336 
Potatoes . . 
Onions 
Cabbages 
Cauliflowers . 
Carrots . 
Turnips . . . 
Apples . 
Fowls 
Ducks . . , 
Geese 
Turkeys . 
Eggs 
Butter . . , 
Port Arthur Coals . 
Schouten Island ditto 
Douglas River ditto 
Wood (she-oak) . 
Ditto, gum 
Beef, prime 
Mutton . 
Veal . 
Pork . 
Lamb 
THE COTTAGE GARDENER. 
August 7. 
Butchers' Meat 
per ton T13 to 15 
„ £25 to 30 
per dozen 2s. to 
per doz. bunches 
0 
0 
3 
4 
Q 
o 
3 
per bushel 20s. to 25 
per couple Gs. to 7 
„ 9s. to 10 
each 10 
„ 10s. to 11 
per dozen 2s. to 2 
per lb. 
per ton 
;s. to 2 
. £2 10 
0 
0 
0 
per lb. 
u 
per quarter 
Price of Bread, 7 %d. 2 lbs. loaf. 
2 
3 
2 
1 15 
G d. to 
4d. to 
1 
3s. to 
d. 
0 
0 
0 
0 
0 
0 
0 
0 
0 
0 
0 
3 
G 
0 
0 
0 
0 
0 
7 
7 
10 
10 
5s. 
NOTES FROM PARIS.—No. 14. 
VERSAILLES. 
A week or two ago, I wa3 invited to join a party going 
to the renowned Chateau of Versailles. I had thus an 
opportunity of seeing the grounds at a time when gardens 
have all the charm of freshness and beairty. It is not my 
purpose to speak particularly of the Chateau or palace, and, 
indeed, though an account of it might be suitable to your 
readers, all I could say in a short letter would not give the 
slightest idea of its present grandeur, or its past history, as 
a museum of all that is rich and rare in painting and sculp- 
ture. We have nothing in England that can be compared 
to the Louvre in Paris; but there is nothing in France, or, 
perhaps, any other country in the world, that can equal Ver¬ 
sailles, as a repository of art. Here, especially, the history 
of France, during several centuries, is illustrated on the most 
magnificent scale. At least three hours are required to go 
through all the galleries, and obtain just the slightest 
glimpse of the principal paintings. You may well believe, 
then, that after making every possible return for the atten¬ 
tions of my friends, who where always ready to explain what 
I could not well understand, after I had done full justice 
to the great Masters, I was glad enough to get into the open 
air, and gaze awhile on the green lawn and clumps of flowers 
and evergreens which embellish the immediate vicinity of 
the Chateau. 
The arrangement, or style, of the figures is that which 
looks very well on paper, or when worked out in woven 
fabrics, and the decoration of houses ; but, when worked out 
as a flower-garden, makes but an indifferent appearance. 
Worked out by an artist, these figures are very beautiful, 
because they are on such a scale as to be readily embraced 
by the eye, and the direction of the lines only is studied. 
But worked out by a gardener, and with the same features 
preserved, they have an appearance which is more frequently 
ridiculous than ornamental; because the eye cannot em¬ 
brace their whole outline, and because not the lines only, 
but the intervening spaces, have to be studied. The two 
principles are reversed, or, more correctly, perhaps, the 
one is the converse of the other. The skilful garden 
designer will not lose sight of this fact; for his real forte is 
to suppress the sharp angles of the intervening spaces, and 
yet preserve the leading features of the figure, which is 
formed by the lines. 
