"Unless" says he-" we pay attention to what is addressed to us, whether by the ear or eye, it is impossible we can remember, because the sight or sound has made no impression on the memory, and without memory there can be no knowledge." Of the truth of this original observation he gives a very striking illustration-"It is a common thing for a person to walk out and return without being able to describe, or even mention, any one thing he has seen; or to read a newspaper without being able to tell what he has read, farther than to give some vague idea of the subject." But attention alone will not do; and he instructs the young gardener how to cultivate memory on philosophical principles-after a fashion that makes small beer of Feinagle. The generic names of plants and animals are, he tells us, of three kinds (just as there were three ways of getting rich); "those composed of words indicating something of the nature, or appearance, or uses of the plants-those composed of the name of some eminent individual-and those composed of native or local names. Do you wish to remember the name of some plant of the second or of the third class? Then,

"Thus, Gordon was a nurseryman at Mile-end, a short, lame, sailorlooking man, who dressed in blue trowsers, chewed tobacco, and was without offspring; it is easy to imagine his wife reproaching him with the last circumstance, while he holds out to her a plant of Gordonia, as a substitute for a son and heir. Elettari being extensively cultivated as a spice by the natives of Coromandel, we may imagine a group of these Indians arriving after death at the gates of Paradise, each with a bundle of the plant. The porter may be supposed, on first opening the gate, to be about to shut it in the faces of these poor black fellows, till they all shout out, Elettari.' What then,' says the porter, with surprise, 'you are, elect-are-ye!' and lets them in. Elettari is the only native generic name in Monandria Monogynia; the native specific names in the same class and order are Allughas, Zerumbet, Casumunar, and Mioga, which may be easily likened in sound to Hallelujah, Strumpet, Cheesemong er, and Maijocchi."

All other names, whether of science, or those which occur in the common intercourse of life, as of persons and places, are to be recollected" on the same principle," "and the more ludicrous the association, the better will it be recollected." All this may be extremely witty; but then, Mr Loudon should recollect that a sense of the ludicrous is not equally given to gardeners; that in some it is fine, in others coarse, in some quick, in others slow; that in many it seems almost dead or dormant, and in most suppressed, during the duties of daily life, by other senses of a higher kind. Be that as it may, 'tis insulting and injurious to vegetables to recollect their names by ludicrous associations alone,-and if such of the Monandria Monogynia as rejoice in their native specific names, could be informed of Mr Loudon's new nomenclature, they would rise up to a plant, and push him from his stool in his pride of place. The coarse, vulgar wit of animal matter we can well believe very offensive to a sensitive vegetable; and coarse, vulgar wit is Mr Loudon's here as ever set the smiddy in a roar. What decent gardener would call any thing with buds or leaves-strumpet? What gardener who had read his Bible, as a touch of the ludicrous, would change allughas into halleluiah? What a capon who should chuckle to call casumunar, cheesemonger? And as for remembering for ever Mioga, by pronouncing it Maijocchi, does Mr Loudon imagine that the name of that ungrateful reprobate is familiar as a household word in English gardens? He makes such free use of the scissors, that we do not always know when he is original, and when he is indebted to wits no way inferior to himself in power of illustration. Is the following his own, or Feinagle's, or some other fool's? In spite of inverted commas, it must be a lump of Loudon.

"If I am told that the Dutch merchant Schimmelphenninck was a very wealthy or religious man, that will not assist me in recollecting his long name; but if I say to myself there is some resemblance between Schimmelphenninck and skim-milkpen-and-ink, the resemblance may enable me to do so; or if I have re

course to a Dutch dictionary, and discover that schimmel is grey, and phennick a penny, I have greypenny, as a synonym, which, with the operations the mind has undergone in getting at it, will most probably impress the original name on the memory. If a Highlander tells me his name is Macpherson, I immediately interpret it mac parson,-son of a parson-son of a Catholic priest and a Highland maid; and I figure to myself his first parents of a former age, a Franciscan friar, 'an oily man of God,' and a bare-legged brawny wench. I see the monk receive her into his cell, take her confession, lead her from the confessional to his couch, there to kneel and join with him in prayer: the straying hands of the holy father surprise the penitent, but he consoles her: Let us forget ourselves, daughter, "all flesh is grass," but God is every thing, and every thing is permitted to his servant St Francis, -let our bodies take their course.' Nine moons hence, and the sun rises on the plantlet of the tree of Macpherson."

