We know not one fancy, one recreation, so unalloyed in all its points as the cultivation of a garden. It seems to afford,in common with all the rest of the fancies, the full enjoyment common to all, and to have a large balance in its favor. The miser over his treasure gloats not more completely upon his money than the gardener does upon his choice fruits, flowers, and vegetables. The picture collector is not prouder of his painting than the florist is of his Tulips; nor docs the owner of the ancient gems of art point them out with more satisfaction, than the gardener shows his best named flowers. If the owner of a gallery of pictures has his Rubens, his Leonardo da Vinci, his Paul Potter, so has the owner of a bed of Tulips. The florist combines in his single garden as many fancies as would occupy half the population, and delights in all of them. What if the conchologist boasts of his collection of shells? He can only look at them in one state; there they are, always alike, no change; only a few people can see them at once, and not one in a thousand, though they may be pleased with the beauty, can estimate the rarity of them.

The antiquarian pores over his coins in solitude; he boasts perhaps, that this crown, that guinea, or the other medal, are the only known ones in existence; but can he increase them? Can he oblige a single friend with an offset? Will it ever be better? but, if another be found like it, will it not be worse? What has he rare that the florist may not in his own estimation equal? The Tulip-grower would say, "What coin have you got equal to my fine Louis XVI? And bargain; he sows his seed with pleasure ,he watches the progress of his plants with interest, he looks for their opening dowers or swelling fruits with anxiety; and if his hopes are crowned by one solitary plant, fruit, or flower, better than his present stock, he is repaid for all his trouble, labor, and watchfulness; if not, he begins again, nothing daunted, saying to himself, "Bad luck now, better another time." Is there any fruit eats so sweet as that from our own garden? Does not every day develope some new claim to our attention? Every new visitor in the form of a flower, or fruit, or vegetable, is a welcome one.

A man does not go into his garden, as he must into a gallery of pictures, a cabinet of coins, or a museum of natural history, to see the same things in the same places time after time: he finds something new every day: his beds of Tulips and Ranunculuses, his collections of Picotees, Carnations, and Finks, his Pansies, Dahlias, Auriculas, Polyanthuses, and other flowers, come in, one after the other, to reward him for his recreation - for, though there be much exertion occasionally required, he will not call it labor. His vegetables and his fruit repay him for the trouble and expense he incurs; and after all, there is one sweetener to all his cares, one refreshing reward for all his anxieties, one circumstance that gives an additional relish to all he personally enjoys, and it is this. - he has not to seek a connoisseur to participate in his happiness, for ask whom he may to see his establishment, all the classes of society are delighted with a well-kept garden. It delights all the senses; its fragrance, its brilliancy, its usefulness, all speak to us in language not to be misunderstood, upon the numerous pleasures and duties which are inseparable.

But there is one point of which we must not loose sight. - it is the facility with which every class of society can accommodate his gardening to his means, and yet excel as far as he goes; one cottager, with scarcely more ground outside his house than his house covers, can be king above his neighbors for the growth of Stocks; another prides himself upon his double Larkspurs; a third will allow none to surpass him in Pinks; a fourth will shine in Pansies; and so. according to the means at his disposal, the owner of a garden may be ambitious, successful, and happy.- Thomas Miller.