It is clear that the flower-garden in question has been 
laid out by an artist, and that he has been guided only by 
the rules of art. The intervening spaces are generally sharp, 
and many of the walks lead nowhere, and, indeed, have 
been formed without the slightest reference to the real 
object of a walk. Sometimes a gradually dwindling line of 
circles, or beads, is carried round another figure about ten 
feet, and the heads are formed of circular patches of turf, 
the largest some twelve or fifteen inches in diameter; the 
rest diminishing gradually to the end, where they are about 
the size of one’s palm. Then, again, there are curved lines, 
or figures, which curl up, as it were, at their extremity in a 
gyrate manner, like the young shoots of a Fern. Often, too, 
the intervening ground, intended as the flower-bed, is formed, 
necessarily, in the most fantastic manner, and it is fortunate 
when the liowers and plants grow up to conceal the numerous 
asperities incidental to this species of design, which is full 
of what, if I mistake not, is well known by the gentle¬ 
men of the profession under the designation of Crintcum- 
crankum. 
People are not allowed to walk in this garden, and, indeed, 
it would be difficult to find one’s way in it, at least, guided 
by the walks, such as they are. The intention has, perhaps, 
been to show a sort of carpet work, viewed from the windows 
of the long “ galleries,” as the rooms of such places are 
called here; hut it is questionable if this object could be well 
attained under the circumstances ; and even if attained, it is 
certain that it would not look half so well as a series of 
more natural figures. If it had been wanted to have some¬ 
thing telling and gorgeous, this woitld have been effected 
more readily by giving the ground a sloping form, and filling 
it with circles of showy flowers, after the model of a bouquet. 
This arrangement, with one of the large fountains well 
elevated in the centre, would have been what the French 
call “ magnifique.” As it is, the design is only fantastic, 
and the plants are common place enough. There is nothing 
to give effect, if we may except the Lilac, with which the ground 
is freely interspersed; the bushes being from five to seven 
feet high, and trained as standards, with heads five feet in 
diameter. But Lilac is only in flower for a short time 
in the early part of summer, and so much of one thing can¬ 
not be so agreeable as a well-chosen variety. Of course, these 
Lilacs are always kept trimmed, so as to have a regularly 
round or spherical form. There is no accounting for tastes, 
and it would be difficult to explain the fondness of the 
French for this style of training their trees, except on the 
principle of human nature, which is commonly understood 
by the expression, “ force of habit.” But that is not all, 
there is a want of what we call cultivated taste, in the absence 
of which people glory in contortions and eccentricities. 
The Chinese ladies, as we are told, must, to be quite 
“finished,” have feet no larger than those of a little child. 
Some bird fanciers are fond of giving their favourites arti¬ 
ficial combs and horns ; a certain description of dog is never 
considered en grande tenue till it is properly clipped, leaving 
just a little tuft at the tip of the tail, and a like ornament 
at the joints of the legs. In France, and elsewhere on the 
continent, certain kinds of trees are only seen in the form 
of cones, cubes, pyramids, and obelisks. Sometimes they 
assume more whimsical forms which do not readily admit of 
description. At Versailles, there is a long row of large 
evergreens trimmed and cut in a variety of ways; these are 
pointed out as being exceedingly curious, and as having 
been kept up with great pains for many years. In walking 
through the village, too, I found the Elms and Limes cut in 
a similar manner; and in order to be quite plumb with the 
sides of the grounds in which they were growing, some of 
them have only one or two branches at one side of the 
trunk, all the others having been cut clean away. There 
are two long rows of tall Elms at the sides of the road 
leading to the village, and instead of having wide-spreading 
branches as shade from the hot sun, or shelter front the 
blast, they are kept trimmed close to the trunk, as far up as 
possible, so as to be quite “ plumb ” with the sides of the 
road; but the branches at the side are allowed to grow, 
with the intention, apparently, of forming a kind of hedge¬ 
row. These trees are some sixty feet high, and the road is 
wide and good ; but the stiff evenness which is maintained, 
and the bare mutilated trunks, are anything but agreeable. 
The grounds at the Chateau may be shortly described, as 
a neglected wood, with long, spacious avenues, and broad 
walks with high hedges, formed of young, lanky trees. 
Except in trimming these hedges, the forester of the 
domain has evidently imbibed some sentiment akin to 
that of the poet who wrote, “ Woodman, spare that tree.” 
Here, however, the feeling of veneration has been carried 
much further than the poet inquired; for the young trees, 
