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parts, in fact, of Mr. Gordon's lecture were but copies of passages in Mr. Tyson's "Survey," and others, the same ideas clothed in slightly variant language. Mr. Gordon, as we have remarked, pretended no concealment or denial upon the subject, but freely acknowledged his obligations. His reviewer, however, contented himself with the praise of Mr. Gordon's accuracy and research, without reference to the sources of his information, which were apparent upon the face of the lecture itself. The omission did injustice to the original collector of these facts whose pamphlet had been extensively circulated by those individuals in the city of Philadelphia who had embarked in the cause with so much zeal, and who were fully sensible of the merits of Mr. Tyson's sketch. Those merits. should have been recognised in every notice of the subject.

With respect to this new edition, it may be sufficient to say, that the former editions appear to have become exhausted, and the demand for new copies to have increased. The author has nearly rewritten the whole performance, and added many new facts of an interesting nature,

ART. V.-The Complete Gardener, or Directions for Cultivating and right ordering of Fruit and Kitchen Gardens, with divers reflections on several parts of Husbandry. By the famous M. DE LA QUINTINYE, chief director of the gardens of the French king. Made into English by JOHN EVELYN, Esq.; illustrated with copper plates. London: Matthew Gillyflower, at the Spread Eagle in Westminster Hall, and James Partridge, Charing Cross: 1793.

Tillage is an art of great antiquity, of great importance, and of infinite diversity and use. It comprehends agriculture and horticulture, both of these arts being indebted to the plough and the spade. Horticulture, of which it is our intention to speak, although a distinct branch in itself, has the privilege of referring to the rules of tillage, with which agriculture is more immediately and constantly connected-the plough is the emblem of the latter art, and the spade of the former.

These terms-agriculture and horticulture-were not formerly applied to farming and gardening; nor was a man of education and refinement at all ambitious of engaging in either

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of these pursuits. Fifty years ago a farmer stood very low in the scale; but revolutions and wars have driven an entirely new description of artists into the field-not of blood-not of the sword but of the ploughshare. Revolutions and embargoes are great evils while they last, yet a state of things has arisen from them which shows that a permanent good has been extracted from the evil. But for the revolution, but for the embargo, the non-intercourse, our farmers would still have been stigmatized as clodhoppers; they would still be considered as a thick-headed, heavy-footed, sordid race-stupid and stubborn.

The heavy-footed craft is extinct, or rather the grub has been transformed into an enviable shape; a farmer, now, is frequently a man of education and taste, having a mind stored with knowledge of the most attractive kind. Although the business of farming is the same as it was formerly, yet how differently is it conducted-even the name of the art has changed! There is a charm about it which none but those who cultivate the earth can enjoy, which none but those can comprehend—the charm of independence.

An agriculturist is a maker of fences, a grower of grain and grasses, a breeder of cattle, hogs, and poultry-not of sheep, for that belongs to a separate branch of the art, requiring undivided attention-he is likewise a dairyman, a seller of butter and cheese. All this, with a thousand nameless things which necessarily spring out of these important radicals, are quite enough for the management of one man, if we add to them a bird's-eye knowledge of farriery, carpentry, and natural philosophy. He is likewise a husband and a father, and has to observe the courtesies of hospitality and the rules of good neighbourhood, as well as his duties as a Christian and citizen. All these labours and pleasures, well performed and enjoyed, will send a man tired enough to his ten o'clock bed, and to his dreamless, healthy sleep, without meddling with horticulture, that book of many leaves, each one requiring a distinct and alert faculty to comprehend it.

The horticulturist is likewise a tiller of the earth, but his duties and pursuits are of a more varied nature. He frequently uses the plough, but then it requires a different attention. There have to be more doublings and windings-more care in its management, than when in the hands of a farmer. But the additional care required is not that the furrows may be deeper, or the sod turned more evenly, but that the roots of trees may not be injured.

A horticulturist cultivates the ground on a small scale, and depends greatly on the spade; in fact, the period is fast approaching when a labouring horse will never be seen in the

field but at the first ploughing, before the garden is prepared. The horticulturist is a maker and mender of fences-we lay great stress on this branch of rural economy-and although the farmer should have his intersecting fences of cedar, oak, or chestnut rails, sliding into holes made in a well seasoned cedar post, yet a gardener and orchardist may indulge in those that are of a more fanciful description. But we cannot avoid saying that an intersecting fence on the grounds of a horticulturist is a nuisance, not only to the eye, but because it is a nursery for weeds and brambles. There should be a strong, high boundary fence, close enough to turn cattle, as the phrase is, but that is all. If he will indulge in cross fencing, the cedar or wild pear, prim, hawthorn, or the attar rose, make very pretty division lines. Indeed the boundary fence should be lined with close shrubbery, not only that an ugly fence may be hidden, but that the pigs, dogs, and poultry, from the road, may not creep in. When we allude to this branch of tillage, it should be distinctly understood that our remarks apply to those engaged in the pursuit for profit. Gentlemen who pursue it for amusement need not be bound down by rules of this kind.

If it be not fitting, as it certainly is not, for an agriculturist to meddle with orchards, vineyards, and gardens, still less should the horticulturist undertake to breed cattle, or make hay. Neither poultry yard, piggery, nor dairy, must be his; the only animals allowed on his grounds should be horses for the plough and carriage, as many hogs in a pen as the waste of the kitchen and the weeds of the garden will maintain, and, at most, two cows for the use of the family. These cows on no account should be at large, but confined to small grassy enclosures, where there is a plentiful supply of water.

