IT is matter of congratulation, that "several citizens of Union Springs, New York," should have had the good taste to print this address. It contains a world of practical observation, and relates just such experiences as are calculated to give a practical turn to every gardener and amateur who loves to work and to observe. We pencilled nearly the entire address for insertion, but our space will admit of only the following bright remarks from a mind deeply imbued by a love of nature, and a man who, having passed a life of usefulness, can yet charm by his pen and his converse.

"In treating of gardens, as in describing of circles, it matters not where we begin; nor whether we range first among esculent vegetables, beautiful flowers, or delicious fruits, for all are interesting to the horticulturist; and I would hope that this remark may serve as an apology for any abruptness or irregularity that may appear in this discourse.

Does any animal except man enjoy the beauty of flowers? I presume not, having never seen any indication of the kind, though hundreds of insects regale on their nectar. Our love of flowers must then be considered as evidence of a higher organization; and those who cannot appreciate it, suffering from the want of some phrenological developement, have claims on our sympathy. Yet as organs are said to be enlarged or diminished according to moral or mental training, so many of our friends now shut out, may indulge the hope of rising hereafter to the enjoyment of more glorious objects, and of purer and more elevated pleasures. ....

Pure white, as we see it in a sunbeam coining through a clean atmosphere, is the blending of all colors in certain definite proportions; and when it is impure, a surplus or deficiency of some color must cause it. The colors of most flowers are mixtures. The purples are rarely, if ever, pure, being only the intermingling of red and blue. The prismatic colors exhibited in flowers, however, with rare exceptions, are only six, for green in Botany, like black in Optics, is not considered a color.

The intense blue of some Alpine flowers has been ascribed to the deep hue of the sky that bends over them; but the constant supply of moisture may be a better reason. Finer colors have been observed in some species near brooks in summer and autumn, than on similar plants that stood on the dry banks above them.

Plants subjected to high culture are more apt to run into varieties than those in a state of nature; yet some manifest this tendency even in the forest. Our wild Phlox divaricata is found sometimes white, as all once were at Farmer's Point near this city; sometimes almost all red, as below Niagara Falls in Canada; and sometimes almost blue, as in some specimens of our own woods, though pale purple is the more common color. No American plant. however, has assumed such varied hues as the Asiatic tulip. Speaking of it in a wild state, Baber, the Tartar emperor, said, "I once directed them to be counted, and they brought in thirty-two or thirty-three different kinds".

And yet the young florist soon observes with surprise that there is one color (often more) into which no variety will ever run, as if the law were imperative, "Take any [shade] but that".

For instance, we have no blue tulip, blue rose, or blue dahlia - no red crocus, red iris, or red campanula - no yellow phlox, yellow trillium, or yellow peo-nia; and none are to be expected. To this rule perhaps the hyacinth comes nearest to forming an exception; and yet I have seen none of a good yellow. Even the famous "Gold of Ophir" (so called) has but little more than a tinge of that color. ........

The winters of western New York are as favorable to herbaceous perennials as those of Philadelphia - perhaps more so - but they are less favorable to half-hardy shrubs. Our heavy loams freeze not half as deep as theirs, owing in part to more clouds at that season - the condensed vapor of our lakes - that obstruct the radiation of heat; and to more snow at the time of our severest cold. Plants that lie snug under this mantle are as safe as they would be in England; and we need only be apprehensive of danger immediately after an untimely thaw. With half-hardy shrubs, however, it is different. Over our snows, winds below zero frequently sweep along; and when spring returns, we often find all above the snow line dead, and all below it alive, and in the best condition.

But it is not a sudden and brief severity of the weather, but its long continuance, that proves so fatal; for it is occasionally colder at Philadelphia, at Cincinnati, and at Vincennes, than it ever is at Rochester or Buffalo.

A knowledge of these facts may assist the florist in making his selections. It is not difficult to find hardy plants enough, but a correct taste would prompt him to choose the most varied forms of beauty, and such as would be exhibited in succession throughout the whole season of flower.

Some young trees and shrubs suffer much in winter before the wood becomes hardened and well matured. For a long period I have seen the American Spindle tree regularly killed down; and for several years the Chinese Honeysuckle shared the same fate; but the same shrubs now appear perfectly hardy. When newly introduced, such plants generally receive more attention than in after time. They are stimulated by high culture to grow late in the season; and, abounding in juice, suffer in proportion from the cold. Dry substances never freeze. The seeds of melons and cucumbers endure the greatest severity of our climate; but the plants that spring from them, are destroyed by the first touch of frost. Neither oaks nor maples would abide our winters if they continued their growth into autumn. Half-hardy shrubs should, therefore, be planted in soils not too rich, and their growth should be stopped in summer, if possible.

Have we a better guide than nature? Her seedlings generally rise among other plants, where they are protected from the scorching sun, from untimely frosts, and from being thrown out in winter. Many a plant which we foster in the greenhouse would do well in the thick shades of our forests, where the branches above them would lessen the radiation of heat, and shield them from freezing winds. But hot sunshine may be as destructive as a cold night. The difference between the climate of the woods and the climate of the open border is very great; and it may explain why many of our native plants refuse to inhabit our gardens. For instance, who has succeeded with the Gerardias in the open sunshine? Or with Cypripedium acaitle? I have known the last, however, to bloom for several successive seasons in the twilight of a broken flower pot, open on the north side.