Having thus strengthened his memory by the same means by which he has refined his taste, the gardener cannot fail in giving himself "an intellectual education, independently of acquiring his profession." Eight hours per day, we are told, is about the average of his labour throughout the year. It is not often severe; so he has eight hours for "rest, dressing and undressing; eight for labour, and acquiring the practice of gardening, and eight hours for refreshment and study. On comparing this time for study with that which is usually devoted to it by young men at college, not the generality of young men, but those even who attain to eminence, we will find the difference very inconsiderable." The young man at college, Mr Loudon reminds us, requires the same time for rest as the gardener, and at least two hours more for dressing and undressing; for breakfast he requires an hour, and for dinner and tea at least three hours. It is so long since we were a young man at college, that we cannot speak confidently as to all the items in Mr Loudon's account. But never shall we believe that we required at least two hours for dress

ing and undressing-washing and shaving, of course, included in the bill of the day. For undressing we could not have required above a minute in the twenty-four hours then on the supposition-a liberal one of our having undressed twice

for we do not require for the same purpose, and on the same supposition, more than two minutes now. Five seconds for neckcloth-five for coat and waistcoat-cossacks fivedrawers five, (for if you hurry you tear)-and stockings, five each-on an average of a year-for occasionally we keep dancing about on one leg, with the silk fliped over the instep of the other foot, and clinging to it with an obstinacy that would have discomposed the man of Uz, though not Us-and that makes one minute. No allowance is here made for shirt or flannel waistcoat-but these no true Scotchman changes above once a-week-that is a work for Sabbath hours-and we have known it take double the time of all our other dis-apparelling. No young man at college will ever be in the first class, or senior wrangler, who cannot undress within the minute, and dress within the quarter of an hour-so from Mr Loudon's most extravagant and outrageous allowance of two hours, subtract one hour and twenty-eight minuteswhich add either to sleep or study, or in equal proportions to both-for surely you would not add them to eating, which, according to Mr Loudon, already engrosses four hours, without including its consequences, which, however, perhaps fall under the head of relaxation. Whoever took an hour for breakfast? Why, we could make three breakfasts and material breakfasts, too-in that long space of timewere it not for fear of a surfeit. Three hours, "at least," for dinner and tea, is likewise enormous; and a poor creature, indeed, must he be, who takes tea at all when reading for honours. He makes his debût in the world in the shape of the Wooden Spoon.

It finally appears that your gardener, who works on a yearly average but eight hours a-day, has more time for study than your Oxonian or Cantab. It is true, allows Mr Loudon, that he is "subject to the time

employed in eating, but that may well be considered as compensated by the knowledge of botany he acquires in the garden during his hours of labour." The great advantage, however, which your gardener possesses over your Oxonian and Cantab is, "that, unless his religion forbid, he may study at least twelve hours every Sunday." Mr Loudon is the most liberal man in his religious opinions we ever heard of, as you will see by and by; meanwhile, do you not admire the coolness with which he lets drop, "unless his religion forbid," into the above passage? He recommends that the Sundays shall be employed thus:-Morning commenced as usual with a language; "the remaining part of the day we would dispose of in portions of one, two, or three hours, in bringing forward those evening studies which we had been least successful in during the week, or found ourselves most in want of for actual use. This day is also particularly adapted for drawing, which, though it ought not to be neglected with artificial light, yet goes on best with that of the sun." Arithmetic, mensuration, and land-surveying, mechanics and experimental philosophy, essay and letter-writing," both with a view to improvement in the style and penmanship," and, if possible, miscellaneous reading from an Encyclopedia these are the studies on which the gardener, according to Mr Loudon's scheme of education, is to be employed twelve hours every Sabbath or Lord's day.

ther to make himself acquainted, to the degree that circumstances may permit, with the whole cycle of human knowledge." But, even when he has done so, he must not think of ever being able to become "expert at chemical analysis, dissection of animals, solving problems in any of the higher branches of mathematics, or to excel in painting, music, or poetry."

