THE difference between the knowledge, and conse-quently the enjoyment of a true admirer of flowers, and the senseless being whose only pleasure consists in dusting a prima donna with them on the stage, is so great as to be almost unfathomable. The botanist, too, comes under the anathema of the gardener for his mode of admiration. We lately asked a distinguished author on botanical subjects, "Why it was that students of his science , rarely had a good garden or a greenhouse." "Because," was the reply, "they can rarely afford it!" But this is not the only cause. They enjoy the flowers as nature placed her impress upon them; "double" and "improved" varieties are to them monsters. Sometimes, however, one meets with a scientific man who admires beauty in these new developments; why should we not love all the beauties that nature can display, and why not with added interest when our own art has brought them into being?

To marry flowers to music is but an acknowledgment that beauties of two different kinds are allied; poetry, song, and music, united to Flora, appears to be a natural union. We do sometimes, however, wish that the Singers of bouquets could know a little of the structure of a flower, and appreciate the glory which they cast away. But on any terms we are willing that flowers should be loved. The lady who gathers a bouquet and arranges it in her house, has gone a step as far as her neighbor who passes four hours daily in acquiring a mechanical mastery over the keys of a piano without her heart being touched by melody. And the lover of the garden has a fairer chance that her enjoyment will be of a permanent nature, than the strummer of the harpsichord whose period of play so often closes with a housekeeper's duties. Is it not melancholy to reflect on the hours, the years, wasted in mechanical trifling over musical instruments, in those numerous cases where there is no real taste for music? View the former "musician," in her age.

What is the use of all the conquest she has made over the keys; where is the useful information she might have acquired by the study of a science during those long hours devoted to learning and saying the nonentities of the music stores; where are the moral teachings she has missed? Where the books she might have read, and the world of information of men and women, or the history of her own race, she might have acquired? Perhaps she unites herself to an officer whose duties call him to the tropics; visit her there, and she tells you only of the heat; or if near the sea, that her piano is spoiled by. the damp - and she cannot sing "without an instrument." Curiously enough this is a common complaint; the human voice, the most delightful, the most heart-touching, is much neglected for the less agreeable arts of mechanical device. Had she been taught to love and understand nature, her enjoyment would be ceaseless; her curiosity would be constantly awakened. It was our good fortune once to meet a married couple in a tropical latitude, banished as they called it; their occupations were merely such as they conceived would pass the time, that "enemy of the ignorant, that bane of idleness." The gentleman was all kindness, the lady anxious to be civil; the first had not yet "taken the trouble" as he expressed it, to get a cocoa-nut, and taste that noble product of nature, its milk; the lady hated the smell of bananas, and did not allow them on the premises, which were furnished very simply as if for temporary occupancy; she had not observed a single flower of the lavish bounty around her.

She had, however, her piano: but it was "out of tune," and there was "nobody to put it in order I" So her life was a listless series of mere endurances. Had she sooner cultivated a love for nature, and added the love of a garden to her sole accomplishment, life and her temporary banishment would have been full of enjoyment. If her pencil had been used with judgment, she might have brought home portraits of hundreds of friends that would have afforded her a life-long source of charming reminiscences. We have seen her since her return; she has her piano tuned, and rejoices, we believe very sincerely, that she has not now to fight the mosquitoes, her sole tender recollection of the beautiful coffee plantations, and the gardens of the fruit of the Hesperides! Poor lady! We dare to say that the purchase of a bouquet to throw on the stage for the newest favorite of the hour, and of the contents of which bouquet she knows only the Rose, gives to her untutored mind the appearance of a pleasure that exists only in name.

Why is it that so many grow up in total ignorance of the lavish bounties by which we are all surrounded? Why does education stop at the music stool, and the polka? It is because the world is but half educated; because our schools are "taught" by half-informed people; books are to be learned by rote - books made by people, themselves ignorant of much they, write about. The best treatises are often unknown to the masses who issue from our schools; interested parties have made and sold others; the bookseller worms himself into the Board of Instruction, and he of course vends his own inferior article; teachers are made to order, and of a very second-rate order some of them are. The world wags onward, the children's minds are unopened. Take any town in this great Union and see how many of its so-called "educated" inhabitants can converse with you on Astronomy or Botany, two sciences whose objects are always above and around them; they know less of these, perhaps, than they do of the "Negro Melodists." Sorrowful is it to see any mind wrapped around with the blanket of self-satisfied ignorance; but so is it, and so will it be, until education - not the mere "learning" of our school-books, is diffused by people trained to know something more than is now disseminated.

Every new comer upon this delightful, this beautiful earth, has to learn; the blank sheet of the mind, on which it is so easy to write good or evil, must be constantly burnished or it becomes rusty; no burnishing will take place till curiosity is awakened. We regret to add that attempts to awaken it are too frequently the exception, not the rule or practice.

Inquiries are beginning to be instituted, to ascertain why the education that is to fit the young for useful occupations in country homes is utterly ignored. The question is one of immense importance, and we would have the subject fully canvassed.