“Gardening is a source of much greater profit than is generally imagined; but, merely as an amusement or recreation it is a thing of very great value.  It is not only compatible with but favorable to the study of any art or science; it is conducive to health by means of the irresistible temptation which it offers to early rising; to the stirring abroad upon one’s legs, for a man may really ride till he cannot walk, sit till he cannot stand, and lie abed till he cannot get up.  It tends to turn the minds of youth from amusements and attachments of a frivolous and vicious nature, it is a taste which is indulged at home; it tends to make home pleasant, and to endear to us the spot on which it is our lot to live,—­and as to the expenses attending it, what are all these expenses compared with those of the short, the unsatisfactory, the injurious enjoyment of the card-table, and the rest of those amusements which are sought from the town.” Cobbett’s English Gardener.

“Other fine arts,” observes Lord Kames, “may be perverted to excite irregular and even vicious emotions:  but gardening, which inspires the purest and most refined pleasures, cannot fail to promote every good affection.  The gaiety and harmony of mind it produceth, inclining the spectator to communicate his satisfaction to others, and to make them happy as he is himself, tend naturally to establish in him a habit of humanity and benevolence.”

Every thoughtful mind knows how much the face of nature has to do with human happiness.  In the open air and in the midst of summer-flowers, we often feel the truth of the observation that “a fair day is a kind of sensual pleasure, and of all others the most innocent.”  But it is also something more, and better.  It kindles a spiritual delight.  At such a time and in such a scene every observer capable of a religious emotion is ready to exclaim—­

    Oh! there is joy and happiness in every thing I see,
    Which bids my soul rise up and bless the God that blesses me

Anon.

The amiable and pious Doctor Carey of Serampore, in whose grounds sprang up that dear little English daisy so beautifully addressed by his poetical proxy, James Montgomery of Sheffield, in the stanzas commencing:—­

    Thrice welcome, little English flower! 
    My mother country’s white and red—­

was so much attached to his Indian garden, that it was always in his heart in the intervals of more important cares.  It is said that he remembered it even upon his death-bed, and that it was amongst his last injunctions to his friends that they should see to its being kept up with care.  He was particularly anxious that the hedges or railings should always be in such good order as to protect his favorite shrubs and flowers from the intrusion of Bengalee cattle.