Discouraging doctrine, and, we hope, unsound-but how is the gardener to find means of making himself acquainted with the whole cycle of human knowledge? "To the degree that circumstances may permit," is a most indefinite degree; and should it so happen that the gardener has found a place "among the farthest Hebrides," the degree to which he may have made himself acquainted with the whole cycle of human knowledge would be hardly, we should think, worth taking, except for the honour of the thing, and to be worn as a titular ornament. In happier circumstances, the source from which he is to derive his general knowledge, "it may be easily conceived, is chiefly from books." He is to derive aid, too, from professional men, men of talents and learning, wherever he has an opportunity of conversing with them, public lectures, artists, artisans, manufacturers of every description, manufactories, engines, mines, dock-yards, and all other works displaying human skill. But the grand source is books-and the question is, says Mr Loudon, how a journeyman gardener, whose wages are often less than those of a common labourer, is to procure them?

-though by means of a fine but not difficult analysis, all the three, nay all the four, may be reduced to one

VOL. XXXV. NO, CCXXI.

to wit, stealing-as a few words will shew. You pretend to purchase books-but you never pretend to pay for them; and thus, "to the degree that circumstances may permit, you become acquainted with the whole cycle of human knowledge." The distinction between begging and borrowing is so slight, as to be at times

22

almost imperceptible; but begging is more nearly akin to purchase without payment; for in both cases alike you make the book your own, with consent of the previous owner, and write your name on it, not only without compunction, but with a rejoicing conscience. Borrowing, you perceive at once, is stealing, with a gentler name, aggravated by audacity for you do not, for a long course of years, deny the fact, but, on the contrary, apologize every time you meet the previous owner-which, however, you take care shall be as seldom as possible-nay, promise to return it on Monday. Your friend cuts you, or goes abroad, or marries, and forgets his books in his children, or, best of all, dies, and the book-or books-are yours for life. Mere simple stealing-that is, shop-liftingthough common, is not correct; but being committed probably on a sudden impulse, on the sly, and with shame, it is a venial offence in comparison with borrowing; though we believe that he who steals many books, one after another, nor gives over doing so, even after frequent detection and exposure, will be almost sure to take to borrowing at last.

With such sentiments on stealing, we were startled by Mr Loudon's answer to his own question, "How is a journeyman gardener, whose wages are less often than a common labourer, to procure books? "Our answer is, borrow them; and make it a fixed rule to purchase no books excepting grammars, dictionaries, and other elementary works, and of these, used and cheap copies." And from whom is he to borrow? Why, from the head gardener, to be sure. And how does he procure them? Why, he borrows them, of course, from "the patron under whom he serves." And how came they into his possession? Probably by purchase, without payment; and thus do the journeymen gardeners over all Britain "become acquainted, as far as circumstances may permit, with the whole cycle of human knowledge," at the expense of John Murray, Longman, and Co., and William Blackwood! We pity the poor

booksellers.

