islands. During the protectorate upwards of two thousand soldiers were in garrison at Corfu. Consequent upon this, and the employment of a large civil service, an English community existed in the town. The money thus disbursed among the townspeople by the foreign residents and visitors was something not to be suddenly lost to the Corfiotes without a grumble. The amount of British gold daily circulated in the town is estimated by some at not less than eight hundred pounds sterling. The withdrawal of this brought half the shopkeepers to a stand-still, and such as remain to-day may tell the stranger, sotto voce, that the cession of the Ionian Islands was a "great mistake," and that "Corfu has nothing to hope for but by a return to the protection of a richer or more powerful nation." Corfu is no exception to a condition consequent upon abrupt political transformation. There are many Venetians who grumble to-day at the loss of their Austrian patrons and customers, and would welcome them back at the cost of the national liberty; yet what disinterested mind would see Venice again under an alien flag? But out of the town-out into the free air of the agricultural districts, where the English tongue and Italian patois are unknown-no such complaints are heard. The spirit of the country people, like their language, is Greek, although neither will be found as pure as in Attica and the Peloponnesus.

Whatever differences of opinion may exist as to the condition and prospects of the Ionians since they threw off British protection, every one will agree that by the "union" the Kingdom of Greece has added to her own territory-much of which, though hallowed by classic history, is sterile and unproductive as charming and delightful island scenery as, perhaps, the world has to offer. The drives out of Corfu over the wellconstructed English roads-now, however, somewhat out of repair-are sufficiently interesting to induce the traveler who can afford the time to remain over until the next steamer. From the rampart gates the hard macadamized roads run out like veins over the greater portion of the whole island, con

ducting through pleasant valleys and miles on miles of thickly-wooded olive groves to many a little rustic village picturesquely perched upon hill-side and summit.

The views from these elevated points are, in many respects, unparalleled for scenic effects. Stanfield, the English painter, declared one of them to be the finest he had ever seen, and the American poet, Bryant, says: "Here is every element of the picturesque, both in color and form; mountain peaks, precipices, transparent bays, woods, valleys of the deepest verdure, and pinnacles. of rocks rising near the shore from the pellucid blue of the sea." He might have added that the picturesque costumes, graceful figures, and frequently beautiful features of the peasantry contribute in no little degree to the charms of that unique scene.

It was the fashion, during the years of the protectorate, for English writers to laud the Ionian Islands, and especially the island of Corfu, as a sort of terrestrial paradise. Now, silence condemns that fair region as unworthy of the traveler's passing regard, or the pens of ready writers denounce it and its people as lapsing into physical and political degradation. When I first visited the island in 1856, the British flag waved from the fortress and English troops paraded on the esplanade; the streets of the town were lively with English pedestrians, and the blue waters of the harbor were whitened with the spread of English canvas from Her Majesty's men-ofwar and the swift-moving yachts of innumerable tourists and sportsmen. To-day, there is not the feeblest evidence of that imperial power which swayed the Ionians for half a century. The roads and the effigies of three or four Lord High Commissioners are alone left to remind us of that great political failure. Yet the people, though poor, are happier for their independence, and the island, in natural charms, is as worthy as it ever was of the praise accorded to it by Homer, when he called it erateinos-"lovely,"-" the everpleasing shore, with woody mountains half in vapor lost," and as "the favorite isle of heaven."

garden, a few box-tree hedges cut in shape of crowns and pyramids, and behind these two mighty old trees almost always without leaves. One might almost think that a storm or water-spout had scattered great lumps of manure on their branches, but each lump was a bird's-nest. A swarm of rooks and crows from time immemorial had built their nests here. It was a townful of birds, and the birds were the manorial lords here. They did not care for the proprietors, the manor's oldest family branch, nor for the present owner of the manor,-these were nothing to them; but they bore with the wandering creatures below them, notwithstanding that once in a while they shot with guns in a way that made the birds' back-bones shiver, and made every bird fly up, crying "Rak,

Rak!"

The gardener very often explained to the master the necessity of felling the old trees, as they did not look well, and by taking them away they would probably also get rid of the screaming birds, which would seek another place. But he never could be induced either to give up the trees or the swarm of birds: the manor could not spare them, as they were relics of the good old times, that ought always to be kept in remembrance.

"The trees are the birds' heritage by this time!" said the master. "So let them keep. them, my good Larsen." Larsen was the gardener's name, but that is of very little consequence in this story. "Haven't you room enough to work in, little Larsen? Have you not the flower-garden, the green-houses, the orchard and the kitchen-garden!" He cared for them, he kept them in order and cultivated them with zeal and ability, and the family knew it; but they did not conceal from him that they often tasted fruits and saw flowers in other houses that surpassed what he had in his garden, and that was a sore trial to the gardener, who always wished to do the best, and really did the best he could. He was good-hearted, and a faithful servant.

The owner sent one day for him, and told him kindly that the day before, at a party given by some friends of rank, they had eaten apples and pears which were so juicy and well-flavored that all the guests had loudly expressed their admiration. To be sure, they were not native fruits, but they ought by all means to be introduced here, and to be acclimatized if possible. They learned that the fruit was bought of one of the first fruit-dealers in the city, and the gardener was to ride to town and find out about where they came from, and then order some slips for grafting.

