and the imaginary effects of lunar influence. From these fetters it was ere long emancipated by the diffusion of knowledge, and it has hitherto kept pace with the general improvement of society. Modified by climate and other circumstances in different countries, its advancement has been various; but nowhere has it made greater progress than amongst ourselves. Introduced into England at an early period, gardening became conspicuous in the reign of Henry VIII. and his immediate successors, and met with considerable attention during the reigns of the Stuarts. In the first half of the eighteenth century, Miller, Switzer and others, laboured with success in improving the operations, and unfolding the principles of the art; and these were succeeded by Abercrombie, Speechly, and a host of writers, who added greatly to our stores of knowledge. In 1805, was established the Horticultural Society of London, which was soon followed by the institution of the Caledonian Horticultural Society at Edinburgh; and in their train have sprung up a multitude of provincial gardening societies, all of which have given an impulse to the public mind, and stimulated the exertions of individuals. Experimental gardens have been formed, in which, amongst other things, the important task of distinguishing and classifying the numerous varieties of our hardy fruits has been zealously prosecuted. The mass of information now collected is very great, and the labour expended in its diffusion unwearied. Judging from the literature of the day, and passing downwards from the sumptuous transactions of the metropolitan society, through the numerous periodicals, to the penny information for the people, we shall scarcely find any art, however nationally important, which receives more attention, or on which the liberality of the wealthy is more abundantly bestowed. The public nursery gardens, too, both in London and elsewhere, establishments intimately connected with our subject, and which, in a manufacturing nation, are not the least wonderful amongst the applications of skill and capital, prove the extent and perfection to which gardening has advanced.— Neill. THE PERAMBULATOR. LONDON, FROM THE CUPOLA OF ST. PAUL'S. WITH a companion, I have ascended the stone staircase; we have groped our way, almost in the dark, up the wooden steps and platforms, within the dome, and at last, have emerged to light. We are now at the top of the cupola, with the ball and cross above us; and London is spread, like a carpet, beneath our feet. There are some half-dozen persons in the gallery. Among them, are two Spaniards, with pale faces and dark mustachios, one of whom speaks a little English; and a little gentlemanly Frenchman of low stature, who whether he can The speak English or not, will not. Spaniards are reserved, the Frenchman very communicative. The latter tells me that Paris, when seen from the Parthenon or from Notre Dame, is larger than London; for that three parts of London are hid by the fog. On a fine day, the view from this place must be truly grand, every part of the metropolis and the surrounding neighbourhood being so fully commanded. At the moment, it is a complete chaos of brick, tile, slate, towers, spires, chimney-pots, and smoke, with a fog in the distance that sadly circumscribes the view: by and by, order will begin to appear. What a fearful height we are elevated from the earth! the Monument and the churches are but pigmies to this giant of a cathedral. The Lilliputian world below shrinks into insignificance; and not a voice reaches us from the multitude below. I have, aforetime, been within the ball above my head, and am not now sufficiently high-minded to renew my visit. The strong, heavy, iron-railing, placed here for security, is painted yellow, and a thousand names are etched or scratched thereupon, in celebration of the visit of those who from this place have gazed on London city. The bulging out of the huge cupola below my feet, impresses the mind with a sense of extent and ponderosity. It makes one reflect on the necessity of a firm foundation for such a colossal pile. The statue of St. Paul there, on the west end of the cathedral, has but a sorry appearance; and the same remark may be made of the other figures, for they are nothing but shapeless blocks of stone at the back, supported by unsightly iron bars, though their fronts are very beautiful. To put the best on the outside is a rule that is observed in many things beside sculpture and architecture. Though the height of St. Paul's so much exceeds that of the Monument, the perpendicular view from the latter is, by far, the more fearful of the two. The cupola and the church of St. Paul's prevent the eye from encountering here that dreadful depth which the gazer from the Monument endures. Still, as the eye travels down the dome, and suddenly plunges into the churchyard, the immeasurable gulf is sufficiently terrible. What a Tarpeian rock to be flung from headlong! The continued rattle occasioned by the passing vehicles, and the varied sounds in the public streets, are all blended in one unceasing rumble by the time they ascend to this place. You scarcely hear any individual sound, unless it be the striking of a church clock. A man may be seen at work with his hammer, another may be smacking his whip, and a third sawing a piece of timber; but the hammer, the whip, or the saw cannot be heard. In the north part of the churchyard below, once stood St. Paul's cross, a remarkable piece of antiquity. Here were the magistrates chosen, and every male of twelve years old and upwards, sworn to be true to the king and his heirs. When the old cross was destroyed, a new one was raised. At this cross, Jane Shore did penance; here, the first English Bible was publicly burned; and here, Cardinal Wolsey read the sentence against Martin Luther and his works. The shop windows