My rockery, which I at one time believed could not be excelled, was built with long, irregular moss-covered gray boulders - so large that but one could be hauled at a time - old stones that looked as if they had weathered the storms of a century. I have two large bay-windows to my two finest drawing rooms. The house is full four feet from ground, which gives me a brick foundation under the bay-windows, eastern and western exposure. Here, thought I, will I build a rockery, not like masons build a stone fence, but irregular and picturesque. I went about it heart and soul, hauled my rock and soil, occasionally getting fine specimen ferns, all native. When everything was completely collected, I got three big strong negroes, and crow bars, and went to work. First I took my very biggest and roughest stones and made a circle, conforming somewhat to shape of bay window with them - digging out deep holes to sink a side of rock in to make steady. When that was arranged to my satisfaction, I had the earth dug deeply inside of a circle about two feet, and fertilized exceedingly rich, knowing full well that I would never again be able to do it, so I did it well at first; then threw in wagon-loads of soil.

Mind, this was a big rockery - bay-window is large, and this was four feet larger outside - which gives me a generous space to work on which filled to almost top of lowest rocks, being fully two feet. On this I began an inner circle, like a terrace, of smaller rocks than for first course, but still large, none smaller than a bushel measure. When arranged, filled in with rich soil. Again in centre, directly under middle window of the baywindow, I hoisted my largest and choicest boulder, leaning it up against the wood work of the house, and then was ready to begin my planting. I took my man servant, horse and wagon, baskets, and went for our native plants, collected it full of Sanguinaria, anemones, butter cups, wind flowers, Osmundia regalis, Adiantum and other ferns, seven varieties, I do not know name of, in every crack and crevice where a plant would grow. I planted Thrift, Sedums, Saxifraga, Lily of the Valley, Violets, Lycopodiums, Mosses, and my ferns and a great many roots of Ampelopsis Veitchii, myrtle or vinca. Oh! my flower-loving friends! that is the only real picturesque spot in my vast yard. It has been made for ten years, and every year the stones have grown gayer and mossier, and more attractive.

Lily of the Valley is fairly outdoing itself, ferns for every time I want them, Violets that waft sweet perfume to our eager senses; not only every rock with delicate sprays of the Ampelopsis clinging to them, but it has left that and gone on up the wood work of the bay-window - between the sash - high up to the top of windows, whence it clambers to other portions of the house. It took two or three seasons to get well established, and now "it's a thing of beauty and a joy forever," does not require much work to keep in order - hand picking and a gentle forking amongst plants with thick mulch in winter make it continue to be beautiful to date. Spartanburg, S. C.