The gardener was very well acquainted with the dealer, because he was the very person to whom he sold the fruit that grew in the manor-garden, beyond what was needed by the family. So the gardener went to town and asked the fruit-dealer where he had found those apples and pears that were praised so highly.

They are from your own garden,” said the fruit-dealer, and he showed him both the apples and pears, which he recognized. Now, how happy the gardener felt! He hastened back to his master, and told him that the apples and pears were all from his own garden. But he would not believe it.

"It cannot be possible, Larsen. Can you get a written certificate of that from the fruit-dealer?" And that he could; and brought him a written certificate.

"That is certainly wonderful!" said the family.

And now every day were set on the table great dishes filled with beautiful apples and pears from their own garden; bushels and barrels of these fruits were sent to friends in the city and country, nay, were even sent abroad. It was exceedingly pleasant; but when they talked with the gardener they said that the last two seasons had been remarkably favorable for fruits, and that fruits had done well all over the country.

Some time passed. The family were at dinner at court. The next day the gardener was sent for. They had eaten melons at the royal table which they found very juicy and well-flavored; they came from his Majesty's green-house. "You must go and see the court-gardener, and let him give you some seeds of those melons."

"But the gardener at the court got his melon-seeds from us," said the gardener, highly delighted.

"But then that man understands how to bring the fruit to a higher perfection," was the answer. "Each particular melon was delicious."

"Well, then, I really may feel proud," said the gardener. "I must tell your lordship that the gardener at the court did not succeed very well with his melons this year, and so, seeing how beautiful ours looked, he tasted them and ordered from me three of them for the castle."

"Larsen, do not pretend to say that those were melons from our garden."

from the manor. That was certainly a great surprise to the family, and they did not keep the story to themselves. Melon-seeds were sent far and wide, in the same way as had been done with the slips, which they were now hearing had begun to take, and to bear fruit of an excellent kind. The fruit was named after the manor, and the name was written in English, German, and French.

This was something they never had dreamed of.

"We are afraid that the gardener will come to think too much of himself," said they; but he looked on it in another way: what he wished was to get the reputation of being one of the best gardeners in the country, and to produce every year something exquisite out of all sorts of garden stuff, and that he did. But he often had to hear that the fruits which he first brought, the apples and pears, were after all the best. All other kinds of fruits were inferior to these. The melons, too, were very good, but they belonged to quite another species. His strawberries were very excellent, but by no means better than many others; and when it happened one year that his radishes did not succeed, they only spoke of them, and not of other good things he had made succeed.

It really seemed as if the family felt some relief in saying "It won't turn out well this year, little Larsen!" They seemed quite glad when they could say "It won't turn out well!"

The gardener used always twice a week to bring them fresh flowers, tastefully arranged, and the colors by his arrangements were brought out in stronger light.

"You have good taste, Larsen," said the owner, "but that is a gift from our Lord, not from yourself."

One day the gardener brought a great crystal vase with a floating leaf of a white water-lily, upon which was laid, with its long thick stalk descending into the water, a sparkling blue flower as large as a sunflower.

"The sacred lotos of Hindostan !" exclaimed the family. They had never seen such a flower; it was placed every day in the sunshine, and in the evening under artificial light. Every one who saw it found it wonderfully beautiful and rare; and that said the most noble young lady in the country, the wise and kind-hearted princess. The lord of the manor deemed it an honor to present her with the flower, and the princess took it with her to the castle. Now the master of the house went down to the garden to pluck another flower of the same sort, but he could

not find any. So he sent for the gardener, and asked him where he kept the blue lotos. "I have been looking for it in vain,” said he. "I went into the conservatory, and round about the flower-garden."

"No, it is not there!" said the gardener. "It is nothing else than a common flower from the kitchen-garden, but do you not find it beautiful? It looks as if it was the blue cactus, and yet it is only a kitchen-herb. It is the flower of the artichoke !"

"You should have told us that at the time!" said the master. "We supposed of course that it was a strange and rare flower. You have made us ridiculous in the eyes of the young princess! She saw the flower in our house and thought it beautiful. She did not know the flower, and she is versed in botany, too, but then that has nothing to do with kitchen-herbs. How could you take it into your head, my good Larsen, to put such a flower up in our drawing-room? It makes us ridiculous."

And the magnificent blue flower from the kitchen-garden was turned out of the drawing-room, which was not at all the place for it. The master made his apology to the princess, telling her that it was only a kitchenherb which the gardener had taken into his head to exhibit, but that he had been well reprimanded for it.

"That was a pity," said the princess, "for he has really opened our eyes to see the beauty of a flower in a place where we should not have thought of looking for it. Our gardener shall every day, as long as the artichoke is in bloom, bring one of them up into the drawing-room."

Then the master told his gardener that he might again bring them a fresh artichokeflower. "It is, after all, a very nice flower," said he, "and a truly remarkable one." And so the gardener was praised again. "Larsen likes that," said the master; "he is a spoiled child.”

In the autumn there came up a great gale, which increased so violently in the night that several large trees in the outskirts of the wood were torn up by the roots; and to the great grief of the household, but to the gardener's delight, the two big trees blew down, with all their birds'-nests on them. In the manor-house they heard during the storm the screaming of rooks and crows, beating their wings against the windows.

"Now I suppose you are happy, Larsen," said the master: "the storm has felled the trees, and the birds have gone off to the woods; there is nothing left from the good