me. I did not at first comprehend the fact that these men were all blind. But after watching the man nearest to the door for a short time, I perceived a peculiar caution and uncertainty in the method of handling his tools and materials, in putting down one thing on the bench before him and taking up another, which convinced me he was working withont sight. In a few minutes the superintendent came through the doorway with his wife. She returned to her place in the shop, and he addressed He is quite blind. His manner struck me as remarkable, and so did his face. He is respectful, business-like, and self-possessed; with a quiet distinctness of voice and a readiness and ableness of reply which is rare. His face bears the marks of mental and physical suffering, and of common practical intelligence. He has no pretension in his appearance and behaviour, to be above the condition of a well informed, intelligent workman. Yet, by his energy and skill, and business faculty, (we have since heard,) he has been the chief means of establishing the business I saw; he conducts it entirely, with the sanction of the Committee of the Association. The Association has not long been established. Its objects are so good that I am anxious to bring it to the notise of the many readers of this journal, who would be willing and able to help the blind to help themselves. At the last census there were nearly 30,000 blind people in the United Kingdom. Of these, by far the greater number have not the means of living except through their own labour. Comparatively few of these know any trade by which they could live; and of these few, not many are able to procure work enough. The rest must be paupers or beggars. Three great disadvantages which the blind labour under in their exertions to support themselves are these: 1st, not many have an opportunity of learning a trade; 2nd, the trades taught are necessarily few; 3rd, those who have learned a trade rarely obtain constant employment, or a market for their manufactures. In May, 1854, a blind young lady, (her name is no secret; it is printed with due acknowledgment in the reports,) Miss Gilbert, daughter of the Bishop of Chichester, set on foot an undertaking to insure regular employment to blind working men. This was the beginning of the present Association. We now quote from the report, dated December 1st, 1858: "This was gradually extended; and in January, 1857, an association was formed under the above title, which at present affords employment in various ways, to fifty-five blind men and women, of whom twenty are supplied with regular work at their own homes, at sums varying from twelve shillings to one and sixpence a week. Twenty are instructed and employed at the Society's Repository; and fifteen are occasionally employed at their homes, or are selling goods for the Association. Particular attention is paid to the instruction of those who, on account of age, are ineligible for admission to other institutions; and a boardinghouse has been commenced for those who are anxious to find a home. The mental and religious welfare of the blind is also sought. A free circu | lating library has been established, from which books, printed in relief, are lent to sixty blind persons, and instruction is given in reading and other branches of education. To secure the continuance of the Association, and with the hope of its becoming, by God's blessing, gradually enlarged and to a great extent a self-supporting national institution, the committee, including the original promoter of the undertaking, carnestly solicit the support of all who acknowledge its claims to the sympathy of the public." The institution is carried on in a very economical way, as far as I could observe. The persons employed in the house, who have sight, are the shopkeeper, who is the wife of the superintendent, a secretary or clerk, and, if we remember rightly, a man who helps in the shop and carries out goods. The superintendent is the chief worker, both with head and hands. He teaches various sorts of work, and manages all the workers. I was told (he did not tell me) that during the past autumn he travelled to Paris by himself, for the purpose of learning how to make some kinds of articles in which the French far excel us. He acquired the art, and brought away materials and the peculiar tools neces sary in the manufacture, and he is now setting his pupils to work. He gives his whole time, heart, and brain to this institution, and he has the satisfaction of seeing it succeed so far. No money is wasted. He wishes to persuade the committee to do without the annual dinner, and send the subscribers letters explaining how much good will be done with the money instead. This may be "penny wise and pound foolish," perhaps, in a land of public dinners and post-prandial benevolence; but it shows carefulness not to fritter away the funds. Subscriptions are, of course, desirable; but far more desirable to this institution are customers. They could supply many more goods than they have now a demand for. Upwards of seventy applicants are now on