Last year, about this time, I drove to Mr. Barr's at Long Ditton, and there I saw, planted out in an open bed, Tigridias, both white and red; and they looked splendid. I have never seen them grown out of doors in gardens, but Mrs. Loudon in her 'Ladies' Flower Garden' (the volume on bulbous plants) speaks of them as easily cultivated if taken up in the autumn. Mrs. Loudon says: 'They have tunicated bulbs and very long fibrous roots which descend perpendicularly. They should be planted in a very deep rich soil, which should either be of an open nature, or be kept so by a mixture of a sufficient quantity of sand, so as to allow a free passage for the descent of the roots, in the same way as is necessary for Hyacinths. If Tigridias are to be raised from seed, the seeds are sown in March or April on a hot-bed and transplanted into the open border in May. Here they may remain till the leaves begin to wither in autumn, when the young bulbs should be taken up and kept for planting the ensuing spring. The splendid colours of this flower and the easiness of its culture render it a general favourite. Its only faults are that its flowers have no fragrance, and that they are of very short duration, never lasting more than a day. But they are produced in such abundance in succession as to compensate for this defect. It is a native of Mexico. In its native country its bulb is considered medicinal, and it was on this account that it was sent to Europe by Hernandez, physician to Philip II. of Spain when he was employed by the Spanish Government to examine into 'the virtues' of the plants of the New World. It was not introduced into England till 1796. It is sufficiently hardy to be left in the ground all the winter, were t not on account of the danger to which it would be exposed from damp. It is better to take it up in September or October, tie it in bundles, and hang it up in a dry place till spring. Why it is always grown by gardeners in pots I do not know. In his last edition Mr. Robinson speaks very favourably of growing it out of doors, and mentions particularly the ivory-white one with carmine-red base, which I saw last year and thought very beautiful. What he says about cultivation is exactly what I have quoted above from Mrs. Loudon. In fact, treat them exactly as one would the Gandavensis gladioli. Gerarde in his Herbal speaks with delightful distrust of the very existence of the Tigridia as described by travellers. After trying to illustrate the plant from description he goes on to say: 'The second feigned picture hath beene taken of the Discouerer and others of later time, to be a kinde of Dragons not seene of any that haue written thereof; which hath moued them to thinke it a feigned picture likewise; notwithstanding you shall receiue the description thereof as it hath come to my hands. The root (saith my Author) is bulbous or Onion fashion, outwardly blacke; from the which springs vp long leaues, sharpe pointed, narrow, and of a fresh greene colour: in the middest of which leaues rise vp naked or bare stalkes, at the top whereof groweth a pleasant yellow floure, stained with many small red spots here and there confusedly cast abroad: and in the middest of the floure thrusteth forth a long red tongue or stile, which in time groweth to be the cod or seed-vessell, crooked or wreathed, wherein is the seed. The virtues and temperature are not to be spoken of, considering that we assuredly persuade our selues that there are no such plants, but meere fictions and deuices, as we terme them, to giue his friend a gudgeon.' 'Giving his friend a gudgeon' is apparently a Gerardian expression for what we should now call in familiar language 'pulling his leg.'

I alluded before (page 132 of 'Pot-Pourri') to the cultivation of the large Japanese Stonecrop (Sedum spectabile). I have grown to like it more and more, because it is a very obliging plant, and will grow even in shade, though the specimens are far finer if grown in good soil and moved into a sunny place in July or August. I always take this little trouble, and in September I have my reward. Many people will not appreciate the great beauties of this plant because of the colour of the flowers, which are of rather an inartistic magenta-pink; but the insects do not find this so, and the reason I grow so much of it is that the bees simply love it. The little hard-working honey-bee, the large handsome bumble-bee, flies and beetles of all kinds, and the beautiful common butterflies, all flop about it with the keenest enjoyment, the colour of the flower only making a groundwork to their bright hues on a sunny September morning. I never fail either to think, as I look at this scene, of a little poem by Victor Hugo which was the delight of my youth, though perhaps for non-floral reasons:

La pauvre fleur disait au papillon céleste:

1 Ne fuis pas! Vois comme nos destins sont différents. Je reste Tu t'en vas!

'Pourtant nous nous aimons, nous vivons sans les hommes Et loin d'eux, Et nous nous ressemblons, et l'on dit que nous sommes Fleurs tous deux!

