11 
THE COTTAGE GARDENER. 
novelty in some shape or other must be obtained. The 
long continuance of any scene grows tiresome—at 
length almost loathsome, and the mind stretches forth 
its powers and its propensities in search of some sweet 
that has not yet been tasted—of some banquet it has not 
yet enjoyed. No pursuit is more calculated to satisfy 
this craving appetite of the mind than the study of 
Nature. Here we always find something new ; what¬ 
soever way we bend our footsteps, variety is always to 
be met with. Each season—nay, each month, almost 
each week, has its peculiar productions ; a quick suc¬ 
cession of scenes and of new objects banishes satiety, 
and the naturalist, intoxicated with delight, owns the 
genial influence that leads his mind to the contempla¬ 
tion of the glorious works of God. 
“No season is more deeply fraught with fair visions 
or pleasing associations than that on which we are now 
entering; and none more feelingly speaks to our 
hearts. The verdure of Spring is beginning to teem 
in full luxuriance upon our fields, and at the wonted 
call millions of worlds rush into being and organiza¬ 
tion ; every flower and every leaf is about to become 
the ‘ local habitation ’ of a countless race—the earth 
swarms with life. The spirits of men are more elated 
and cheerful; all are joyous and glad. In the antici¬ 
pations of the future, we forget the drear and murky 
months, that have gone by. Hope—mysterious, ever- 
whispering, ever-exciting hope—lends its glad aid, 
and paints in golden tints the future. We seem, like 
the world in which we dwell, to grow young ; but we 
cease, perhaps, to remember that we are nearing— 
may be, have distanced—the better part of life’s jour¬ 
ney, and the calmness of the voyage makes us forget 
we are so near its end. 
“ Such were the thoughts that passed before us as 
we journied on Saturday last to Chiswick; and really 
its Horticultural show is one of the most charming 
exhibitions in the neighbourhood of London. This 
first exhibition of the Horticultural Society occurs at 
the most propitious season of the year, when Spring, 
like the hand-maiden of the summer, is gently step¬ 
ping forth—and when under her tread 
‘ Each flower and herb on earth’s dark breast, 
Awakes from the dreams of its wintry rest.’ 
“ The weather, we all remember, had during the 
preceding month been remarkably uncongenial; frost 
and snow, and nipping winds had checked the progress 
of vegetation, when suddenly came a happy transi¬ 
tion. The influence of a sunny and almost tropical 
sky came in upon us revivifying with almost visible 
rapidity the face of the vegetable world, and so im¬ 
mediate, and so marked, was the change that it were 
hardly a poetical hyperbole to describe the lover of 
nature, listening like Endymion to the ‘ flower-buds 
leaping into life.’ No season could be more appro¬ 
priate for a floral festival such as we read of among 
Eastern nations, and in ancient Greece. The morn¬ 
ing too, unlike that which Addison describes in the 
cumbrous opening of his ‘ Cato,’ instead of being over¬ 
cast and lowering, and heavy with clouds, was clear 
and splendid even to oppressiveness, so that many a 
gallant party set forth to enjoy the first show for the 
year 1849—anticipating that a cloudless and a joyous 
day would enhance the attractions of the fete. But., 
alas! 
‘ How like the course of man’s career, 
The cloud and sunshine—hope and fear, 
His morning rises bright and clear; 
But ’ere the middle course is run 
A sudden cloud has dimm’d his sun.’ 
“ When we set off, the sky, as we have premised, was 
unclouded, and wore an Italian aspect, such as we oft 
have gazed upon in southern Europe—‘ so deep, in¬ 
tense, immeasurably blue.’ The morning, in all 
truth, was delicious, and its successful temptation 
appeared on the highway through Kensington and 
Hammersmith crowded as it was with dashing equi¬ 
pages, upon the panels of which were emblazoned 
coronets, and shields, and crests, and newly-fashioned 
hieroglyphic signatures, and strange devices. 
“ Upon approaching the gardens there were, as usual, 
groups of idle spectators, gazing at the aristocratic 
arrivals, and mistaking, as a matter of course, one 
illustrious nobleman for another. Such, alas! is the 
value of a name. But owing to the admirable ar¬ 
rangements of the police, the utmost order prevailed. 
Prince Albert and the Duke of Cambridge were re¬ 
cognised as they entered, and received with every 
mark of courtesy and respect. The Duke of Devon¬ 
shire was also present; the Duke of Argyle with his 
Duchess ; the Duchess of Sutherland; the Duchess 
of Bedford and others of the haute noblesse , were 
also among the assemblage of rank and fashion. 
“ The entrance to the gardens always on these occa¬ 
sions presents a brilliant coup d’oeil. The design and 
taste exhibited in the distribution of trees, shrubs, 
and flowers, the order and neatness with which the 
walks and parterres, now broad, now narrow, now 
Avinding out of sight, are kept, as well as the fresh tint 
and good order of the green sward did not fail to 
present us with evidence that the highest skill in hor¬ 
ticultural design and practice continue to characterize 
the proceedings of the Society. The attention and 
pains required to keep such a garden in any degree of 
perfection might remind some of our poetical readers 
of the spirit which presided over the paradise, in 
which Shelley tells of the life and death of the Sen¬ 
sitive plant: 
‘ There was a spirit in this sweet place— 
An Eve in this Eden : a ruling grace, 
Which to the flowers, did they waken or dream, 
Was as God might be to the starry scheme,— 
A Lady—the wonder of all her kind, 
Whose form was upborne by a lovely mind. 
* * it * * * 
She pour’d the water from out the bright streams 
On those which were faint with the sunny beams ; 
And out of the cups of the heavy flowers 
She emptied the rain of the thunder-showers.’ 
“ But in the midst of these recollections, as we were 
wending our way towards a vast marquee over which 
a flag was streaming, we were startled by a sudden 
crash of thunder—another, and another—and shortly 
afterwards as Lord Byron describes the storm, the 
clouds opened their windows, and 
‘ The big rain came dancing to the earth.’ 
“Thanks to the provident care of Mr. Benjamin 
Edgington, the company found refuge under his 
famous tents, which, if not quite impervious to the 
peltings of the storm, afforded still a grateful shelter. 
And here, indeed, the flowers lost their charms— 
their beauties literally and figuratively outshone and 
rivalled by fairer forms that pressed before them, 
‘hung their diminished heads;’ and as one fair 
form retreating from the encroaching waters was 
placed on the spot whence a plant had to be removed 
to make way for the fairer intruder, that plant seemed 
to our eye to weep in jealousy, while to our ear it 
sung : 
‘-There is a lovelier far than I 
Whom the breezes bless as they wander by; 
Laughing eyes of living light, 
Cheeks that glow with blushes bright; 
Sunny smiles, and flowing hair, 
Ruby lips, and forehead fair— 
These, and more than tongue can tell.’ 
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