Water is an essential element in the beauty of a landscape, whether it presents itself in the form of sea, lake, river, or running brook, and no landscape gardening can be perfect without its addition in some form. Switzer Bays, "Even as Paradise itself must have been deemed an un-modeled and imperfect plan, had it not been watered by the same Omniscient hand which first made it, so our gardens and fields, the nearest epitomy and resemblance to that happy place which is to be met with here below, can not be said to be any way perfect or capable of subsisting without it."*

While we do not deny the grandeur of the ocean, or the beauties of the lake, with its ever-changing surface, for ourselves, if searching for a country home, we should give that spot our choice which combined, with other advantages, of course, a running stream in the form of river or brook. A rapid stream it should be, brawling over its pebbly bed, and noisy enough to be heard as we sit within the porch in the quiet eve of a long summer's day, with lighted pipe, and dear friends about us, and just loud enough, as we lie down upon our couch, to mingle its lulling sounds with healthful slumber.

How strong and ever present are the laws of association! Even now as we write, we hear the murmuring of the Saco, as it rushes in its headlong course over its rocky bed, behind the dwelling of the old man Crawford - a fit requiem for the soul of one whose manly nature was well known to every one who in former days visited the mountains of New Hampshire. A fit requiem also for those unhappy ones who, many summers ago, terrified by the coming avalanche, rushed from their mountain home, only to be swept away in the cold embrace of its swollen waters. Mingled with these sounds, too, we see visions of those dark, limpid pools, overshadowed by the crumbling bank or shapeless stump, and darkened by the overhanging mountain hemlock, from which we have drawn many a struggling denizen of the stream. We see, too, as we sit in the late summer afternoon at the open windows of this same dwelling, the dark clouds that are gathering upon the mountain tops, and we hear the distant thunder as it mingles with the nearer murmur of the hurrying Saco. All this in turn brings to mind the hills of Scotland, and the rippling of the Tweed at Abbotsford, the sound that Walter Scott loved so well, and the only one, as Lockhart tells us, that on that summer's day broke the stillness of the death-scene of that whole-souled man.

*Ewbank'e Hydraulics.

Fortunate is he, then, who, with other elements of beauty about him, can combine upon his own grounds the gurgling of the river or brook, or the noise of the tumbling cascade. Even fortunate is he, who, in the absence of these, can boast in some secluded shady dell the cool, sparkling spring, bubbling up from beneath the shelving rock, forming as it runs away the tiny rivulet, and moistening in its course the graceful fern and clinging moss - safe bathing-place for the humblest bird.

How many of us, as we have stopped on a summer's day far away among the hills, to refresh ourselves and our jaded beasts, have wished that we might transport to our own domains the old wooden wayside trough before us, lined with its dark-green moss, and filled to overflowing with its flashing waters, as they come pouring into it from some rudely hollowed tree!

But if we can not possess the running stream or the trickling rivulet, we may in some measure supply their place by the artificial fountain. We do not purpose to trace the history of this handiwork of man, in use from the most remote antiquity, curious as it might be; neither do we give here the details of costly works for the subterranean conveyance of waters. We do not speak of les grandes eauae of Versailles, or of the wonderful cascade at Chatsworth, but we shall treat of the introduction of water into the garden and conservatory in a way that may be compatible with the most moderate means.

In the construction of the artificial fountain, the first thing to be considered is the supply of water. When a brook can be commanded, this may be easily obtained by means of the hydraulic ram. In lieu of this, where no such resource is at hand, let there be constructed a tank of good sound plank, oblong in shape, and of as large a size as the place where it is to be located will admit. This should be lined with zinc, or with lead, which is more durable, although at first cost more expensive, and placed either in the loft of the stable, outshed, or in the attic of the house, in such a position that it may be supplied by the rain which falls upon the roof. Care should be taken that it is easily accessible for repairs ox for cleaning. A tank made simply of plank and painted inside may be of course much more easily constructed, and might under some circumstances answer every purpose. In our northern climate, however, such a one, during a summer's drought, or during the winter, when no water could be allowed to remain in it on account of the danger of freezing, would certainly become leaky, and in a very short time perfectly worthless.

Where the reservoir can not be placed so as to receive the water directly from the roof, it may be thrown into it from the common cistern, by means of the force-pump, which can now be purchased at a very reasonable price. In such a case there would be no necessity for a new tank, but a pipe may be conducted to the fountain from the one which supplies the bathroom, etc., of the house. In the construction of a dwelling, or where water-pipes are to be introduced into one already occupied, the supply for a fountain may be taken into consideration and easily provided for by increasing the size of the tank or reservoir beyond that which would be absolutely necessary for household purposes.

The windmill is sometimes erected for the purpose of raising water from a well into a cistern for the supply of a fountain. Where this might be made available for other purposes, possibly it might compensate for the greater outlay, and for the almost constant repair which would probably be necessary to keep it in running order. We leave out of view the vexation attendant upon such contrivances.