On looking more closely at the Fruit, we shall find that the Strawberries, which lately (like bold and beautiful children) held out their blossoms into the open sunshine, that all the world might see them, now, that their fruit is about to reach maturity, hide it carefully beneath their low-lying leaves, as conscious virgins do their maturing beauties;--that the Gooseberries and Currants have attained their full growth, and the latter are turning ripe;--that the Wall-fruit is just getting large enough to be seen among the leaves without looking for;--that the Cherries are peeping out in white or "cherry-cheeked" clusters all along their straight branches;--and that the other standards, the Apples, Pears, and Plums, are more or less forward, according to their kinds.
For reasons before hinted at, and in deference to the delicacy of that class of readers for whom these papers are in part propounded, I must, however reluctantly, refrain from descending any lower in the scale of vegetable life. It would ill become me to speak in praise of Green Peas in presence of a Peeress--who could not possibly understand the allusion! Think of mentioning Summer Cabbages within hearing of a Countess, or French Beans to a Baronet's Lady! I could not do it. I cannot even persuade myself to "mention _Herbs_ to ears polite!" If it were not for this proper, and indeed necessary restriction, there would be no end to the pleasant sights I might show the ordinary reader during this month, in the Kitchen-garden. But it may not be. I know my duty, and in pursuance of it must now at once "stay my hand, and change my measure."
Behold us, then, in the heart of London. In the Country, when we left it, Midsummer was just at hand. Here mid-Winter has just passed away! and the Fashionable World finds itself in a condition of the most melancholy intermediateness. It is now much too late to stay in Town, and much too early to go into the Country. And what is worse, all fashionable amusements are at an end in London, and have not yet commenced elsewhere; on the express presumption that there is no one at hand to partake of them in either case. There are two places of public resort, however, which still boast the occasional countenance of people of fashion; probably on account of their corresponding with the intermediate character of the month--not being situated either in London or the Country, but at equal distances from each. I mean Kensington Gardens and Vauxhall. Now, in fact, during the first fortnight, Kensington Gardens is a place not to be paralleled: for the unfashionable portion of my readers are to know, that this delightful spot, which has been utterly deserted during the last age (of seven years), and could not be named during all that period without incurring the odious imputation of having a taste for trees and turf, has now suddenly started into vogue once more, and you may walk there even during the "morning" part of a Sunday afternoon with perfect impunity, always provided you pay a due deference to the decreed hours, and never make your appearance there earlier than twenty minutes before five, or later than half-past six; which is allowing you exactly two hours after breakfast to dress for the Promenade, and an hour after you get home to do the same for dinner: little enough, it must be confessed; but quite as much as the unremitting labour of a life of idleness can afford! Between the abovenamed hours, on the three first Sundays of this month, and the two last of the preceding, you may (weather willing) gladden your gaze with such a galaxy of Beauty and Fashion (I beg to be pardoned for the repetition, for Fashion _is_ Beauty) as no other period or place, Almack's itself not excepted, can boast: for there is no denying that the fair rulers over this last-named rendezvous of the regular troops of _bon ton_ are somewhat too _recherchée_ in their requirements. The truth is, that though the said Rulers will not for a moment hesitate to patronise the above proposition under its simple form, they entirely object to that subtle interpretation of it which their sons and nephews would introduce, and on which interpretation the sole essential difference between the two assemblies depends. In fact, at Almack's Fashion is Beauty; but at Kensington Gardens Beauty and Fashion are one. At any rate, those who have not been present at the latter place during the period above referred to, have not seen the finest sight (with one exception) that England has to offer.