Once, a long time ago, I heard a very pretty song; I believe it was called "Molly Bawn." I recollect two lines at the end of a verse ran thus:

"And the stars above are brightly shining, Because they have nothing else to do".

Now I do not consider myself a star, although I feel assured there are such things as biped stars. 1 frequently see them mentioned in theatrical notices and criticisms. Well, like the stars first mentioned, "because I'd nothing else to do" - of importance, mind you; for who ever yet heard of a gardener, if he had a garden to attend to, who had nothing to do? However, feeling at liberty, 1 thought I would indulge myself in taking a stroll to see my neighbors at River-dale. I have lived within six miles of them for nearly ten years, and never visited them before. I went up on the Hudson River Railroad; and if you, Mr. Ed-itor, ever land at that depot, viz., Riverdale station, just stand for a few minutes on the railroad bridge, and if you do not confess that it is the moat charming river view you ever saw on the Hudson - at the same elevation above high water mark - between the ocean and West Point, well, then, you and I disagree, or, in other words, landscape beauty has no seat in your affections, which is a pretty hard thing to say, and still harder to believe.

Riverdale is a clear, substantial, and respectable-looking place. The property on which it is located was purchased after the railroad was finished, by one of the Messrs. Babcock; there are two brothers reside here. He resold to other parties, upon certain conditions, and under certain restrictions, viz.: such as would prevent them from putting up shanties, tenement houses, grog shops, etc. The result is, that not any of these nuisances greet the eye, and the absence of them is agrees-bly realized as soon as you cross the railroad bridge, and find yourself amid sub-stantial stone houses, with ample lawns, flower gardens, orchards, etc. The unpretentious air of respectability and rural quietude which the place assumes is really charming. The first house after crossing the bridge belongs to Mr. Stone, and is surrounded by, and liberally planted with, shrubbery, evergreens, hardy flowering plants, etc., and appears to be kept in very good condition. Further up, and more to the south, is the residence of Mr. Colgate. This place is well located; the grounds very judiciously and tastefully planted and laid out by Mr. Baumann, two years ago.

The gardener not being around, I d?d not ask any questions, but passed on up to Mr. Franklin's, a relative of Mr. Babcock's. I found Mr. Franklin in the garden; an unostentatious and sensible gentleman, with a hoe in his hand. What he was going to do with it, this deponent knoweth not. I suppose he took it with him for the laudable purpose of slaughtering weeds, but where he would find them, I do not know, for assuredly I did not see any.

The first thing that attracted my attention was Rubus laciniatus, at home. I say at home, because I have known it for some time, but have never before seen it planted in the proper place. Along the upper part of the vegetable garden Mr. F. has built a stone wall about eight feet high, and I think about 200 feet long. Posts are placed close to the wall, and wires are stretched along them; and about half the length of this wall is completely covered with this cut-leaved blackberry, and full of fruit from bottom nearly to top; and luscious fruit too, when perfectly ripe. Mr. F, intends covering the whole of the wall with it. This plant ought to be more extensively cultivated than it is at present. Landscape gardeners will find it a very useful and appropriate plant for various purposes.

The asparagus bug, beetle, fly, slug, caterpillar, or whatever name you please to call the varmint, has just made his appearance here, just commenced nibbling the points of the shoots; and I may as well say here, that the first time I became acquainted with this imp of darkness was in my own garden, three years ago this summer; and I have manfully fought him ever since, till about three weeks ago, when I cried enough, and "threw up the sponge!" Their Jacksonian style of fighting and bringing up their reserves was too much for me; so I dug all the roots up, and flung them in despair on the rubbish heap.

Mr. Franklin asked me "if I knew how deep Asparagus roots went down." I answered, "They go down two feet, I know; I don't know how much further." "Well," said he, "I had occasion to dig down there six feet deep, and at that depth I found the Asparagus root, thick and strong".

Pardon, Mr. Editor, a slight digression, while I mention an incident which this circumstance has brought to mind. A few weeks ago I went over to Fox Meadow to see friend Ellis. I was accompanied by a grave and portly friend, who responds to the name of Captain. You know, Mr. Editor, if your readers do not, that the fine vegetable garden at Fox Meadow was, but a few years ago, a veritable swamp. Well, we were walking around, lavishing our panegyrics on the various crops, till wo came to a fine square of Lima beans; and I scarcely knew which looked the darkest, the foliage of the Limas, or the soil in which they grew. The Captain turned to Mr. E., and says he, "Do you ever manure this soil!" "No, sir," was the answer. "Only a little lime occasionally." "How deep does this soil go down?" was the next question. "Right through!" says Ellis. The Captain turned around and looked the picture of bewilderment at him! That look (I suppose to Mr. E.) was pregnant with doubts and interrogations, for he proceeded to modify or qualify his seemingly abrupt answer as follows:

"When 1 first came here it took roe about a week to reconnoitre and cogitate about what to do. At last I made up my mind to locate the vegetable garden here. About the time, a few feet from where we stand, the former came along, and says he, 'Going to make a garden here?' 'Yes,' say I. 'You are, eh?' says he. Well, off he goes and fetches a pole ten feet long, and with one hand shoves it down pretty near out of sight. What little was left above the surface, he slapped his foot on, and put it right out of sight; and then, with the palms of his hands on his hips, he looked me straight in the eye and said, 'You'll make a garden here, will you?' " Well, Mr. Editor, this is the spot where the Lima beans now grow so rank, and the soil goes Right through.