All these ought to be much encouraged in some kinds of gardens, and especially so in heathy districts. I believe it is best to plant in spring. They are not easy to transplant, but they are worth any trouble. Mr. Barr told me he had lately made a good collection of the hardy heaths, and he sells them in pots.

To return to the garden in Ireland, in the kitchen garden was a fine and most successful bed of Persian ranunculus, planted in six inches of very light leafy soil. I have never succeeded well with ranunculus, though I have often tried to, so I said to myself, 'Here is a chance,' and I had a long talk with the gardener about them. He happened to be a Surrey man, and was most friendly. He told me he found it better not to plant the little tubers of ranunculus before the end of February or beginning of March, either in pots in a frame or out of doors, and that it was essential to very carefully open out the little roots and spread them in the soft soil, to keep them in the full sun, and well water them with care. With this kind of planting they grow straight away, and receive no chill or check, as they may do if planted earlier. I shall certainly try this method. He thought the Persian ranunculus did the best. For table decoration, this gardener had a most successful quantity of Gladiolus elegantissima (Veitch). Prettier things of the kind cannot be seen. Instead of flowers all up one side they flower both sides of the green stem, and are white with a red-purple stain.He said, with care, growing on their leaves after flowering and then drying the bulb well in the sun, he kept them from year to year and increased them. They should be potted up in October. Diosma ericoides and D. capitata are lovely greenhouse plants, but in my experience difficult to grow in crowded greenhouses.

In every large place I go to, I find the same fault - want of pruning. I do not mean cutting back, that is done only too much, along walks especially; but cutting away, sacrificing great whole shrubs rather than let one thing grow into the other, which makes hard green walls, instead of showing off the growth of individual healthy plants. The difficulty is that, in the case of evergreens, severe thinning and cutting out must be done in spring when owners are often away, and very few gardeners dare take the responsibility of doing this by themselves. All gardeners are also very busy in spring, and so the beautiful shrubberies go on choking each other from one year's end to another. A thin wood and a thin well-ordered shrubbery, turfed underneath, though only mown twice a year, is an undeniably beautiful thing. Probably it is so striking because it is so very rare. A straight line cut through a wood is lovely at all times, but doubly so if the edges are well cleared out and the strong pillars (stems) spring straight from rough grass or bare brown earth, as is the case with fir and beech. Few things will grow under these, but the ground is warm and dry from the fallen leaves or fir spines of scores of years.

From the wild West Coast I went back eastward to a garden of another kind, beautiful to a degree from the highest cultivation of years and much money admirably spent - for money alone never makes a perfect garden. Here, near the house, tall old yew hedges were glowing almost a red brown from the splendid strength of their spring shoot, and last year's clipping, but they would never grow and colour like that in dry Surrey. These yew-protected courts held all the usual glories of spring bedding, well sheltered from spring winds, and at the end of a long walk was an effect of blue as gorgeous as a purple Apennine - a fine old plant of Ceanothus azureus, unpruned, and a mass of bloom from top to bottom and hanging forward on a tall garden wall - a very beautiful effect, and one I have never seen here, as the early flowering kinds of Ceanothus are apt to get killed by spring drought if not pruned back hard early in April. C. rigidus is another beautiful early flowerer. G. Gloire de Versailles does here as a shrub, and should be treated exactly like the most beautiful August flowering plant there is when well cultivated, the Hydrangea paniculata. Both these do admirably on the borders of damp woods or shrubberies if not too much robbed or in too full sun. All they require is not to be choked at their growing time, and well pruned - indeed, cut down to within a foot of the ground in April. The spring pruning and, in May, mulching round the roots with leaf mould and well-rotted manure are all they require. As time goes on, this gives them almost a mound to stand on, which their branches gloriously cover. The ceanothus will stand a dryer place and more sun than the hydrangea, which does not mind partial shade and a north aspect.

In this same garden a magnificent effect had been gained by turning a large old walled kitchen garden into a flower garden, preserving the old picturesque apple and pear trees for the sake of their blossoms in spring and as , supports for various creepers in summer. It had all the picturesqueness of a large, half wild Italian garden, and all the beauty of each plant being healthy in itself, which I have never seen anywhere so good as in the best of our United Kingdom gardens. The retaining of pic-turesqueness can never be a certainty except where the gardener and the master or mistress work satisfactorily-together, as is eminently the case in this garden. At this particular time of year, this wall garden is reached by a walk cut through a field of young grass, full of beautiful long-stalked single tulips. There had been broad sweeps of fine daffodils, but they were nearly over. In the garden were some very fine autumn-sown calendulas - marigolds we used to call them - a Veitch improvement appropriately called 'Orange King ' and ' Lemon Queen.' I am never tired of fine marigolds; they flower in spring, as well as autumn, only when the circumstances are favourable and the climate mild.

Ireland, with its beautiful ruins, its churches, its high civilisation in the Middle Ages, its later decay and misery, its connection with Spain, its mixed population, its poverty, its apparent content, its seething discontent, its hopeless emigration, its unsolved problems - all these things, when I am there, so rouse the keenest interest in me that I feel I shall never think of anything else again; but alas! new impressions stamp out the old. Oh, that statesmen and patriots would agree with President Roosevelt, who said the other day, 'Insistence on the impossible means delay in achieving the possible.'

Immediately on my return I came across Miss Emily Lawless's lately published volume of poems, 'The Wild Geese.' That which is perhaps the most serious of all the phases of Irish difficulties, enduring even till to-day in the form of emigration, is so pathetically shown in the following poem, that I rejoice in being allowed to copy it here. The book cannot be fully understood and appreciated by English people without the careful reading of Mr. Stopford Brooke's admirable preface, not only because of its historical teaching and explanation of the title of the book - and who, thinking of Ireland, can afford for one moment to forget its history? - but because of his most appreciative explanation of the various poems. Of 'Clare Coast' and the one I have selected, Mr. Stopford Brooke writes: 'Then began, as I have said, the great exodus of the Irish, and "Clare Coast " is the voice of a handful of veterans who, sent over to collect money or recruits, are leaving Clare with new exiles for the coast of France. Those who speak are "war-battered dogs," and their cry reveals the temper and the soul of the Irish Brigade. It is close to the reality. "The Choice" has the same fruitful motive, but modified by the singer's love for a woman, and by the offer made to him of high place and prosperity by the Irish Government if he would give up his religion and his patriotism - an offer made to the leaders of the Wild Geese, and rejected by them all. And the second part of the poem records the sick longing he has to see again his land, and his sweetheart, whom he has left for ever. It, too, is close to reality.' Mr. Stopford Brooke explains that the Wild Geese was the name given to those self-exiled Irish soldiers who fought as mercenaries for foreign nations. The Irish now fight our battles and fight well. I wonder how many of them still silently cry as they fall, 'Oh ! that this was for Ireland!' Apart from politics, I recommend this book to all those with a love of poetry and feelings for another's woe.