Quitting the Concert Room, we continue our examination of the statues, which extend along this side of the Nave. The most notable of the succeeding subjects are the Prodigal Son (145), by San Giorgio; David (147), by Magni, an artist whose studies of every-day life are remarkable for their truth to nature; Cain (99), by Etex; Geefs’s Malibran (108); a colossal group of the Murder of the Innocents (142); an Italian Mower; the Horse and Dead Knight (46), by Lough; Sampson, by Legrew; and also the charming statues of Eve, and Eve Listening, by Bailey. On our way towards the Queen’s screen we pass several works of statuary art, amongst which may be noticed, A Faun with Cymbals (66), by R. Westmacott, R.A., and a David (67*), by the same sculptor; an Ancient Briton as a Scout, and the Massacre of the Innocents, by J. E. Adams, and a fine statue of Erato (174), by Launitz. THE BOTANY OF THE PALACE. However beautiful and perfect may be the works of art by which we are surrounded, there is a Hand whose meanest work outvies them all, yet whose silent and beneficent wonders are going on around us. To the unobservant man nature is silent. He knows not the rich treasure he neglects, and the eloquent teachings, the more loved the more they are known, which he never listens to. Of all nature’s developments, perhaps not one is so universal or so important as that of which we are now going to treat. The character, the habits, the civilisation, almost the very existence of men is determined by the vegetation of the countries they inhabit, and where no vegetation is, the land is desert indeed. Our kindliest memories of foreign lands, and of our own country’s beautiful spots, are inseparably linked with the foliage and verdure which adorns the rugged earth, and is, as it were, the handwriting of the Almighty’s blessing and distinction. It is not the burning sun alone that makes the tropical island appear so different to our own: there seems a wider difference still, between the rank and tangled luxuriance of the tropical forest, and the stately glades of England--or between the prodigal wealth of almost wild fertility, and the field surrounded by hedgerows, whose riches are the reward of patient and necessary cultivation. There is indeed beautiful instruction in all nature’s phases and mysteries, but none more beautiful than that conveyed by plants and flowers. The greatest minds have turned their strength to the culture of the field or garden, and the gentlest and best hearts seem to be the most fitting home for the love of beauty so pure and true.