their books, to whom they cannot give work. In order to compete with the machine-made articles in cheapness, the Association takes no profit as yet from the work. If a mat sells for three shillings in the shop, that three shillings, deducting the cost price of the material, is given to the man who made it. Any competent authority will assure those who doubt it, that hand-made brushes, mats, and brooms, like other hand-made articles, are better than the best machine work of the kind. Every mistress of a house who wishes to invest her money for such household chattels to the best advantage, should get them hand-made if possible, and by purchasing of the poor blind, she may perform an act of benevolence at the same time. The list of prices and articles is perfectly satisfactory. The Association does not expect the public to pay more for its wares than they would pay for similar ones elsewhere. They know that few customers would appreciate the superiority of their goods. All tradesmen who sell what these blind people make, are invited to try them. The Association has a blind traveller, who walks about London and the suburbs, calling for orders. In various provincial towns there are agents of the Association. They are trying hard received in return a notification, in German, French, Italian, and very bad English, that we must show ourselves at the police-office within four and twenty hours, or take the consequences of our neglect. It was very galling to our English liberty and uprightness, thus to be treated as suspected crimi nals, but we had no help for it. We must pocket the indignities, or give up Milan. to increase their business. Every new customer | cries one of the gens d'arines; we gave them up and gives a new chance of work to those who want it. I must remind the reader that blind people cannot live for so little as those who see. They cannot cook, generally, for themselves, though we remember seeing a clever blind woman make a capital apple pudding, and boil it herself into the bargain. The boarding-house mentioned in the report takes in men at nine shillings a week, and women at seven. They are lodged, and have four meals a day for this payment. Of course, that boarding-house cannot be self-supporting. But the principle of self-support must not be lost sight of even in so difficult a case as this of the blind handicraftsmen. Let us try to give them as much work as they want to maintain themselves. This is the best help. The library in this house deserves especial men. tion. The librarian is a young blind woman, who teaches music in the establishment, and is, I believe, an organist, or anxious to get a situation as organist. The books, in relief, printed for the blind, are very expensive. The Association has about a hundred and twenty books in this library. Here are some on all the systems of printing and reading which have been invented. I believe there are about half-a-dozen different systems. There are no less than fifty modes of writing. Writing materials are kept in the library, and given to those who can use them. Since writing the above, we have heard of the growing prosperity of the Association. On Saturday, May 14th, a meeting was held in St. James's Hall, at which the Bishop of London presided, for the purpose of advocating the claims of this Association to the benevolent care of the public. The Bishops of Oxford and Chichester addressed the mecting. A musical performance by the blind was part of the programme, and goods manufactured by them were exhibited. The meeting was crowded, and will probably lead to most beneficial results. MILAN UNDER THE AUSTRIAN RULE. Two years ago, we found it no easy matter to obtain an entrance into this capital of Austrian Italy. In the morning of the day we were gazing with rapture on the Monte Rosa, blazing in the bright sunrise with purple and gold. When we reached the frontier, we had to exchange the glories of nature for the vexations of men. Ourselves, our passports, and our luggage were all subjected to the strictest examination. The papers of our portfolios were turned over, and gazed at with a savage curiosity. Our books were taken from us to be searched by the more learned eyes of the higher officers; and, had we borne some striking likeness to Italian patriots, they could not have eyed us with more suspicion. To myself, as an ecclesiastic, they were comparatively easy and courteous; they were startled, indeed, at the books I had purchased amongst the Vaudois; but when they found I was a Protestant, they allowed me to take the poison, as in their eyes I was spiritually dead already. At last the search was ended, and we drew near the gates of the city. "Passports, gentlemen," We almost wished we had, when we saw the people. Evidently a down-trodden, oppressed, cowed people. Austrian soldiers everywhere. Some on duty, parading the streets like an armed police. Others swaggering about in conscious mastery. The cafés were full of them. They were like the swarm of frogs in Egypt. What right had that rough, guttural German thus to domineer over the soft