May is one of the happiest months of the year in the garden, because it is then that one begins to see promise of a real reward for all the hard preparatory work of winter. The herbaceous borders are already bright with Arabises, Aubrietias, the ruddy stems of Paeonies, the soft greenery and first opening flowers of Pyrethrums, and, above all, the glorious colours of Cottage Tulips. Then the Rose beds are filling fast, and one can even see an odd bud here and there among the tinted leaves and warm stems of the Teas. A tender veil of greenery is being spread over the shrubbery borders. Altogether, the garden shows life, and life is hope.

Rock Cresses and Forget-me-nots. - We sowed all these for the following spring. There is no weather like the warm days and cool nights of May for starting biennials and perennials from seed for another year. One makes a nice sowing bed for these pretty things, sprinkles the seed in drills far enough apart to run a hoe between for keeping down weeds, thins a little, and in showery weather, a few weeks later, sets the young plants out a few inches apart in a nursery bed, where they will be happy and comfortable till the autumn beds, borders, and rockeries cry out for them.

Canterbury Bells, Sweet Williams, and Wallflowers. - It is the same with these, only that they want a little more room, being of larger growth. We learned to use Canterbury Bells and Sweet Williams in the winter flower beds, for their greenery enlivens the bare earth.

Coloured Primroses and Polyanthuses. - Of course one can propagate these fast enough by division when one has plants to work on, but all the same it is well to sow a packet of fresh seed every year in the hope of getting new colours.

Violas. - By a misunderstanding, we got no plants until May was well advanced, and we put them in with fear and trembling, lest the hot sun should prevent their getting hold. By dint of watering, shading, and soil stirring, we got them started, and thenceforward all was plain sailing. [But it is not plain sailing if you neglect to pick the flowers, for nothing throws them quicker out of bloom than for the flowers to fade on the plants.]

Dahlias. - When the end of the month came these were planted. After a struggle with Wilkins, within whom old memories stirred, with the result that he wanted all the beds filled with show varieties, we squeezed in a good number of Cactus and Pompon sorts. Wilkins talked of old Dahlia giants - Glasscock, Mist, Dean, Rawlings, Hibberd Keynes, and others - and told us of the wondrous blooms they used to stage at the Crystal Palace in days gone by. Ah! Dahlias were Dahlias in those days. He minded the first Cactus sort being shown - a scarlet called Juarezii - and how, with a proper contempt, the old heroes sniffed at it disdainfully. Such a name, too! Wasn't it enough to kill any flower? This departure into names was Wilkins's undoing, for the alert Eunice strung off the names of the Cactus varieties she had set her heart on - Peace, Ringdove, Coronation, Britannia, Spotless Queen. Were not these adorable names, pretty, and patriotic to boot? As for the Pompons, "Just listen now, Wilkins. Buttercup, Guiding Star, Rosebud, Sunny Daybreak - don't you want to grow them for their names alone?" Wilkins was conquered, and the author retired to snigger. She had a way with her, had Eunice, when she liked!

Verbenas. - There was no struggle over these, for we were all of a mind. A small round bed was cut on the lawn, and some purchased seedlings planted. Dear old favourites! How we watched them spread and spread, and bloom and bloom! We had to peg the shoots down, they grew so strongly.

Ivy-leaved Geraniums. - From many a passing reference, uttered with wistfulness of eye, we knew that the Henry Jacoby bed at The Highlands still lingered in Wilkins's thoughts. He could not forget the old Zonals, the flowers of his youth. There was Master Christine, and Omfail (this turned out to be Omphale), and Mrs. Pollock, and Crystal Palace Gem, and Flower of Spring, and West Brighton Gem, and Henry Cox. They were the stars of the garden, and the men who brought them out made fortunes out of them. Didn't the author remember the excitement caused by Mrs. Pollock? The whole country was ablaze. Talk of Sayers and Heenan! Eunice felt for Wilkins, but she fought against the eclipsed stars of past times as desperately as ever little Tom did against the big fellow from the States. The Ivy-leaved Geraniums were a sort of compromise, and it was not regretted. After all, there was grace about their growth. And they did much to compensate Wilkins for his defeat over the Zonals. Anyway, he assumed an aspect of perfect contentment. But that was Wilkins. He had the faults all of his craft have - egotism, a scarce-concealed pity for the ignorance of all terrestrial beings not trained to gardening, an easy assumption that all his employer's plants were his own - but he was ever cheerful, earnest, and full of a delightful devotion to his duties. Why don't people handle their gardeners better?

