My object in taking this journey was to enable me to cast aside home cares for a few days, - to see something of what was being done in other parts of her Majesty's dominions, to visit old friends, and make new ones. We may stay at home and ponder over certain subjects till the mind gets mystified and the eyes ache, without being a whit the better; whereas, intercourse with our fellows, or rather I should say interchange of thought, dispels many lurking errors, and enables us to strengthen what may have appeared to be somewhat uncertain opinions or conjectures.

Gardening visits, too, give an insight as to the different systems of management: they give us also an opportunity to criticise what we may consider to be amiss with others, and at the same time to reflect on our own defects.

Horticultural exhibitions are powerful instructors, as they bring the products dispersed over a large extent of country within a narrow compass, which, no doubt, stirs up the ambitious faculties of some, and agitates the incipient desires of others.

But another plea may be offered in favour of gardening visits - viz., that, although we may have had exhibited no inconsiderable amount of talent, we must not run off with the idea that everything else has received the same careful attention, which may or may not be the case. There is room for suspicion, for how frequently do some of the leaders at our metropolitan and local shows carry off for years the principal prizes, and get what is called, in loose phraseology, "their name up," while other things of equal importance have an independent existence that are allowed to take care of themselves. The motto of every good gardener is, "Uniform attention throughout;" so it is advisable, sometimes, to see what those are doing at home who bear a great name. Gardeners, as a body, are kindly disposed to each other; no class of men fraternise more freely, and how often have I known casual meetings ripen into deep and lasting friendships! Never but once during my wanderings have I been treated with cold formality - a frigidity not easily to be forgotten.

Now I must proceed on my journey; and by the express found myself on a September morning in Birmingham at 10.50, and by the next train was whirling off to Warwick. The country is fiat, - not an object to engage the attention till I reached Kenilworth station. Here I felt that I had entered on classic ground - consecrated to the end of time by the magic pen of Sir Walter Scott, to whose genius civilisation bends the knee of homage. Here the remembrance of many tragic events rushed upon my memory. There too, was the memorable year of 1575, when the Earl of Leicester feted with regal splendour the Elizabethan Queen. All the luxury money could purchase was pressed into her service. Every actor in the grand drama stood before me as described by the novelist. There were the minstrels, the dancers, the professors of buffoonery, all possessing but one idea, ' to gratify and support the vanity of an imperious queen. But amid this galaxy all was not joy, - there existed the deeply-seated villanies of Varney and the broken heart of Amy Kohsart.

Nothing now remains of Kenilworth Castle, npon which we can read the memorials of past greatness, but the mouldering walls, ruined battlements, and deserted halls. The hand of destruction has clinched it firmly, that leveller of every material form.

In the course of a few minutes more I found myself at Leamington station, and shortly observed the grey towers of Warwick Castle shooting out from among gigantic trees. Situated as it is on high ground, it takes in a large sweep of the surrounding country. Having secured comfortable lodgings at the hostelry of Mrs Ann Page - who I do not suppose is any relation to the lady of that name who shines so conspicuously in ' The Merry Wives of Windsor,' but that is a point I do not wish to investigate - I now steered my course in the direction of the garden and inquired for Mr Spink, to whom I was an entire stranger - but that does not matter. My reception was kind, and he at once placed himself at my disposal; and certainly I could not have had the services of a more accomplished cicerone. Well he may be, as he has held his present situation under the late and present Earl of Warwick more than fifty years.

The kitchen-garden appears to be about 3 acres, and dates beyond the memory of any living man; no wonder, then, that the soil looks weary and worn out - sickly it must be under such a long period of cultivation. There is a time when manure ceases to stimulate - more is required than dung; there are the mineral ingredients, which consumed, vegetation languishes, and eventually refuses to yield anything like an adequate return. No doubt, when cropping has been conducted upon correct principles, the natural elements of the soil may be preserved longer, but there is a time when they will disappear under the best management. Mr Spink has to fight against numerous enemies; one in particular is, that on one side of the garden are planted close to the wall large timber-trees whose roots have extended like a piece of network throughout the vegetable quarters. Beyond a few of our usually cultivated varieties of Apples and Pears there is no extension. On the Peach-wall there are a few healthy trees, and others again are in the last stage of dissolution; and were it not, says Mr Spink, "by planting a few yearly, I should soon come to utter grief." This I can quite believe, as alljstone-fruits dislike the red sandstone; they must have lime either naturally or applied.

I have little or nothing to record about the forcing-houses, as they are few in number and in a tumble-down condition. It is hardly possible to suppose such a state of dilapidation being called upon to do duty. Fruit certainly is forced, but in what way I cannot guess no matter in what direction they come, the rain and wind have complete toleration to enter at every corner.