Italian? The right of the sword, and none other-the right of might: it could not last for ever! The Arve and the Rhone, though they will not mingle for many a mile after they first meet, at length become one. But the Austrian and Italian never can coalesce. It vexed us to find the convent of Maria della Grazia turned into a barracks; but the refectory was locked, and only opened to visitors. Thus the painting of the Last Supper was preserved from barbarous hands, though not preserved from the effects of time. A wonderful piece of art it still continues. Wordsworth has well depicted it- "Though searching damps and many an envious flaw The mercy, goodness, have not fail'd to awe There are many objects of interest in Milan besides the masterpiece of Leonardo da Vinci. The magnificent marble arch at the head of the Simplon road, designed by Napoleon to celebrate his conquest, but turned on his defeat into an arch of peace; the fine old Roman colonnade near St. Lawrence; the extensive hospital of St. Anthony, will all repay a visit. I shall confine myself, however, to the church of St. Ambrose, and the Duomo. The church of St. Ambrose is one of the oldest in Europe. Before it is a large inclosed courtyard, surrounded by a colonnade. In this the catechumens were wont to assemble; and there are still many inscriptions, both Christian and Pagan, preserved on its walls. Till they were baptized, they had no admission into the sacred edifice. Within, behind the high altar, is a sort of chapter-house. Here we were shown some very ancient missals; a rude carving, evidently of great age, representing the exclusion of the Emperor Theodosius from the holy precincts, and the plain marble seat, which was the throne of St. Ambrose himself. The cicerone knew no French, and I knew no Italian, so I had to try and make myself intelligible in Latin; but whether his knowledge of Latin was confined to his prayer book, or my foreign pronunciation prevented him from catching the words, he could not make me out. Had he spoken in Latin, I should have supposed the latter to have been the reason, as I found that the Italians uniformly read Latin with the Italian pronunciation-as, for instance, they would read Cicero, Chichero-Coli, Cholee; but as he only spoke his native language, I concluded Latin was not so familiar a tongue to him as it is supposed to be amongst Romish priests. The The real glory of Milan is its cathedral. first feeling with those who raise their expectations very high, is one of disappointment. Hearing that it is built of white marble, they expect to see it polished like a chimney-piece, and can scarcely reconcile themselves to its dull, and, in some parts, its weather-beaten and almost blackened walls. Hearing of the numbers of beautiful statues with which its turrets are adorned, they expect to behold at once a congregation of works of art that shall fill the eye and the mind. Hearing that it is a Gothic building, they anticipate the excitement of their veneration and awe, and are disappointed that the tout ensemble is too light, and elegant, and airy, to create the same feelings that the sombreness of a Cologne, or a Strasburg, or a Westminster elicits. Yet the building soon grows upon you. You see that it is of white marble. You see that those delicate turrets that spring like the needles of Mont Blanc into the sky are surmounted by colossal images. Ascending the staircase to the first roof, we behold a whole company of silent witnesses surrounding us. They look down upon a botanical garden. The chisel of the artist has finished each of the little pillars of the roof into some delicate flower. As we ascend higher, the statues grow in number; and winding round the spiral staircase of the dome, we find ourselves standing in the midst of a very forest of white pinnacles and silent saints. Wordsworth has described them, as seen under the eclipse of the sun in 1820. "But fancy, with the speed of fire, And there alights 'mid that aerial host Of figures, human and divine, White as the snows of Apennine, Awe-stricken, she beholds the array That guards the temple, night and day; Angels she sees, that might from heaven have flown Have striven by purity to gain The beatific crown ; Sees long-drawn files, concentric rings, The uplifted palms, the silent, marble lips, All suffering dim eclipse." I saw them in the blaze of the summer's sunset, when every feature seemed thrown into life. Standing there on their slender pedestals, they seemed most awful, reminding one of Him who stood on the lofty pinnacle of Jerusalem-who stood and fell not. And, beyond the measure of the cathedral at our feet, what a view burst upon us! The plains of Lombardy anet Piedmont, like the garden of God, bounded by a circle of moun. tains, whose hundred tops were covered with eternal snows. The whole air was one sea of golden glory. The imagination cannot conceive heaven itself as more resplendent. The thought of Arnold when seated above the Lake of Como, and contrasting its celestial beauty with the moral degradation of the people, was appropriate there. Heaven and hell are very near to every one of us. Above was a vision such as the beloved John might have seen. Below in that city were oppression and revenge brooding together upon the wretched hearts of the people. Angels might have been basking in the sunbeams, devils were torturing the children of men in the streets. Our very guide, whose days were all spent in the sacred place, might have been one. "Your priests are numerous here," said my friend. Ah, oui! Monsieur," he replied, with the fierce energy of the South, ces sont sacres paresseux." 