in St. Paul's churchyard look gay, ornamented as they are with glittering brass, but the large window panes are sadly diminished, and the names of their illustrious owners can scarcely be deciphered. There are five or six young men peeping in at the music shop, and two ladies in white, have this moment stopped at the milliner's window. The varied articles that are exposed for sale appear all mingled together. The broad slated roofs, of what used to be Newgate market, are very conspicuous, while the narrow strip of a street, called Paternoster Row, can scarcely be traced with the eye. beating of every heart, and the throbbing of every pulse in the metropolis. And that is St. Martin's le Grand! Could I go back a few short centuries; instead of the scene that now presents itself, I should be gazing on old Aldersgate; the richly and royally endowed priory of St. Martin le Grand; and the proud and princely mansion of the duke of Brittany. Even now I can fancy that I hear the Christmas anthem of a band of brotherhood portly in form and feature; as with sack and wallet they plod their way through the miry streets to gather largesse against the holy tide. Christmas was Christmas then, in all its ceremonial decorations, its widespread charities, its open-hearted hospitality, and its reckless revelry. He who would learn to the full, the manner and spirit with which our ancestors commemorated Christmas, had need be patient and persevering as well as ardent in his inquiry; for the authorities he has to consult, and the evidence he has to collect, are widely scattered through records of a varied character. Should he fix on the days of William the Norman, as on a starting point, and continue his course to those of Oliver Cromwell; he must turn over the ample pages of many an ancient record and time-worn chronicle; he must ponder over the statute-book, scrutinize the rolls of court, and read the antique ballads of the olden times. The royal household books, and the archives of noble families will furnish him with much information; and the popular traditions, and expiring observances in many a country homestead at Christmas will throw occasional light on the faint and shadowy remembrances of remoter times. When we read of our great great grandfathers and our equally memorable and venerated grandmothers, sitting at There is the Post Office, with its por- the huge dinner table prodigally suptico and doric pillars: as seen from the plied with orthodox dishes; the daground it is a noble edifice; but this al-mask napkin drawn through the hightitude is a sad revealer of secrets. We est button hole of their church-going here perceive that the outside is of stone, Christmas-visiting coats; or the lawn and the inside of brick. I might enter handkerchief carefully pinned over on a description of the building, its ex- the brocade stomacher, reciprocrating terior form, and its internal arrange- healths; and unitedly complimenting the ments, its system of business, its branch mistress of the entertainment; who, well offices, and its regulations for receiving versed in all the mysteries of the still and and despatching letters; for it is a little stewpan, competent to rear a goose," city in itself, and in degree may be said, sauce a capon,' "border a pasty," or if not to regulate, at least, to affect the "barb a lobster," with her best point 66 66 ruffles pinned up, and brandishing her huge carving knife, occupied her household throne, the large arm chair at the head of the table. When we read that our ancestors assembled themselves at the festive board, "And served up salmon, venison, and wild boars By hundreds, and by dozens, and by scores," now we regard them as a race of men alto- "Hogsheads of honey, kilderkins of mustard, Muttons and fatted beeves, and bacon swine; Herons and bitterns, peacocks, swan and bustard, Teal, mallard, pigeons, widgeons, and in fine Plum puddings, pancakes, apple pies, and custard, With mead, and ale, and cider of our own, tients, and a yet greater number of outpatients have been cured or relieved in the course of a year. A little to the right yonder is the Charter-house, with its front in Charter-house square. An extensive Carthusian monastery once stood on the spot where the present building is situated. The Charter-house Hospital and Free school were founded by a wealthy citizen of the name of Sutton. Another monastic establishment occupied a spot beyond, where the knights hospitallers of St. John of Jerusalem, St. John's gate, Clerkenwell, resided. is well known. Changed as London is, from what it was in the olden time: who shall say that it will not be much more so in future days? I can just catch a glimpse of Smithfield. "Schmyt Fyeld,' it was once And therewithal they drank good Gascon wine, called; but a different place it was then, to what it is now. About a third of it may be seen from this gallery. This is the principal mart for cattle, sheep, pigs, horses, and hay. More than sixteen thousand pigs, seventeen thousand calves, twenty thousand horses, a hundred thousand bullocks, and nine hundred thousand sheep and lambs, are here annually sold. For porter, punch, and negus were not known." Christ's Hospital is plainly seen. It was originally a religious house of the order of Grey Friars, who came from Italy 1224. The new hall is a noble building in the Tudor style, and stands partly on the ancient wall of London, and partly on the spot where stood the refectory of Grey Friars. The principal front is towards Newgate street. It has an octagon tower at each extremity, and is supported by buttresses with an embattled top and pinnacles. Christ's Hospital, in 1552, was prepared to receive poor fatherless children. Their livery was russet cotton, which soon after was changed for blue. The present Christ Church was built by Sir Christopher Wren, the architect of the goodly pile on