graceful structure. This is a kind of forest-
prison—the region of palms and plantains.
Entering, I passed at once into the tropics,
and recognised all the majesty of the East.
There are the specimens of the most magnificent
vegetation in the world—expanding in
the heat—struggling to the light—warm, rich,
graceful and abundant. A flush rises to the
brow—you are stepping to a bath—to bathe
in beauty! It is a fine genial sensation, as if
you were going to shut up, and grow a little,
on your own account. You half expect the
little girl, who is peering at the plantain, to
blossom, too. You begin by walking round
the sides, and you gaze upwards at the grand
fan-like leaves arching all abroad in a
majestic languor. That is a specimen of cocoa-nut.
Yon is a gigantic banana with a dense
bunch of fruit hustled together, from which
descends a kind of bell-rope, bearing a large
purple blossom as a handle. At one end
of the house you come to a tub of papyrus
—with its green stalks or rods. It was
from the pith—a white pith—of this, that
the ancients prepared thin paper. Note too,
the Caffre-bread. Note likewise, the strange
Cycas, with spiral ladder-like leaves—and
note him with interest, for "similar plants,"
says Sir William Hooker, the Director of
the gardens, "have been found fossilised in
the oolite formation of England, as at Portland
Island." That plant's ancestor, or some
of his kin, were dwellers here—and are
represented now, by stones, in a formation older
than chalk! Turning at the end, you see as
you pass along, what looks like a dense frozen
block of mud, but above it—like pennons
over a castle—round airy green leaves trail:
this is Elephant's Foot. You will think of our
Indian brothers, as you mark also the Mango-tree,
with pale primrose-coloured blossoms. If
you are fond of coffee—you have one chance
of seeing it, which in these days of chicory and
roasted beans will be agreeable; for our
Palm-House has some specimens of it—light
and sad-looking, with its berries on it—as a
pilgrim bears his beads. But I must strongly
particularise one grand specimen of vegetation
—the Pandanus furcatus, or Screw Pine—
throwing up his heavy leaves like a fountain.
And our hospitality is excited by a thin, slim
tree, of bright brown—the tree known as
mahogany,

In the centre of the house there is a spiral
stair-case, by which you ascend to the gallery.
Round and round you turn, encircled all the
way with the green leaves of the batata, or
sweet potato, which creeps round the railings.
So, I climbed, with a sensation like swimming
in herbage, as it were, and found myself
perched above the forest, all of a sudden, and
looking down on it. The palm leaves were
slowly swaying, and the feathery tops of the
tall bamboos fluttered like the flames of a long
church taper. The heat and the coloured
light still the fancy into a dreamy mist—but
an attendant passes you. You awake to fact;
this gallery is the place whence the plants
are "watered," and your palm will never be

"Shed by an Indian for its juicy balm."

KEATS' "Isabella."

—but a wire rope supports it, and artificial
aid helps it to sprawl across the roof. I
descended the stair-case among the waving
climbers—green as the veils of Houris—and
was soon again on a level with the sparkling
cinnamon-plants, and opposite a scion of the
great house of Banyan.

To the northward and westward of the
Palm-House is a space of ground called the
Pinetum, destined to coniferous plants. And
near it is a small lake. By the borders a
swan was sitting on her eggs, and her faithful
mate, who kept sailing about in the neighbourhood,
landed with a defiant look as I passed.

I had now a choice between various hot-houses
or stoves. Number six is an interesting
one, for it is the region of water-lilies. Its tank
makes a little lake, and there you see the
large round leaves—"anchored to the bottom,"
as Tennyson says. That little lake is at this
time dull; the leaves float like abandoned
rafts. But, last year, there was produced
here the Victoria Water-lily, a gorgeous,
grand flower, and floating mass of splendour
derived from the seeds of a noble plant that
Sir Robert Schomburgk found sleeping in the
river Berbice. This Eve of lilies has spread
descendants over many collections. Even now
in the little lake at Kew, the spirit of life is
moving in the waters, and it is expected that
a beautiful flower will rise—like Venus—from
them this summer.

In Number eight are kept many agaves, or
aloes; and here also, some large cactuses. There
is a notable aloe, called the Foureroya gigantea.
For a period, as long as the generations of
man, it had remained un-productive. In
1844, however, it went off like a floral rocket
—(in company with a friend) shot up to the
roof—obliged its proprietors to clear away
glass for it; and burst into a blaze of flowers.
There is something pathetic in the history;
for they who, probably, were among the first
of their tribe who visited Europe, sank into
exhaustion after this exertion; and only young
individuals of the stock are now to be seen.

In several of these houses a graceful, fanciful
plant presents itself—one of those which
attract by their resemblance to the articles of
life. This is the Nepenthes distillatoria. I
mean the pitcher-plant. With a light playful
droop, it holds out a pitcher, as if it was inviting
you to drink. The little lid remains
open. Insects "drop in" here (literally) for
refreshment, and, getting thoroughly "in
liquor," are ruined for ever. By the beautiful
mechanism of Nature, this little pitcher has
a "hook," which prevents it from spilling!
Naturalists are not agreed as to the "use" of
this fairy pitcher. I think that it may be of
great "use," if its form only remind us of
the Samaritan at the well!