66 66 The Cathedral within is more imposing in its effect than without. It is in the form of a Latin cross. The nave consists of no less than five aisles. The central one is separated from the sides by clustering pillars, whose capitals are figures instead of leaves. The windows behind the choir are of the richest colours, the transepts are terminated by magnificent altars, the lofty roof is frescoed so as to imitate carved stone. Without the edifice, the attention is distracted by the multiplicity of minute objects, but within, all is in harmony, and combines to produce a sensation of reverence. The church possesses a large number of treasures. There are exhibited to those who will pay for the sight, two colossal statues of St. Carlo Borromeo and St. Ambrose, clad in their pontifical robes, made all of silver, and ornamented with precious stones. There are, besides, cups of gold and silver, missals enriched with gems, relic shrines, and splendid vestments, such as Rome best loves to clothe her in. The most extraordinary part of the church is the subterranean chapel dedicated to St. Carlo Borromeo. It is of octagonal form. Each side is decorated by a silver tablet, on which, in raised figures, is represented some remarkable event in the life of the saint, while eight caryatides in the angles represent allegorically his virtues. The wall is hung with a rich tapestry of gold woven upon a red silk ground. Above the altar stands the sarcophagus. It is usually covered. On the payment of an additional five francs, the covering was removed by a windlass, and then it stood displayed in all its glory. It is made of rock crystal set off with silver, and bears, in massive gold, the arms of Philip IV of Spain, by whom it was presented. Within it is seen the dead body of the saint. It is clothed with a sumptuous robe; a jewelled crozier lies by his side; a jewelled mitre covers his head; a cross of emeralds is suspended from the centre, and a golden crown of exquisite workmanship hangs above the mitre. But all these things cannot turn off the eye from the dead face, the withered relic of 300 years. Oh, it is horrible! more horrible by the contrast of the richness and beauty of the ornaments. There is death in all its hideousness | social condition. They are fond of describing it triumphing over man's pomp and pride. I should as a square patch of dank clay mould, overlaid with not have been surprised to have seen his grim fallen blacks-the sanctuary of the dust-box and visage laughing exultingly at us through the crystal. the water-tank-the hospital of a few roots of A mass is performed upon this altar every morn- languishing flowers-the mausoleum of a small ing. The whole church is a witness to the idolatry conclave of defunct shrubs-and the privileged of the system celebrated within it. It is dedicated council-ground of vagrant cats, except upon washto the virgin, Marie Nascenti. Her altar is the ing-day, when Betty and Mrs. Harris put them to most chosen of all the gods to whom altars are flight with a battery of steam and soap-suds, (not raised. Her figure crowns the summit of the to mention a charge of gunpowder in " skying the highest needle. And even in the adornments of copper)," a fortification of drying-poles and clothesthe choir she figures more frequently than the Lord lines, and the flapping of wet banners. Christ himself. God in Christ is acknowledged in word, but is driven out of the soul by the multitudes of secondary deities who swarm about the columns. It deserves to be called a Christian temple no more than that at Ephesus, raised in honour of Diana-the Queen of Heaven and patroness of Virginity. There are two remarkable donations recorded amongst the monuments. Marco Carrelli at one time gave 35,000 golden ducats for the construction of the Temple. And Giovanni Pietio Careano, a Milanese citizen, gave 250,000 scudi d'ore (above £92,000 sterling) for the completion of the front. Ought not our love to Christ to constrain us to give to the service of the gospel in some proportion to these donations extracted by superstition, fear, and hope? So far as there is truth in the above descriptionand we are bound to admit that it is applicable in too many instances-we are inclined to think that the truth is in a great degree owing to the slanderous untruth which has so long prevailed: “Give a dog an ill name," and you know what follows; get the slander once credited, that a London garden cannot be made to produce anything, and you are sure of barrenness and the