one eats, or drinks, or wears, so long as it is a necessity to support life, is no more his property than the air he breathes. The latter is as essential as the former, but we never speak of a man's wealth of air, neither ought we, of his wealth of necessary food. But whatever ministers to his intellectual and æsthetic enjoyment, becomes a part of himself, and is not wasted by the using, yet. is continually lifting the soul into higher conditions. No doubt here is the strongest possible reason why we should beautify home, garden, walk, and farm. By thus doing, we are not only laboring to live, but to live well. A distinguished writer has divided the human race into "men who have gardens, libraries, and works of art, and those who have not; the former will include all noble persons, except a few who make the world their garden, or museum, while the people who have not, or do not care for gardens, or libraries, but for nothing but money or luxuries, will include nothing but ignoble persons."

It is no new thing to be specially interested in plant-life. Gardening is one of the ancient arts. The Sacred Word refers to the garden of Eden, and to Adam and Noah as workers in the soil. Moses represents gardens "as located by the river-side, having cedars by the waters, and the whole land watered by the foot as a garden of herbs." Hebrew writers speak of Assyrian gardens bordering rivers. Diodorus. and Strabo describe the hanging gardens of Babylon and Nineveh. Homer sings of the gardens of Alcinous, adorned with trees and vines, full of flowers and fruit at the same time. Pausanius mentions that Academus gave a lot of ground to the city of Athens to be ornamented with trees and flowers for the good of the public; at length, in the midst of these works, Plato's Academy was established. Aristotle taught his disciples philosophy while walking in a garden. Pliny, the younger, describes his Lauritian Villa, being his winter home, and his Tuscan, serving as his summer residence, as surrounded by beautiful lands bordered with rose-bushes, hedged with box cut into the shape of various animals, planted with the fig, mulberry, olive, cypress, and planetree. Virgil

in his Bucolics and Georgics treats at length of horticulture as it was more than two thousand years ago. He describes most of the shade trees known to us. He speaks of the ivy, acanthus, poppy, marigold, and violet. He is in favor of grouping plants and trees, and adorning gardens with fountains and statuary. Charlemagne, in the eighth century, established gardens, prescribing by royal edict the plants which should be reared in them. Castle and convent gardens were numerous in the medieval ages. At the present day the Turk expresses his idea of public gardening in the shaded resorts little above Constantinople, on either side of the Bosphorus, called the "sweet waters of Europe and Asia." But these will not compare favorably with hillsides and plains around the villas of sunny Italy. These are supplied with flowers and plants fairer and sweeter than those that decked the head of Horace's Lydia, or strewed the bier of Virgil's Daphnis. The French have displayed no finer taste, perchance, in works of art than that expressed in the gardens of St. Cloud, the Bois de Boulogne, and of the Champs Elysees, exhibiting the beauty of the curved line, and the romance of fable and allegory.

In gardening, the English delight in the useful and beautiful. They place in contrast the finished plat and the untrimmed thicket. They aim especially at congruity in grouping and elegance in individual forms. Their buildings, hedges, rastic fences, orchards, and meadows, show that they have become adepts in cultivating the land. Colonies have usually emulated, if not rivalled, their mother countries in works of art. Homer in poetry and Appelles in painting, and the gardeners of Ephesus and Rhodes, were in advance of those of Athens and Corinth. Our country ought to surpass the lands of Europe in improvements. In the early history of our colonies different methods of tilling the land were introduced by English and French settlers; in the north the former held the sway, and in the south, the latter.

The geological structure of our country furnishes an unlimited field for every possible variety of horticulture. In nearly

