IT had been a dream for years - an Oriental sort of a picture - with plants arranged in graceful groups, a fountain with musical drops falling and tinkling in the center, and birds hopping and singing amid the branches. Finally it came to pass. I had it in reality, although somewhat smaller than I used to imagine, as it is so much easier to build " chateaux en Espagne" than on terra firma. And this is how it was done - the " gude mon," the early days, having decided that it was not impracticable, even with moderate means. Our sitting-room had a delightful southeastern exposure, and was shaded by large maples in summer, and yet permitted full entrance to the sunshine when the leaves had fallen. So the whole side of the room was taken out, and a large bow window fitted in, with sides and sloping roof of glass. The foundation, of brick, was filled in with large stones at bottom, then smaller ones, with gravel on the top for the floor, which was left one step lower than the room. Some sashes were hung on hinges, to be opened for ventilation, and two opposite panels of wood at the bottom as well. A beam that was left as support to the ceiling, in the center of the opening, was cased and made ornamental, with brackets for pots, as were those at each side.

Hooks, for hanging-baskets, were placed in the sashes of the roof, and shelves on iron brackets around the window.

The fountain - a very simple one, it is true, with a single jet, but very pretty for all that - was made by leading water through a small lead pipe, from a tank up stairs, into a basin formed of a large, round wooden bowl, sunk in the ground, covered with cement inside, into which pretty pebbles and shells from the seashore were stuck while wet. A border of ferns and mosses made a very appropriate finish to this spring-like vase, and the little drops rose nearly to the roof, and fell again with a delicate music, sparkling brightly in the sunshine and helping to moisten the air, warmed only by a stove in the room.

A narrow, raised border of ferns, wild flowers and mosses ran around the window under the shelves. A rustic vase, some large pots, and small stands for pots, filled up the front and corners; and then we waited for results. Wise people shook their heads, and prophesied dire results to my pets, from the frosts and cold nights of winter. At last it came, sharp and severe - a bitter night, with raging northeastern wind. The glass was thick with frost when we left them to their fate.

We came down next morning a little hurriedly, and found all as bright as when we left. It has never frozen there except once - when some one unfortunately forgot to raise the shades which divide it from the room, one extremely cold night - and not badly even then, and it has been in use for years.

In February and March my window was a most exquisite picture. Framed in arches or green, formed by training vines on wires, with drooping graceful masses from pots placed on the brackets; a dozen hanging-baskets, gay with color or green with leaves and vines, •suspended from the roof, with beautiful plants in healthy growth and full of bloom; the silvery water drops falling around them; while my pet canary hopped from bough to bough, singing more merrily and seeming far happier than ever canary bird was before - shut up even in a gilded prison. - Pansie, in The Independent.