“AMY; dazzling carmine, large spike.” “DUCHESS OF RICHMOND; rose color; fine truss.” “MR. MACAULAY; light green, thin, large truss, watery.” “MARIA THERESA; striped; perfect form.” “MADAME DE TALLEYRAND; pure, large compact truss, extra fine bell.” “MRS. BEECHER STOWE; very showy spike.” “ANNA PAULOWNA; deep; pure white eye, large truss,” and so on. We know nothing whatever about either spike or truss, but we did not like this publicity of description one bit. Now, “DIEBITSCH SABALKANSKY; brilliant carmine, late,” nobody cares about. It makes no difference to anybody save his wife, whether Mr. Sabalkansky is early or late in his habits; but to have the heroines of our dreams, like Mrs. Beecher Stowe and Anna Paulowna, ticketed so slightingly, was more than we could bear with equanimity. We wandered for hours among the grand _Victoria Regias_, the sweet-scented _Heparusa longifolios_, the superb _Gloxianas_, the tiny _Hopdedoodle calaboosas_, and the stately _Acacias_. Fountains of rose-water splashed their sparkling drops among the dense and brilliant foliage; cataracts of soda-water scattered misty bicarbonate sprays upon the ornamental verdure. There were walks of shady palms, groves of graceful maples, African cedars, and South American vines. The hall, like the waist of Athen’s maid, was zone encircled. We paused for an instant beneath an India-rubber tree and gave full stretch to our imagination. We wondered what this world would be without flowers--a body without a soul. If the soul of man is God’s breath, the flowers are His smile. “Love flowers,” we said, imaginatively, to the people around us; “the promises of Heaven are written on their leaves. At births and marriages they are symbols of death, for with the fading sunlight they too fade; but white and pure upon the breast of the silent sleeper, ’tis life they typify, the life which knows no night--love flowers and teach your children to love them.” Thinking of flowers and children brought to mind the SWEDISH NURSERY AND KINDERGARTEN erected upon the grounds, and we resolved to visit it before nightfall. We arrived there just in time to witness a good old-time spanking in the Swedish style, which is the Norway of doing it also. Both the delight and labor afforded the two participants in the operation seemed very unequally divided. We heard the schoolboy yell in Swedish, however, and learned how Swedish nightingales were made. The Swedish scholar is evidently not a model, though his school-house may be. But we must admit that the American youth surpasses all others in mischievous precocity. This fact was made painfully apparent just previous to the opening of the exhibition, in the trial of a little boy four years of age, son of one of the Park Guards, for larceny. Judge Finletter occupied the bench. We will insert THE CASE. [YOUTHFUL DEPRAVITY.]