But we have here wandered far aside in our market trip; next come in due order the butcher-stalls, taking a higher rank in the social scale of market society than the humbler _pads_, though their wares may not compete with their neighbours for a world-wide fame—south-down mutton, prime little scot, and short-horn beef, with the usual attendant displays of calves’ white heads with staring eyes, and mangled feet hanging to dismembered legs and shoulders by little strings of sinew, looking as though they were carelessly left on by accident, _not_ to affect the weight, and other mysterious manifestations of the internal anatomy of oxen and sheep, and queer-looking conglomerations of odds and ends, transmogrified by some cooking process into very greasy imitations of brawn, and selling by the name of pork cheeses,—these make up the attractions of the butcher department, not over-inviting to look upon, even to those who are far from objecting to well-disguised appeals to their carnivorous propensities in the form of savoury dishes. The lover of beauty will soon permit his eye to wander on and rest upon the treasures of the market-garden, where it may revel in a perfect sea of “Bremer” lusciousness; asparagus—seakale—peas, marafats and blues—beans, kidneys dwarfs, and windsor—salads and cresses—radishes in radiating bunches and globular bunches—cabbages and cauliflowers, that may perplex cooks and boilers by their magnitude—cucumbers and melons, and all the pumpkin tribe. Fruit—shining heaps of cherries—trays of bright glistening currants, with their little seeds peeping through as “natural” as the gems in the great Russian cabinet—strawberries and raspberries on their wooden trays, with the little skimmer-like spades to shovel them up, and the choice ones packed up in their little pints, sheltered from the sun by the fresh green leaf tied over—and sundry and divers wares from foreign parts lending new features to the home department, since the tariff of the “people’s friend” came into operation. But the crowning glory of the picture is the sovereign of the stall, the sturdy market-gardener, full of strength and sinew, the evidence of honest healthful labour meeting its due reward,—a fitting representative of the great base upon whose soundness rests the column of wealth, and capitol of rank, that with it form the pillar of our nation’s social prosperity. He knows not what it is to seek for work, but rather needs to pluralise himself to satisfy the demands upon his skill, and time, and taste; and fairly has he earned his reputation both in horti and floriculture. His rustic little home, with its thatched roof, and ivy and clematis twined verandah, lies in the very midst of a city of gardens almost of his own creation, watched and tended by him with a care that has rendered them the fairest line of beauty art ever devised to grace a road-side pathway through the suburbs of a city; and who ever saw