which I am now standing. The old Monastery church was burned down by the great fire of London, in 1666. Who has not stood at the iron gates, to see the boys belonging to the place at play, in their old-fashioned monkish garb The dark blue coat with long skirts, the yellow petticoat and stockings, the leathern girdle, the white neckband, and the small black worsted cap, are altogether unlike the dress of modern times. It was in Smithfield, that the lord mayor, Walworth, in the reign of Richard 11., killed Wat Tyler; and at a yet earlier date, duels were decided there according to the "kamp-fight" ordeal of the Saxons. Tilts and tournaments, also, were once held in Smithfield. Three thousand archers once assembled, most of them with golden chains suspended from their necks attended with crowds of people; and Henry VIII. created, in a jestful manner, one Barlow, duke of Shoreditch, for his skill in archery. 66 It was here that the doating hero, Edward III., in his sixty-second year, when he ought to have been much better employed, infatuated by the charms of Alice Pierce, placed her by his side in a magnificent car, and styling her the lady of the sun, conducted her to the lists, followed by a train of knights, each leading by the bridle a beautiful palfrey, mounted by a gay damsel; and The square there, with the four noble for seven days together, exhibited the stone buildings, united by stone gate-most splendid justs in indulgence of his ways at the angles, is St. Bartholomew's disgraceful passion." Hospital. It is devoted to the use of To the magnificent tournament of the sick, nearly four thousand in-pa- | Richard II., held at this place, "there issued out of the Towre of London, fyrst | three score coursers, apparelled for the justes, and on every one a squyer of honour riding a soft pace. Then issued out threescore ladyes of honoure mounted on fayre palfreyes; and every lady led a knight by a cheyne of silver, which knights were apparelled to just." Bartholomew fair was granted for three days in the year to the neighbouring priory by Henry II.; and ever since then, Smithfield has annually been the scene of theatrical representations, wild beasts, shows of all descriptions, revelry, folly, and crime. But even the reckless debauchery of Bartholomew fair, cannot compare in iniquity with the cruel burnings of the martyrs in Smithfield: these mark the place with a fearful significancy, and brand it with an infamy never to be effaced. There is a soft, picture-like expression given by the great elevation of this place to the objects below; and as individual voices are not heard, being drowned in the universal rumble of the streets, the objects of the scattered multitude seem to be set forth by actions, not by words. The Spaniards are stalking round the gallery, making but few remarks. Not so the little Frenchman, who has just observed to me, with a shrug of exultation, that they have none of our English fogs in France; and that the Monument of London is not like the column of the Place Vendome in Paris. I have just found out Cripplegate Church, where the earthly part of Milton moulders. Homer, Virgil, and Milton have been considered the three greatest poets that ever lived. The following lines by Dryden speak much in their praise. "Three poets in three distant ages born, The fog seems to increase, and every distant object is hidden, or appears very indistinct. Greenwich is hardly perceptible. The marine forest there, the armada in the river has a goodly appearance; and the bridges bestriding the noble stream are striking objects in this splendid panorama. I have ventured the remark to the Frenchman, that they have no river Thames at Paris. He replies by asking me with a shrug, where are our English palaces? and if I have ever visited Versailles? Nationality is strong within him; but this is as it should be. True patriots love their father-land. "Where'er we roam Our first, best country ever is at home," whether we are Englishmen or Frenchmen, whether we were born under the line, or where icebergs crowd the north ern sea. The top only of the Bank of England, can be discerned from hence. This is by far the most important institution in the world with regard to money matters. Millions and millions are circulated through the four quarters of the globe, by the agency of this establishment. If we were as anxious to lay up treasure in heaven as we are to amass it on earth, how much of care and distraction should we avoid! The space once occupied by the Royal Exchange is plainly seen. The conflagration of this elegant edifice was a sore visitation to the merchants of London. It was a singular circumstance that while the fire was at its height, the chimes in the tower of the building were playing the tune, "There's nae luck about the house." The destruction, the loss, and the inconvenience occasioned by the burning of this place, were truly terrible. The green trees which are seen, here and there, among the masses of brick and stone buildings of the city, look very picturesque. They refresh the eye, and the spirit too. The Mansion-house resembles one habitation built upon another; and Guildhall and the India House I cannot discern. The Mint appears to great advantage; and the Tower and the Monument are very conspicuous. While I look down upon the churchyard below, the thought of falling there is horrible. Five persons have flung themselves down from the Monument: a weaver, a baker, Levy the Jew, Margaret Moyes, and a boy. It would be difficult to assign any other reason for their adopting so dreadful a mode of quitting the world, than a stronger than ordinary determination to get rid of life; an inflexible resolve that no possible contingency should prevent their destruction. What must have been that state of mind that could look on such a dreadful deed, as a relief to its unimaginable agony? |