"Comes next

Brown Autumn in her turn. Oh! not unwelcome cometh she; The parched earth luxuriously

Drinks from her dewy urn.

"And she hath flowers and fragrance too.

Peculiarly her own; Asters of every hue - perfume Spiced rich with clematis and broom,

And mignonette late blown."

Mrs South ey.

Autumn 9

THERE is certainly more difference in our feelings and associations with the beginning of autumn and the close of it than there is between the commencement and the end of any other season: for the end of each of the three preceding, if we reckon winter first, is full of hope, and the commencement (except winter) full of pleasure. Autumn begins gloriously; its flowers are gorgeous in hue, and its fruits, whether useful to man or merely ornamental, as berries, are beautiful in their contrast with the green leaves.

"The mountain ash No eye can overlook, when, 'mid a grove Of vet unfaded trees, she lifts her head, Deck'd with autumnal berries that outshine Spring's richest blossoms."

In August, September, and the first part of October, the garden is in full blow; we scarcely seem to miss our summer roses, and pinks, and honeysuckles, while their places are supplied by the less fragrant but bright asters, hollyhocks, dahlias, verbenas, late sown annuals, scarlet geraniums, and other greenhouse favourites planted out in the borders.

One of the most beautiful of those early autumn flowers is the gladiolus, either grown in a bed or in clumps : the brightness and yet delicacy of its varied shades of colour, and the length of time its noble spikes continue in flower, unite to make it one of the most valuable additions to our gardens. The roots of the finer varieties require to be lifted before winter, and carefully guarded from frost; but I remember reading an account of the management of Gladiolus cardinalis in the gardens of Blairadam, where it was stated that, after the bulbs or tubers had grown to a large clump, they could be left in the ground all winter. Like the dahlia, the roots of the gladiolus are benefited by being started in spring in a hotbed, so as to bring them into flower early in the season, as these flowers are very susceptible to frost, and are apt to be cut off in one night, when in the height of their bloom, if an unexpected frost comes on.

The jessamine, with its snowy stars and graceful leaves, is another of our autumn favourites; and one cannot help regretting that its place, on wall or house, is now so often usurped by more showy, but less permanent, less fragrant, creepers. Most people associate this plant with old-fashioned houses, and perhaps one of its charms arises from this association, recalling summer evenings in some well-remembered quaint wainscoted room, where the air was perfumed with the sweet jessamine trained around the small windows, and every feint breeze brought its fragrant breath into the room. Our childhood's days, too, are recalled, when, seated on the grass whitened by the fallen flowers, we gathered and strung them as garlands, sweet and delicate, though mayhap neither so fresh as the daisy chains of spring, nor so rich as the rowan-berry necklaces that emulate the coral.

"O simple flower, That sight of thee should waken to this hour Thoughts more than tongue can tell!"

There is a disadvantage no doubt in having jessamine trained on a dwelling-house, because in winter it looks dead and dark, and is apt to get filled up with faded leaves; but, in spite of this, I would feel unwilling to banish an old and merited favourite. A similar objection applies to the sweet-scented clematis and the honeysuckle, which resemble bundles of dry sticks in winter; yet would we not feel it ungrateful almost to turn against and discard them in the "winter of their discontent," when we know what they have been and will be again, if we will but bear patiently, and hope in the dark season 1

Carnations are now in full blow, and, either as separate plants or in a bed, they are beautiful; and as they are not very difficult of cultivation, I wonder why these flowers should have gone so much out of fashion. Except the clove carnation, there are few with much perfume to boast of. Their cousin, the pink, far excels them in that respect; but the variety of their colours, and a sort of queenly grace about their tall stems and rich flowers, make them very attractive, - and for cut bouquets in autumn they are valuable, as they keep long fresh in water. In alluding to the possibility of gathering carnations for nosegays, I am quite aware that I am on dangerous ground; the sight of a lady, flower-scissors in hand, approaching a bed of choice carnations, would drive a gardener to his wits' end; but I am writing on the pleasures of gardening, and not on the culture of flowers, and certainly, having plenty of common, free - flowering carnations, and sometimes gathering the same, is a source of lawful enjoyment. I admit that it is not so to gather the gardener's flowers, or an amateur's choice specimens, or even to cull flowers at all in any one's garden but your own; there, however, carnations may be in sufficient abundance to be gathered, even although a few select specimens may be "tabooed " by the gardener, or grower thereof. There is one kind, of a bright flesh colour, but no scent, which flowers late and profusely; then there are pale pink and pure white varieties, also full bloomers, but as these last are jagged at the edges, I suspect they are not true carnations. The common deep red kind, though seldom deserving its name of clove, has more perfume than those others, and when allowed to attain to a good size in the borders, it thrives and flowers well with very little attention. I am not competent to treat of carnations, or any other "florist's flowers," as to the real culture; but there are so many treatises on all these, that no one can be at a loss, who really wishes to study the .subject; all I wish to do is, to rescue the carnation from too rigid a seclusion, and persuade lovers of flowers to grow it more freely.