or tasted wares that could rival the produce of his own little profitable domain? But the good-humoured smile of conscious superiority in his profession, that plays upon his features, is the market-gardener’s peculiar fascination. Talk to him of chemical manures or rich guano, how he will smile! and what a tale will he unfold of roses all burnt up, geraniums run to leaf, polyanthuses converted into cabbages, without the advantage of being edible; auriculas dying, &c. “May do _somewheres_, but not for flower or market-gardens.” Beyond him, lies spread out a rich carpet of flowers, grouped by the hands of younger and humbler ones, whom one might almost call the lay floricultural professors. Geraniums, and fuchsias, and bright blue salvias, verbenas of every hue, from deep maroon, through crimson, up to white; sweet-scented heliotrope, and richly shaded primroses, that make the tenants of the woods look pale with envy. A pity it seems to disturb the harmony of colour, so perfect a parterre does it form, with the back-ground of shrubs that stand in such rich clusters behind them, all waiting to be transplanted to new homes. In the very midst of them rises a mysterious-looking little ark of canvass, resting from its weekly labour of perambulating the streets and suburbs through which it has been borne, sedan fashion, by the pair of unclassical-looking hobbledehoys that own the gay treasures it is formed to shelter, and whose lips can manage to send forth a string of nomenclature that may fairly shake the nerves of any modest purchaser. Sweet simple-looking little floral gems, they will recommend to notice as Gilea rosea adorata, Clarkia fimbricata, Coreopsis nigra, speciosa, Colinsea rubra, all hardy annuals; and with the utmost nonchalance describe some trembling little creeper as Tropœlum Campatica Fuchsia Carolinæ, Campanula Campatica, and Lobelia ramosa, all safely meant, we presume, to conceal the relationship of the owners to the familiar tenants of the cottage border. A novice must seize in desperation upon some one that, shorn of its _ishii_ or _osum_, may chance to be remembered, lest his fate should resemble that of the fair lady, who once professed to own in her garden the “aurora borealis” and “delirium tremens.”