every State we discover the condition. of three zones the lofty peaks with the dark firs, of the frigid; the wavy hills covered with the maple, apple, and chestnut of the higher temperate; and the level savannas adorned with the willow, peach, and grape. Being of virgin soil, its plats and parks may be made to partake of any form which art and science can suggest. Is it not our duty to pay deference to beauty of shape as well as to utility? If lands are properly laid out and tastefully cultivated, is not their value enhanced so as more than to compensate for the extra labor and expense? Who does not like to see flower-beds in front of the vegetable garden, the stable hidden by the dwelling-house, the orchard, plowed fields, pastures, groves, and lines of trees, all neatly and properly adjusted? Americans ought to cultivate their natural fondness for the picturesque, the novel, and the antique. In improving our lands this can be fully accomplished and realized. Trees and ledges, grottoes and groves, the wild and tame, furnish the picturesque; various colors of leafage and petal, the mingling of wild and cultivated plants, the straight and curved paths, are constantly introducing the new; artificial walls in apparent dilapidation, broken colmuns, or dead trees covered with ivy, are sure reminders of the antique. It should be our ambition as a nation, if not to lead, at least to march in the van of civilization. We ought not to be satisfied by receiving, but we should be able to give back better things than have been bestowed upon us. If we would give glory and dignity to our country, let the lives of the truly heroic be commemorated in our hearts and in our works of art.

As a traveller passes through the cities of Europe, he is struck by the art-works in almost every city to perpetuate the memories of their heroes and distinguished characters. Entering Westminster Abbey, or St. Peters, he is conscious at once that he is in a temple of fame as well as of religion. In the Palace of Versailles he realizes that the miles of pictures and statues are intended to immortalize the glory of France. Near Munich he looks upon Rumshall, a doric portico resembling the Propylæa of ancient Athens, whose niches are being filled

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with statues and busts and whose centre is occupied by the largest bronze statue in the world, all designed to give character to the history of Bavaria. Such patronage is proper. It cultivates love for true national beauty and greatness. So our country should pay honor to the names that throw special lustre upon her history, by embalming them in works of natural and cultivated art. No other, perhaps, can lead our nation forward so successfully as that which serves to grace home and country with works of taste and culture. Let art and science do their best work here in beautifying towns and cities, and in the years to come our land will not be shorn altogether of its woods, but forests will be preserved in certain localities for the health of the nation, parks will be multiplied and improved, our commons and public grounds will be adorned with plants and trees, marbles and fountains, commemorating the deeds of Washington, Franklin, and the hosts of noble and cultured souls that wrought so faithfully for the good of their country and the world. If this work apparently moves slow, it is because of its greatness and real worth to humanity. The Madonna di San Sisto at Dresden is not the result of a day's thought and toil. That is the outcome of untiring study and labor of many years. Raphael was able to produce that peerless picture only after having examined the beauties and expressions of almost countless faces and forms. That is a painting to live, because it embodies so much of mind and heart. Viewing it for the first time, it is admired; and examining it for the ten thousandth time, it develops new beauties and attractions. So let it be with all exalted work, and it will live to bless the ages to come.

ARTICLE XXI.

The Gospel for all the World.

THE Gospel is for all the world, and is to be preached "to every creature," because all men need it. It is a rule of

righteousness, in following which all men may make the most of themselves, and do the most for others of their race. The wrongs and abominations of mankind abound because of their failure to apprehend and obey it. It is the Golden Rule demonstrated; the practical working of the commandment, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." If the world does not need this blessing most of all things else, we greatly misunderstand its past history and its present condition. Then, all men can understand the Gospel. It commends. itself to their reason. Its religion is in accord with the common sense of mankind. The objection to much of the theology called Christian in the past and present is, that it is not of this character. It will not bear the test of fair reasoning. It talks of mystery when it is asked to explain an absurdity, and does not seem to see that what is justice, and mercy, and love, with men, is the same carried out to infinity in God the Father. Intelligent and educated Pagans coming in contact with our Christian missionaries, often propose questions to them which evince the weakness of a theology calling itself Christian, and which is not based on the primitive Gospel. The Pagan asks, "How can your Christianity vindicate the goodness of God, when it teaches that He created souls, knowing beforehand that they would be doomed to an endless hell? Supposing that some of your own friends go to hell, and you to heaven, could you know of it without grief? and if you could not, how could heaven be a state of enjoyment to you? Supposing of husband and wife, one goes to heaven, and one to hell, would not the one in heaven grieve because of this separation? and if so, what would such a heaven be to the bereaved one?" These are actual questions put to Christian missionaries, who, after fruitless attempts to vindicate the Divine Goodness in answering them, are obliged to end with the acknowledgment, "We cannot exactly tell; we do not know;" only to hear their replies and their teaching thus contemptuously summed up: "You do not know! you do not know! You always come to this, and stop. What is your sacred Book good for, if it does not make these things plainer?"