This delightful branch of art cultivates herbs for pharmacy, delicate and nutritious vegetables for the table, orchards and vineyards for their delicious fruits, bees for their honey and wax, forest and ornamental trees for their uses in ship and house building, and, lastly, flowers to regale the senses. This is the occupation that gives vigour to the body, and serenity to the mind. It is a pursuit that places a man above his fellows-for the broad and living canals-the ships and warehouses of commerce-the compact ranges of manufactories-the folios of science the achievements of genius-do not so much perpetuate a man's fame to posterity, as do the noble trees he has planted, which, receiving their sustenance from heaven, and their health from man's care, scatter their abundance and usefulness over the face of the whole earth.

Let him who is engaged in the racking cares of commerce, say in what frame of mind his eyes close in sleep, and what are the anxieties of his waking hours. Let the manufacturer tell of his

feverish dreams by night, and his dyspeptic symptoms by day. Let the literary man expose the ills to which the studious are liable from lassitude of body and irritation of mind. Let the professional man descant on unjust preferences, and on the tardiness of rewards. Let the artist speak of envy, jealousy, and want of patronage. Let science, too, open the laboratory, and show the hydra with which she has to contend. Trace them all through their labours, their pleasures, and their perils; pursue them through crowded streets, the deleterious effluvia of gutters, the propinquity of vice, the contagion of diseases, the ringing of fire bells, offal carts, banks, hose companies, exchange offices, eating houses, omnibus stages, and, worst of all, idle children! Look at all this-follow these men-look at their daily walks and occupations—and then turn to the horticulturist. Follow him to his repose at night-deep, tranquil, and refreshing. No incubus, in the shape of a protested note, takes away his breath. No nightmare, in the form of a printer's devil, rides through his brain. His dreams are not harassed by thieves that rob the vaults, the keys of which are tied to the wrists of the cashier for safety. No villanous hook catches him by the waistband, and drags him through intricate machinery that he may be crushed at once, or dashed to pieces by the fall, while, suiting the action to the feverish thought, he bounces down in the bed, awakened by the dislocating shock with the horrid reality of having fallen! He dreams none of this. His midnight fancies, like the true scenes of the day, are through green fields and blooming orchards. He still hears the music of birds, the hum of bees, the murmuring of brooks, the joyous Jaugh of children, the whistle of the gardener, the tender voice of his wife, and he awakens-gratified and refreshed-only to a continuance of the same pleasures.

Yes, he awakens only to feel more strongly the fresh breeze of the morning, and the aroma of a thousand plants which shed their fragrance more freely before sunrise. He walks out amongst his contented labourers, and encourages them by his kindness-all within is peace and gratitude, and a well regulated repast welcomes him back to partake of its wholesomeness and delicacy. All this he doubly enjoys from the consciousness that it is the work of his own hand. And, above all, comes the thought that, unlike those who follow other occupations, he has but one master-one who, asking nothing for Himself, gives all that is required of him-bright sunshine, soft falling showers, winds that drive away pestilence, lightnings that purify the air, cold that rests the tired soil, health, and a grateful spirit, which enables him to perceive and enjoy all these blessings.

Such a man-and there are many such-would not exchange

one of the tranquil hours of twilight, when the deep shade falls, for all the fictitious sentiment and brilliant display of a ball room, or a convivial party. He can, at once, commune with higher powers, and, in every succeeding year, as the shadows of evening draw in more closely on his fading vision, and external sounds fall more faintly on his ear, his nature will approximate more to the simplicity and purity of innocence. No painful retrospect of duties neglected, of broken faith, of sanguinary battles, no fears of the deep curse which rests on him who has injured the widow and the fatherless, disturb the evening of his days. Rather than have the fame and expire like poor Napoleon, with "tête d'armée" upon his lips, he would prefer the happy style of the good Abbott Boniface, who, raising his feeble eye to the falling dews, exclaimed, "what a fine dropping morning for the early colewort."

And now, with this enlivening touch from the wand of the great magician of the north, we shall turn with zeal to our task-that of pointing out the merits of the quaint old book prefixed to our title page, and to show the necessity of encouraging some able pen to write a good work on horticulture to suit the present time-one that will not only treat of the operative part, but also of the theoretical. We say theoretical, but we must be understood to mean theory deprived of jargon and technicalities; such an elucidation of the theory as that any gentleman farmer can comprehend it; including in the term theory the physiology of plants.

This work of M. De la Quintinye is a small folio, and now very scarce. It is one of great merit, every word of which deserves to be studied; for if the difference of climate renders his rules regarding planting of little avail, excepting in our eastern states, yet the whole is mingled with excellent hints and judicious advice. His thoughts and opinions are so quaintly expressed, and with such raciness, spirit, and truth, as well as simplicity, that the work forms a rich treat both to the man of letters and the horticulturist. When we consider, likewise, that it was translated from the French by John Evelyn, he himself claiming a large portion of our respect and gratitude for his own admirable works, we feel assured that we are conferring a favour on all lovers of the art by making this work of De la Quintinye known. We say making it known-for the book is so old and so rare that few of our readers may know any thing about it.

There is no doubt of the fact that trees will grow in any soil of moderate depth; more rapidly and luxuriantly, certainly, if planted in a deep rich loamy soil having a clay bottom, but always serviceable and ornamental wherever they may be placed, provided the necessary care is bestowed on them.

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