8 
THE FLORIST’S JOURNAL. 
danger of falling into inanity or frivolity of some kind, and thus 
becoming a wearisomeness to themselves—and to others. 
Now, after long and attentive consideration of the subject, and 
carefully weighing the value of all relaxations which have in 
them something mental, and refreshing, and invigorating to the 
mind, we have been led to the conclusion, that gardens and flowers 
are, in the present state of society, the very best subjects for this 
purpose. They can be had and enjoyed by persons in every rank 
of society, in the exact ratio of their ability ; they can be enjoyed 
alone or in company, in the open air or under cover, in health or 
in sickness ; and if the mind is duly trained and instructed, they 
can suggest innumerable trains of thought and knowledge which, 
like the plants themselves, increase and become more delightful 
as they are longer continued. They can, in fact, be read as a 
book, and not as a book composed by man, but as written by the 
finger of the great Maker of flowers. Is the mind harassed by 
the cares of business, worn out by study, stupified by dull com¬ 
pany, fatigued by lively, or smouldered in the listlessness of its 
own inactivity ?—take a w*alk in the garden, or a lounge in the 
conservatory, and in brief space its tone and elasticity will return, 
and all will be well for grappling anew with the world. 
We have dwelt thus somewhat at length upon the intellectual 
value and pleasure of gardens and flowers, from a conviction 
that, though this is not only their highest value, but the one which 
is most frequently felt, it is the one which is least written about, 
or otherwise mentioned. Like all purely intellectual pleasures, 
the enjoyment of it is satisfaction enough ; and therefore it makes 
little noise in the world, and never calls the sounding of the trum¬ 
pet to its aid. 
But, besides this, the pleasures and enjoyments of the garden 
are so numerous and varied, that, be the state of any one what it 
may, this must be considered as the foremost and most pleasurable 
part of the whole establishment. When, after the family of a 
citizen have lived for some time in their suburban villa, with 
its little patch of ground, its comfortable walks, its neat beds and 
borders, its shrubs, and all the little et cetera of even the humblest 
horticulture,—circumstances require them to return to the city, 
the grand privation which they—the females and young people 
especially—deplore, is the want of the garden. The house may be 
more convenient, the apartments more spacious, the furniture 
