The Onion is a plant which loves to send its roots far below the surface. When it gets its toes well braced into sound British soil it is a happy plant, and the man who owns the ground is happy too when he sees a forest of huge leaves spreading before his eyes, and plump bulbs swelling beneath them. If he makes the plant its deep bed in autumn or winter, it matters little what sort of manure he puts into it, or if he stands with his hands in his pockets all the following summer. Whatever happens, those Onions are going to grow! I have just said that I never in my life exhibited Celery. On reflection, I believe I am wrong, but it was long ago, and not for competition anyway. I have exhibited Onions - two pounders, two-and-a-half pounders, yes, and bigger even than these. On the same deep bed Onions on dung and Onions on artificials came about of a size - an ounce lost here, an ounce gained there, is about the measure of it. I give here my favourite Onion mixture, with a regret that it is a little complicated: 1 1/2 part of superphosphate of lime, 1 part of saltpetre (nitrate of potash), 1/2 a part each of steamed bone flour, nitrate of soda, and gypsum (sulphate of lime), the whole mixed and applied at the rate of 7 lb. per square rod, under the top spit, at trenching time.