The longest side of the house faces west. How I love it because of this! To my mind, every country house is dull that does not face west, and have its principal view that way. Modern civilisation forbids us to enjoy the sunrise, but the varied effects of the sunset sky glorify everything-the most commonplace gable or the ugliest chimney-stack, a Scotch fir or an open field, which assumes a green under an evening primrose sky that it never has at any other time. The sky is like the sea for its ever-changefulness. You may watch sunsets most carefully every day in the year, and never will you see twice exactly the same effect. How we all know, and notice after midsummer, that marching south of the sun at setting-time ! The old fellow in June sets right away to the north, over the Common, changing groups of trees and a little distant hill to purple and blue. At the autumn equinox he looks straight in at the windows as he goes down between the stems of the two tall fir-trees. Who, when forced to come in to dinner on a summer's evening, does not appreciate a west dining-room with tall panes of glass which give the power to measure the gradations of the sky, from the deep grey-blue of night's garments at the top, to the bright gold, streaked with purple and crimson, at the base-the earth growing mysteriously dark all the while, and the evening star shining brighter every minute ? Architects tell you, and men say, they prefer that a house should face south-east. I do not at all agree with them; the effects of evening to me are too much to give up for any other advantage in the world, real or imaginary. It is far easier to make some other room into a breakfast-room, to catch the morning sun in winter, than to change your dining-room in the summer for the sake of the sunsets. To the west, then, I have my fountain, level with the turf, and with only the ornament of some special plants. To the right of the fountain is a large bed of carnations, slightly raised and terraced with stones, to give good depth of rich soil, unrobbed of moisture from the strong-growing shrubs behind, that are especially necessary for protection from the north and east. I strongly advise that on first coming to a new place you should never cut down much till you have given all the consideration possible to that matter of protection. I cannot repeat too often that wind-swept gardens can never be really satisfactory to the gardener. On the left of the fountain, cut in the grass, are the two long borders, far the most difficult part of the garden to keep as I should wish them to be. They should be always gay and bright, the highest plants planted down the middle; and even they should be unequal in height. All plants that grow forward into the grass must be kept for other beds edged with stone or gravel. Borders cut in grass must be luxuriant and not untidy, and filled principally with plants which in their non-flowering season are not unsightly. It is for such borders that the seed beds and the reserve garden are so indispensable. On the left of these borders are a few specimen plants cut in the grass:-A Polygonum cuspidatum, which is a joy from the first starting of its marvellous quick spring growth to its flowering-time, and to the day when its yellow autumn leaves leave the bare red-brown branches standing alone after the first frosts of October; a Siberian Crab, beautiful with blossom in spring and with fruit in autumn; also that lovely autumn-flowering shrub Des-modium penduliflorum, which has to • be cut down every year, and which is never seen to advantage in a border because of its feathery and spreading growth. Behind these again, and facing due north and shaded from the south, is a large bed of the old Moss-Rose, which in this position does exceedingly well. The large branches are partly pegged down, and they are not pruned back very hard. Behind the fountain, away from the house, are bamboos, Japanese grasses, and low-growing, shrubby Spiraeas; the smallest gardens should not be without some of these, more especially S. thunbergi, so precious for its miniature early flowers and its lovely decorative foliage, and very useful for picking and sending away. Clethra (Sweet Pepper Bush) is also a useful little shrub, as it flowers in July, when watering helps it to bloom well. But I have only to refer you again and again to the 'English Flower Garden.' If you study this, you will never lack variety or plenty, whatever your soil, or your situation, or your aspect-no, nor even your nearness to that deadly enemy of plant life, a smoky town.

A lovely spring-flowering shrub is Esochordia grandi-flora. I can most conscientiously say, 'Get it.' It is perfectly hardy; the flowers, full-blown and in bud, are of an exquisitely pure white, and the foliage is light-green, delicate, and refined.

One of the most precious of May flowers, and one not nearly enough grown, is the early Dutch Honeysuckle. It is nearly white, though it dies off yellow. I have named it in the lists, but it deserves, if only for picking, a place in every garden. Being an early bloomer, it requires a warm place, and would do admirably against the low wall of any greenhouse. Those precious frontages to greenhouses, in large places and in what I call 'gardeners' gardens,' are so often left unused, neat, empty, and bare. On these wasted places many lovely things would grow, and none better than this beautiful Dutch Honeysuckle, with its double circles of blooms, its excellent travelling qualities, and its powerful sweet scent, unsurpassed by anything. It is, I suppose, like many things, better for good feeding. It wants nothing but cutting back hard as soon as it has made its summer growth, after flowering, to keep it well in its place. It flowers profusely year after year, and it is easily increased by summer layering.