undisputed reign of the cats and the dust-box. Happily, there are thousands of Londoners who do not credit it, and never would credit it under any circumstances, but would till their patch of garden ground, and raise their flowers and lay out their parterres and gravelwalks, even were the difficulties ten times greater than they are. Therefore, with all submission to the wits and the physiological sketchers, we shall take the liberty to say a word or two on the other side of the question, and see if we cannot call up associations quite as agreeable as theirs by dwelling on a different picture. The Sunday spent at Milan was not altogether lost. The landlord was favourably disposed to the English, and he put a room at my service for worship. Some fourteen gathered together in the afternoon of the day. I read the evening service We set out with the declaration, then, that of the church, and never felt its scriptural beauty flowers will grow and propagate, not only within more than when it was thus brought into immediate the sound of Bow bells, but under the very shadow contrast with the operatic acting of the mass. The of Bow Church, if need be, provided that the right responses were uttered by all present, and they lis- flowers be chosen, be planted in the right soil, and tened to a brief sermon with devout attention. It be tended and managed with proper care. We are was the first English service that had been held aware that this is not done to any great extent, for twelve months in that city of terrors. May and the reason is, that in the city proper there is some word that then fell from the preacher be the not space for the experiment on any large scale, power of the Spirit to quicken the hearers into life! and time is too valuable to allow of its being made. On that account the garden of the central city, so far as it exists, exists in pots and boxes, and is mostly brought in from Covent Garden and located on parapets and window-sills, where the tender plants bloom for a season, and then die-not so much from want of air, as from want of that due care and attention which it would not pay to afford them, because it is cheaper to replace them by new ones. THE GARDEN CHAPTER III.-THE LONDONER'S GARDEN. THE idea of a garden in modern London, if it be not disdainfully scouted as an impossibility by professional florists, is one that they generally associate with the notion of an innocent but rather extravagant delusion on the part of the pent-up citizen. With what is unfortunately too true with regard to the London atmosphere, they are apt to mingle the greatest absurdities. Because the fog rises in November, and the soot of a hundred thousand chimneys is at all seasons falling on the ground, we dwellers on the banks of the Thames are supposed to live in a region of perpetual fog and soot, and only to see the sun by the special bounty of Providence now and then, in the shape of a red-hot button stuck on a blanket of brown cloud. The citizen's garden has long been the butt of wits, and the stock subject of a crowd of writers whose pleasure it is to jot down from time to time the outward and visible phenomena of our But leave the central city behind you, and go in any direction among the houses which have their individual garden patches attached. There, if you use your eyes, you shall see enough to refute all the slanders above referred to. True, you shall see the majority of these patches abandoned, or half-abandoned, to waste and squalor; but here and there, in the very midst of these evidences of neglect, you shall see neat box-bordered beds, lovely flowers, and healthy shrubs, with clean walks of golden gravel-all testifying to the fact, as loudly as possible, that even here a garden will repay the cultivator. Why, we have seen prize dahlias, and, what is far more difficult to grow, prize carnations, grown within a mile and a half of Ludgate Hill. We have eaten strawberries, cherries, peaches, the white sweet-water and black Hambro' grapes, all ripened in the open air within two miles of the same spot, and have gathered bouquets from gardens on the slope of Pentonville Hill which would have won praises at a bridal breakfast. Not that you can grow anything you like in a London garden: you will try in vain, for instance, to rear a moss rose, or a China rose, anywhere far north of Camberwell, or far south of Highgate Hill; and indeed, any full petalled rose will, within these limits, be likely to baffle your efforts to produce a first-rate specimen. But there are a host of exquisite flowers which, if you will give them the right soil, will take kindly to the London atmosphere, foul as it sometimes is, and repay you well for your pains. We might write down a catalogue of a hundred of them, but refrain, for two reasons: first, that we are not teaching the art of city gardening; and secondly, that it would be better for the reader who shall make up his mind to cultivate his patch of ground, if he have not hitherto done so, to have recourse to the seedsman or gardener of his district, who will tell him the sorts best