Dear Horticulturist - Allow a new but gratified subscriber to encumber a few pages of your incomparable monthly, in endeavoring to describe some of the beauties of a tropical climate, as seen during a recent voyage round the world.

Brazil is beyond doubt the loveliest country on this continent, and I think can scarcely be surpassed by any other in the world. Rio de Janeiro, with a motley population of two hundred thousand, boasts, and justly too, of her public and private gardens, but it is of the former we are about to write. They are called the Imperial and the Botanical Gardens, and are greatly resorted to by the citizens, who are real lovers of nature; and a stranger is told here, as they are by the Italians "who has not seen Rome, (i.e. in Rio or more properly postillion, being remarkable for his gaudy livery and big boots, our sable Jehu was persuaded to transfer himself from a recumbent position inside the carriage, to his saddle, and after some delay, off we started, our ponderous vehicle rolling under the arches of the imperial dwelling, which spans the Rua Direta. Soon after leaving the palace, the magnificent bay of Boto Fago suddenly burst upon our view, its large waves rolling on the snow-white strand with a sudden roar.

Then we drove through street after street, every now and then catching a glimpse of small but beautiful bays, until we came again to the beach, while the small sail boats at a distance, danced and bobbed like white sea fowls.

Corcovado Peak soon was seen rearing his sharp and lofty head to the clouds, and at whose base lay the Botanical Gardens, surrounded by an impenetrable hedge, teeming with small white flowers. On entering we came across large beds of the tea plant, and beyond, were rows and groups of majestic trees both foreign and indigenous; bread fruit, cocoa nut, clove, cinnamon, (I omit scientific names) and hundreds of others. Then on each side of the white and smoothly rolled walks, stood rows of the stately palm, with their rings showing each years growth, and between them, golden pine apples nestling in the bosom of their long green leaves. After spending several hours in this beautiful place, we were shown into an adjoining garden devoted to the culture of oranges, lemons, limes, plantains and bananas. A more lovely spot than these gardens does not exist on this continent, and after spending days of admiration and botanical delight in them, I feel that I can never do them justice in any description. Groups of bambo, nodding in solemn and oriental grandeur, greatly diversified the picture, with their refreshing greenness.

Delightful cool summer houses, pavillions, and rustic retreats, shaded with the richest climbing evergreens, and covered with myriads of gorgeous flowers, of all the colors of the rainbow; playful sparkling fountains, reflecting the golden lines of a tropical sun; murmuring rivulets, flowing peacefully over pebbles and shells, then leaping down in minature cascades, and dashing off to be lost in a beautiful thicket of laurels, make up the ensem-ble of this enchanting scene.

Parts only of these lovely gardens are kept in good order, some portions being left in a state of nature, and utter neglect. A more romantic spot I never saw, and my mind unconsciously transferred me to those scenes so beautifully described by the ancient classical authors, and good old Fenelon, and all that seemed to be wanting, were the nymphs, and mermaids, the dryads and fauns, to give more animation to the groves and streams.

Yours, etc. W. J. H.

Lock Haven, Pa.