Old Man or Southernwood (Artemisia abrotanum) ought never to be forgotten. It grows easily from cuttings stuck into the ground in any of the early summer months. I am told that it is an especial favourite with the London poor. Perhaps its strong smell brings back any chance association with the country and the cottage garden. It reminds one of the old story of the poor Irishman, when the Lady Bountiful of the place had transformed his cabin into the graceful neatness of an English cottage. He gazed half-indignantly and half-gratefully on the change. 'It is all very kind,' said he, 'but the good lady does not know how dear to a poor man is everything that reminds him of the time when he played, instead of working. These great folks do not understand us.' But, after all, are we not all like that ? Does not sweet Nature herself throw a veil over the storms of middle-life and soften memories, which become sharp, vivid, and clear only concerning our young days and the time when 'we played,' full of buoyant hope for all that lay before us ?

I have always wished for a sundial in the middle of my grass walks where they widen into a circle. Even in an unpretending modern garden I do not think a sundial is affected-or, at any rate, not very-and I long to write round the top of it my favourite among the old Italian mottoes:- 'I only mark the bright hours.' To the left of my long borders are four large, most useful, square beds, divided by narrow green paths. These are planted and sown, and renewed three or four times a year; and I always wonder how anyone gets on without such kinds of beds. The Love-in-the-Mist and Gypsophila gracilis are sown broadcast here together twice a year, in March and in September. I always save my own seed of Love-in-the-Mist; but in doing that, you must be careful to mark the best, largest, and bluest flowers. Then what you keep is far better than what you can buy; but, unless you take this trouble, seeds grown in one place degenerate. To the right of the long borders are two large Rose beds with Roses-old-fashioned rather than very large ones. The Hybrid Perpetuals do so badly in the light soil; but here are York and Lancaster, Cottage-maid, the dear little pink Rose de Meaux, the large white Cabbage, and so on. Beyond the Rose beds is a covered walk, made with stems of small fir-trees bound together with wire-an attempt at a pergola, but not by any means as solid as I should like. On this grow vines, hardy climbing Roses, Honeysuckles, and a dark claret-coloured Vine (which looks well), Aristolichia, Clematis (various), and, to make a little brightness in spring, two Kerrias. The single one, which is the original Japanese plant, is very uncommon, and yet so pretty-much better for wedging than the double kind, the old Jews-mallow of cottage gardens.

All these plants want constant watching, pruning, manuring, chalking, mulching. One ought always to be on the watch to see if things do not look well, and why they do not. The great thing to remember is, that if a plant is worth growing at all it is worth growing healthily. A Daisy or a Dandelion, fine, healthy, and robust, as they hold up their heads in the spring sunshine, give more pleasure and are better worth looking at than the finest flower one knows that looks starved, drooping and perishing at the flowering-time. With many plants here, if not watered at the flowering-time, the buds droop and the flowers never expand at all.

We have been eating lately, as Spinach, and found it quite delicious, the leaves of the Chicory, which Sutton calls 'Christmas Salad.' It is a first-rate plant all through the winter, an excellent salad, and now so good, useful, and wholesome to eat cooked. It should be dressed as recommended for Spinach in 'Dainty Dishes.'

This is the time to make Rhubarb jam; if carefully-made, and a little ginger added, it is very good indeed.

To my mind, few flowers please the eye as the Tulip does.

T. gesneriana, with its handsome long stem and brilliant flower, gives me especial delight. The Tulip is a member of the Lily family, and has an interesting history, which I read one day in a newspaper. It is a native of Asia Minor, and was brought from Constantinople in 1557. It was first flowered in England in 1559 by the wife of an apothecary. She had procured the first bulb from a grateful sailor who had brought it home in return for attentions during sickness, by which his life was saved. It was all he had, like the widow's mite, but it was a source of great profit to the wife of the apothecary, who tenderly cultivated it, and sold the bulbs for a guinea each after she had, by good care, procured a sufficient stock of them.