The sort of books, says Mr Loudon, "desirable to borrow," inde

pendently of those connected with professional acquirements, are treatises on chemistry, zoology, mineralogy, and, above all, a good Encyclopedia-one systematically, instead of alphabetically arranged, would be the best; but as most existing libra ries, he says, are now stocked with the Encyclopedia Britannica, or Rees' Cyclopedia, "these must be taken till a well-executed one, on the plan of the Encyclopedia Metropolitana, now publishing, (but badly executed,) finds its way into general use." The Encyclopedia Metropo litana is not badly executed, as this conceited gentleman impertinently says in a parenthesis-any one number of it being worth all he has compiled since he became a clipper. Then, there is the Edinburgh Encyclope dia, edited by Sir David Brewster, now complete, and the property of that enterprising bookseller, Mr Tegg, full of the most useful information of all kinds, as Mr Loudon well knows, though he has kept his left-hand thumb upon it, all the while brandishing in his right a formidable pair of shears that might trim a privet hedge, or the mane of

a bonassus.

mawlies; and that a yokel in a turn up at a fair has a better chance of flooring his man, by his own natural way of fighting, whatever that may be, than by the pseudo-science taught him by my Lord's gentleman. In the ring, "a little knowledge is a dangerous thing;" and there is nothing, with the uninitiated into the greater mysteries, like good round hitting, closing, and hugging, with an occasional, and perhaps accidental and unaccountable crossbuttock. Let the gardener, say we, eschew fighting altogether; if wantonly attacked, let him use the blackthorn, hitting fearlessly at the head; and if his heart be in the right place, by using that simple recipe, he will down half-a-dozen gipsies. Against the fiddle we have nothing to say-except the Scotch one-and in lieu of it we beg to substitute the bagpipe. We can say little or nothing in favour of cards. We hate the whole pack. Mr Loudon, however, thinks whist an essential accomplishment of every man who would find his way in society in England, where conversation is not nearly so well understood as on the Continent, and therefore less relied on for passing the time agreeably."

An easy, graceful, and yet manly action is to be attained by the young gardener, as we have seen, by the practice of dancing and the manual exercise; but these are insufficient to give him a good address. He is therefore "to read Lord Chesterfield, guarding against those slips of the pen where he seems to recommend impurity and deception." And he can only acquire "a gracious and polite manner of speaking by much reading, and by attending to the language of ladies and gentlemen, frequenters of polished society." Much depends on the proper management of the muscles of the face. A gardener must not be a gawky. Now our physiognomist has noticed," that the features of the face may be set " to any emotion, so that" if the muscles of his face are put in training by a gardener at the commencement of his apprenticeship, almost any thing may be done with them, as in the case of comedians." Should he tire of his profession, he may go upon the stage, and a Matthews, a Yates,

or a John Reeve, be found in every provincial theatre. Yet we find that a gardener's object should be less the power of varying them than of giving a set expression of animation, joined to a degree of satisfaction; this medium or central disposition he can occasionally alter to that of pleasure on the one hand, or disapprobation on the other, as circumstances require." The art of conversation, so flourishing on the Continent, being little understood here, "consisting, in ordinary society, in tiresome relations as to the party ortheir affairs, attempts to obtain victory in argument, &c.," Mr Loudon has devised a scheme for the cultivation of conversation, as a delightful art, which we hope will not be confined to gardeners, but extended to all mankind. "Three or four gardeners, all eager for improvement, might practise conversation on this principle, by assembling occasionally, and either conversing as equals, or, for the sake of variety, assuming characters. Two, for example, may take the part of the parents of a family, one or two as strangers on a visit to them, and the rest as children, and so on. The party might first produce that sort of family wrangling and snarling, which commonly occurs at firesides, as the conversation to be avoided; and next a conversation as it ought to be, or as each gardener would desire to have it in his own family." In short, having already all put the muscles of their face in training, and being excellent comedians, they are to have private theatricals, at one another's houses, at which will be enacted extemporary domestic dramas, such as the Spoiled Child, the Brawling Brothers, the Scolding Wife, Who's Papa, and My Uncle. There are few stronger innate principles in human nature than "a pawpensity for the dwama ;" and we have only to hope that no beak will interfere with so moral and intellectual an entertainment, no money, we presume, being taken at the door, and the most delicate female parts being performed by stout young gardeners.

There are, Mr Loudon tells us, two things in conduct which the gardener ought most particularly to avoidfamiliarity and cupidity. Nothing more odious than familiarity, nor a more certain mark, he says, of low