166 THE FLORIST. 
admired, we denounced, we compared. ‘‘ Had I seen so and so?” 
“Did they grow what d’ ye call it?” ‘Did I know thingembob?”” 
I seemed to have been there but ten minutes, when my fellow traveller, ' 
first attracting my attention with a groan, whispered the information 
that he “‘ was slightly sick of those confounded sticks, and, if he could 
find a tank or pool, he thought he should go and drown himself.” To 
which I murmured, ‘‘ Au Reservoir ;” and we parted. The hopeless 
Hottentot ! ‘those confounded sticks” were the cleanest, strongest, 
straightest lot of Briars I ever saw in my life, tall standards, and” 
breaking beautifully; and he groaned at them! Groaned at them,” 
and when I returned to the station, with two large baskets of plants, 
pretended painful anxiety as to my mental state, and entreated me to 
have an interview with Doctor Conolly. 
But never, since that day, have I been in want of pleasant occu-' 
pation, never since have I suffered that most dismal loneliness, the 
solitude of a strange city, when circumstances have enforced a temporary 
sojourn in the neighbourhood of a nursery garden: With principals,’ 
or, in their absence, with foremen, I have fifty topics of mutual interest” 
to discuss ; in every garden something new to see; from every gardener’ 
something new to learn ; and so the hours pass swiftly, pleasantly, and’ 
I hope wisely, onward. 
Wisely, I believe. For after all, my brothers, it is the wisdom and 
goodness of gardening which make it such a deep and enduring happi=* 
ness. It is thankfulness, reverence, and love, which make our gardens 
dear to us from childhood to old age, for 133 
** Love is like the ocean, ever fresh and strong, 
Which, the world surrounding, keeps it green and young.” 
Yes, it is because we cannot really love the beautiful flowers without 
loving Him ‘‘Whose breath perfumes them, and Whose pencil paints;” it” 
is because there lies deep in the heart of man a yearning to recover Para" 
dise, and to rest once more upon the Mount of God; it is because when ® 
we cherish tenderly, and watch adoringly, the Creator’s handiwork, that’ 
we are permitted to “walk with Him through the garden of Creation ;”. 
it is because the life of a gardener is, or ought to be, a religious life ;”” 
** Yea, holy is the gardener’s life, for unto him is given 
To be a fellow-worker with the sun and showers of heaven, 
Gently to aid the labours of the teeming mother earth 
And watch and cherish tenderly her children from their birth;” 
it is because the wisest of men, such as were Bacon and Newton, were. 
happiest in their gardens, and spake of gardening, from a glad experience, 
as “‘the purest of- human pleasures;” it is because men, such as was. 
Wordsworth, have bequeathed to us the certain confidence that . 
“‘ Nature never did betray the heart that loved her;” it is for these. 
reasons, and many an other as true and gracious, that the pleasures of 
gardening are so great and lasting, and that of the earnest faithful 
gardener it may be justly said, 
*‘Thy thonghts and feelings shall not die, 
Nor leave thee when old age is nigh, 
A melancholy slave. 
- But an old age, serene and bright, 
And lovely as a Lapland night, 
Shall lead thee to thy grave.” . 