Why don't they overlook the little faults in consideration of the great virtues? What a tragedy, after all, was the life of this poor fellow, flung ruthlessly out of employment in the evening of his days owing to a little error, born of solicitude for his master's favourite flower! Most of his savings gone, too, while he had been seeking the fresh post which is so hard to find for a gardener when his hair has begun to whiten. From Wilkins's spotlessly clean and tidy cottage the towers of The Highlands could be seen. He sometimes gazed towards them wistfully, but never in anger. "He was that fond o' Begonias, you see, sir, I couldn't help it. But maybe the Missus wanted a younger and smarter man."

The Kitchen Garden. - It was delightful to see things growing. Already Eunice was talking of salad dressings, although the only salad vegetables we had at present were Lettuces of the size of children's shuttlecocks, and Onions no bigger than needles. Still, as she said, salads had to grow, the same as children.

Scarlet Runners. - Eunice had been wanting to sow these for several weeks past, but Wilkins barred the way, and the middle of May had passed before he gave consent. "You can't make a Scarlet Runner a hardy plant, any more than you can make a woman a gardener - begging your pardon, marm. I was thinking of my Eliza, who's been very aggravating all her life in wanting things before they are ready, and as like as not to take up prize Potatoes an' cook 'em if your back's turned for half an hour just before the show."

Beetroot. - We sowed long Beetroot too, as a succession to the round sort sown in April. "Long Beet, long nights," Wilkins said, which I understood to be his way of saying that the long-rooted Beet was best for the winter.

Celery. - The Ancient was not to be kept away when the work of making Celery trenches began. He had cleared all the waste ground now, and placed the rough stuff from it in a long bank, destined - after the herbage had rotted - to be planted with creeping Roses, Ivy-leaved Geraniums, and Nasturtiums. He was offered a light job of painting trelliswork, but, declaring that he could "make a Salary träanch with anybody yet, no bounds where dey come fräam," proceeded to set his line, cut the soil, and build a bank with the soil thrown out. But stupefaction fell upon the Ancient when he was asked his choice between superphosphate of lime and sulphate of potash as a fertiliser, and he warmly declared that they must be manures out of the Zoo, for there warn't no animals o' them names on any farms he knowed on. Dire were the forebodings of evil which he indulged in over this new-fangled style of Celery manuring.

Herbs - A little garden of aromatic herbs was one of Eunice's strongest fancies. There was no difficulty about Mint, Sage, and Thyme, for Wilkins got divisions of Mint and Thyme, and cuttings of Sage, from a friend. For others, however, he had to look farther afield. We got seed of bush and sweet Basil, Sweet Marjoram, and Savory, and after some trouble (for most florists do not seem to stock pot herbs) we got plants of Tarragon, Rosemary, and Pennyroyal. These being many more than she was ever likely to use, Eunice expressed herself fairly satisfied.

New Potatoes were talked of when it was seen that the plants had got their sixth inch of height, but earthing up had to intervene before produce for the table could be dug.

The Fruit Garden. - We had encouragement here in the Strawberries, in the progress of which we had some consolation for the disappointment we had suffered in consequence of the onslaught of the birds on our Gooseberry buds. After standing almost still for several weeks, they now began to grow with great rapidity. The Raspberries, too, were beginning to push up shoots. What pleased us most, however, were the cordon trees, which were now full of bloom, and giving promise of a bountiful crop.