NOVEMBER. 843 
should minister only, so far as gardening is concerned, to the gratification 
of our tongues and throats, and’ cease to co-operate with the heart and 
brain. Why should not that love of the beautiful, which is innate! in 
every exile from Erin, be encouraged by our pastors and masters, with 
as'much care and ‘attention as the Greek Grammar?) Why should not 
our schools—and there are many, thank heaven, in which refinement 
of ‘taste is'‘no longer’ divided, and where it is no longer considered 
effeminate to avow an admiration of the works of God—why should 
not these schools have their garden os well as their playground; and 
why should not those who will hereafter have gardens of their own 
be instructed in that happiest and most useful of all sciences, horti- 
culture? What arts could be better worth learning than those of 
making our homes beautiful, of providing ourselves with a never-failing 
source of innocent gratification, and of supplying to those around us the 
continual refreshment of delicious fruits, with a healthful abundance of 
those vegetables, which are'adjuncts, as excellent as they are economical, 
to every man’s daily food. 
From these plaints you will infer, my friends, that I had ‘small 
encouragement in my earlier years to foster my first love of flowers, 
and that I received no instruction whatever in the gentle craft of the 
spade. Once or twice during my schoolhood the old light emitted a feeble 
ray, and I was so far illumined-on a special occasion as to lay out nine- 
pence on a Fuchsia. It was received, I recollect, on its arrival from 
the nursery, with a great profession of regard and admiration from 
several of the bigger boys, and they proceeded at once to demonstrate 
their affection by administering a variety of liquid manures, such as 
blacking, sour beer, and mustard, which they assured me, on the autho- 
rities of gardeners at home, who had made the Fuchsia their special 
study, would cause an immediate and gigantic growth. But when they 
proceeded, ‘‘ according” (so they said) ‘‘to the invariable practice at 
Kew Gardens, and to principles laid down by Dr. Lindley,” to distri- 
bute a fireshovel of hot cinders around, my poor little plant, credulity 
gave place to’ bitter tears ; and though I had the subsequent satisfaction 
of definitely discomfiting in five rounds a young gentleman, who thought 
to improve the occasion by addressing me as a “ sniffling softy,” I took 
heart no more during my scholastic term, to exhibit single specimens 
in pots. 
- In the groves of Academus (to use that beautiful diction, which is a 
trifle more appropriate to the groves of Blarney) there prevailed, flori- 
culturally speaking, as remarkable a dearth and dreariness. Beneath 
the trees of those renowned plantations, which dip their metaphorical 
branches in the limpid, waters of Isis and of Cam, we grew nothing but 
Scarlet Runners (undergraduates in hunting costume, swiitly darting 
from. quadrangle and cloister to avoid collegiate and proctorial authorities); 
a few Stocks, (the freshmen wore them, when there was not the same 
connection as now. between a buckle and civilization); and a large 
assortment of Bachelors’ Buttons (straps being the fashion in those days, 
and wrist-studs unreyealed), 
. We attended, it is true, with a prompt punctuality the Flower-Shows 
in ‘ Worcester ’ Gardens, and no one could gaze more earnestly than we 