suited to his locality and most likely to thrive there. The beginner will do well to remember, however, that nothing will thrive without a proper soil: London offers peculiar facilities for this manure is plentiful and cheap-sand is equally so, and is equally necessary where the ground is a stiff clay-and there is the dust-box ever at hand with the ashes, whose double virtue will ventilate the mould and kill off the slugs. Old London amateurs are often eloquent in praise of these local advantages, and would hardly change them for any others. row of dwellings is by no means infrequent. These large gardens are often cultivated with great care by a gardener who devotes his whole time to the charge. In some cases they inclose meadows and groves of trees, which form the common exercise-ground of the whole of the tenants, and are an inestimable boon to the children, who are thus kept from the indiscriminate intercourse of the streets. Another evidence of the improved garden feeling is found in the fact that to almost every new house that is built, above the pretensions of the very humblest class, a conservatory is now attached. We will glance now at the number of industrials whom the London garden has called into existence. Independent of the seedsman and florist, who is to be found in every street, not only in London itself but in the suburbs, and who, in the latter locality, has generally his garden-ground and shrubbery in the rear of his shop, there is a various tribe of others, who will not allow you to remain unconscious of their calling, but will be sure to advertise themselves and it, as the season rolls its round. No sooner have the March winds licked up the moisture of February, than the travelling gardener comes round and pulls your gate bell. His modest request is, that he may "do up," as he terms it, your front plot. He will re-lay the box-rows, in which there are some unsightly gaps; he will dig up the beds carefully, without injury to the bulbs or roots; will bring a barrow-load or two of rotten dung to stimulate the soil, and will spread fresh gravel on the walks. All this he will do in the course of the day, for a few shillings, and prune your vine for you before the sap gets into the branches, if you happen to have one. Perhaps, while he is about the job, you recognise his face, and tax him with it, and then you find that the travelling gardener is your the mangle by night, digs and delves by day, and generally contrives to hang himself on to his wife's connection where she gets up the linen, he gets up the garden, though his visits are few and far between, compared with hers. The farther we go from St. Paul's in any direc-washerwoman's husband. The same man who turns tion, the fairer and brighter is the bloom of the London gardens. This was not always the case: a century back, Holborn and Hatton Garden were as rural as the suburbs are now, and we are glad to notice that of late years there has been a gradual improvement converging from the suburbs towards the centre. We are of opinion that the inns of court set the example in this resumption of city gardening; Gray's Inn, the Temple, Lincoln's Inn Fields and Square, have all assumed a new garden face within the present reign. The flowers and flowering shrubs in these central spots almost vie with those of the country. We shall not forget the agreeable surprise we experienced on one occasion some years back, when, being favoured with the poet Campbell's key to the garden of Lincoln's Inn Fields, we came unexpectedly upon whole beds of glorious flowers. It was a sort of revelation to us, and at once put to flight all the gross and scandalous libels we had heard against the London atmosphere. London, constantly spreading as it does to all points of the compass, spreads now with the garden as a recognised institution. More space of ground is allotted to each house than was formerly the case, and, in addition to the private garden of each dwelling, a large garden common to a whole Your ground is no sooner dug up than roots are wanted to fill it, and round comes the root-hawker. He begins his cry with the early primroses, and follows it up with all the hardy flowers that will stand the ceremony of hawking, until the ruddy ten-week stocks come in about Whitsuntide, and even later. Him follow the all-a-growing-and-ablowing fraternity, with potted flowers for the window, the parlour-stand, or the conservatory; and about the same time come the sellers of training wires and painted trellice-work for your seedlings and creepers. By this time your gravel walks have grown dingy again with the smoke and the drip, and round comes the graveller with his gravel cart and lame horse, which pulls up at your gate, and will not move on until you have consented to lighten him of a part of his load. Then your privet hedge has shot up like a porcupine's back, out of all reason, and wants to be cropped, and along comes the cropper with his big shears, which he holds up, grinning through them the while, as he pulls your bell, and you are glad enough to let him in to com |