'This is pretty much the law of a garden.

'Nothing is more objectionable than the manner in which the common plants are often treated to make way for the grandees. Bulbs taken up before they are ready, and dwarfed for next season in consequence; small trees or shrubs transplanted carelessly, and thrust in wherever they will do no harm, because a little too good to throw away, and not quite good enough to deserve just treatment; and many other plants neglected, overshadowed, or in some way stinted of their due, as not being worth much trouble. At times, even worse than this, we see murderous digging and slashing amongst plants in their period of growth. This is not a healthy process for the mind. Whatever is unfairly treated is better altogether away, since we can view it with no hearty relish. And this injustice to the least is felt inevitably in a measure by all, for it affects the spirit of the place. Half the charm of the old-fashioned garden lies in that look of happy rest among the plants, each of which seems to say: "All plant life is sacred when admitted, my own repose has never been disturbed, and I am confident it never will be." You feel this to be a sort of heaven of plant life, preserved by some hidden charm from the intrusion of noxious weeds. The modern garden, on the contrary, is too apt to assume a look of stir and change; here to-day, gone to-morrow. The very tidiness of the beds and the neat propriety of the plants contribute to this impression. We feel the omnipresence of a severity which cannot tolerate straggling. None have been admitted but polished gentlemen, who will never break the rules; and we feel that the most cherished offender would be instantly punished.

I have been referring here to the herbaceous plants and evergreens of the ordinary beds-thujas, junipers, rhododendrons, etc. rather than to the larger trees and shrubs. To run down the glorious Rhododendrons in themselves would be preposterous; but they always have, however large they may grow, an air of gentlemanly restraint-a drawing-room manner, as it were-which must produce the effect we have described wherever they are very numerous. But the old garden impresses us always by that loving tenderness for the plants. "That wallflower ought not to have come up in the Box edging-but never mind, we must manage to get on without hurting the wallflower; "and it is this spirit of compromise-this happy, genial, kindly character, as contrasted with the sterner and less loving spirit, which you feel is ready to descend upon any transgressor in a moment, that makes the difference of which we speak.'

Mr. Watson is very severe in his condemnation of double flowers, and in a way which, I think, indicates the same nature that could not admire Rubens or the Venetian painters. Surely many people with a sensuous temperament are no more to be blamed therefor than are people who blush to be reprimanded by those who do not. In their power of giving pleasure the strong-scented double garden flowers are superior to the beautiful single ones, and the Neapolitan Violet, the warm, exquisitely scented Tuberose, the tender but full-odoured garden Rose, and the Carnation, give great delight in a harmless way to people of certain temperaments. Why should this be condemned, when that which pleases the eye in the beautiful forms of the single flower is praised ? Mr. Watson says, 'Above all, scorn nothing'; yet he himself utterly condemns the cultivator who prefers the double sweet-scented flowers. It is the old story; as Samuel Butler puts it, the damning of the sins we are not inclined to. We all do it more or less. To me some few flowers seem vulgar, partly from association and partly from the unsympathetic harshness of their tint. But surely in gardening, as in all else in life, the broadest view is best, and the wisest attempt is to please as many as we can. The taste of the ignorant and the critical taste of the cultivated never can be the same on any subject, but both are better than indifference and no taste at all. I know one man who dislikes any flowers, and only has stunted Portugal Laurels growing in green square boxes on his lawn. I know another who will not plant anything that does not flower or fruit in the autumn months, because that is the only time he intends to live at his country place. All tastes are respectable, though we may each of us find it difficult to admire the taste of the other.

1872. 'My Garden: Its Plan and Culture,'by Alfred Smee. Second edition, revised and corrected. This book is one I can really recommend to beginners. It is modern in illustration, and yet it retains some of the characteristics of the older books. It really teaches you what to do, and gives a very fair idea of all that a good-sized garden requires; it names and illustrates hardly any plants not worth growing; it includes kitchen garden, flower garden, Alpine garden, greenhouse, stove, and water plants; and it winds up with garden insects, animals, and birds. The illustrations are much above the average. Those who want to buy one single book likely to help them, especially at first, could not do better than get this one, which is often to be seen mentioned in catalogues of second-hand books.

1874. 'Alpine Plants,'edited by David Wooster. This work, which is in two volumes, contains a great many colour-printed illustrations of Alpine plants-not, however, as they grow in the fissures of their mountain slopes, but as they may be seen in Mr. Backhouse's most interesting gardens in Yorkshire. The drawings are rather exaggerated in size and harsh in colour, but the book is distinctly instructive as portraying, among what are called 'Alpines,'the most showy and the best worth cultivating in English gardens.

1879. 'A Year in a Lancashire Garden,' by Henry A. Bright. This little book is the one I alluded to in March, and to which I consider I owe so much. It often gives me pleasure to read it over now. It has qualities like the garden itself. The same flowers come up each year, the same associations link themselves on to the returning flowers, and the verses of the great poets are unchanged; so this little book will always be to me like poor Ophelia's Rosemary, 'that's remembrance.'