'Mais, hélas! l'air t'emporte et la terre m'enchaîne;

Sort cruel! Je voudrais embaumer ton vol de mon haleine Dans le ciel!

'Mais non, tu vas trop loin! Parmi des fleurs sans nombre Vous fuyez, Et moi je reste seul à voir tourner mon ombre A mes pieds!

' Tu fuis, puis tu reviens, puis tu t'en vas encore Luire ailleurs. Aussi me trouves-tu toujours à chaque aurore Toute en pleurs!

'Oh! pour que notre amour coule des jours fidèles O mon roi; Prends comme moi racine, ou donne moi des ailes Comme à toi!'

Now and then quite strange insects appear just once, and then never again. I have heard that is because eggs of insects are sometimes deposited in baskets or bales bringing goods from hot countries, which in dry summers are hatched out in these Northern climates. One summer my Sedums were covered with a lovely green beetle. I have never seen him again, but I am too ignorant to know if he were a stranger or only an insect common in our gardens and appearing in some summers and not in others - a usual occurrence with all insects. Sometimes there are a quantity of one kind, they having triumphed over their natural enemies and flourished abundantly. Then for a year or two they disappear entirely. This is an especial characteristic of butterflies. I thought there might be some way of encouraging butterflies in my garden, where they seem to have become rarer, and I asked a friend who has studied natural history all his life whether he could help me to do this. His answer was: 'The way to have butterflies is to encourage the foodplants of the caterpillar.' He added: 'Fortunately our three handsomest English butterflies feed on the nettle - the Peacock, the Small Tortoiseshell, and the Red Admiral. The Purple Emperor is too rare for consideration.' I, being a gardener before all things, did not think it was at all fortunate that their natural food was nettles. I had spent my whole life in eradicating nettles, so it is perhaps not astonishing if butterflies have become less in my garden.

We have had a great many Figs this year, and they have ripened well. No doubt they do better since we have removed suckers and the small autumn Figs that never ripen here. It is curious how few people in England realise that, apparently, the Fig never flowers, and that what we call the fruit is the flower. Male and female mixed are inside the Fig, which when it enlarges forms the receptacle and encloses numerous one-seeded carpels imbedded in its pulp. This may be seen quite plainly by cutting open a slightly unripe Fig. I used to think the flower of the Fig was so small that it was invisible! My little Mulberry-tree, planted only fifteen years ago and now a good size, did wonderfully well this year. All over England Mulberries fruited in great quantities from the hot dry season. They are trees that require much judicious pruning, and taking out great branches now and then, or the fruit never ripens because of the size and thickness of the leaves. I have lately read that Leonardo da Vinci's great patron at Milan, Ludovico il Moro, was so named, not from the darkness of his complexion, as Gibbon supposes, but because he took a Mulberry-tree (moro) for his device - from its being considered wiser than all other trees, as it buds later and does not flower until it has escaped the injuries of winter, when it immediately bears fruit. This the Prince considered was emblematic of his disposition. To us it means that Mulberry-trees should be much more grown than they are, not only because they are beautiful and useful, but because of this late budding. The fruit is excellent cooked with Apples, even if it is not quite ripe. Sweet Spanish Chestnuts are also very late trees in spring.

Sweet-scented Geraniums cut back in the spring do best for autumn and winter. For planting out the next year they should be cut back hard, like show Pelargoniums, at the end of September.

My trees of Magnolia grandiflora, though still small, are covered this year with their beautiful flowers. These are, I am sure, best always cut off. It only strengthens the trees for forming flower-buds next year.