To return to the heresy with which I started - that some flowers may be occasionally allowed to bloom at the roots of other plants - the snowdrop may be named as one which has a peculiarly pleasing effect when thus placed. Among grass it leaves its foliage after the flowers are gone, which has an untidy appearance, as of coarse clumps of grass; but among groups of evergreens and shrubs, or at the roots of trees, snowdrops look well, and seem to enjoy the protection thus afforded them. Primroses, too, have a pretty effect when planted near the stems of large trees, especially if, owing to any irregularity of their growth, there are little nooks where they may nestle and look natural.

It is not always easy to keep up a succession of flowers, even of the common sorts; but much may be done by never despising any flower because it is common, and by having those common things in greater number, and allowing them to grow to a larger size than a regular gardener will approve of. The following plan for planting a garden seems to promise well in this respect; it is extracted from the Cottage Gardener, a work from which all amateur gardeners will derive much pleasure and instruction. The garden described is said to be a "grass-garden," much admired for being so constantly gay:-

"Around every bed, at about three inches from the grass, there is a complete and thick border of crocuses, of all colours mixed - the yellow begin in February, and the purple and white continue till April, closing over the yellow as they wither; and as the beds interlace each other, nothing can be more gay or beautiful than this bloom with a number of different hepaticas and early heaths in the beds. At about six inches within the crocus-hedge, and eight inches from each other, are planted double tulips, (chiefly Rex rubrorum and double-yellow;) like the crocuses, surrounding every bed, and being, like them, only disturbed every three or four years, they form thick clumps, with several flowers on each. Between each of these tulip-plants or clumps, and in the same line, are plants of anemones or hyacinths. These are to succeed the crocuses, and form, with a little help from purple primroses, etc, my April bloom. It is not quite so brilliant as my March and May bloom, but still is gay. As these fade, the tulip-bloom in May comes on, and as these close over the fading anemones and hyacinths, between them they seem to form a perfect hedge of mingled scarlet and gold round every bed, of which the effect may really be termed gorgeous. There are, of course, within the beds a few May flowers to combine with them; and I consider this the most brilliant time. As these fade, all the June fibrous rooted plants, beginning with early blue lupines, double-purple and double-white rockets, peach-leaved campanulas, (blue and white, double and single,) with small purple Siberian larkspurs, scarlet lychnis, and all those beautiful, but now much-neglected "border flowers," come into beauty; then roses of all colours, white lilies, etc, with annuals or stocks planted or sown near the edges, so as to grow over the vacant space left by the bulbous root-borders; then the autumnal low-growing phloxes, lobelias, and, even in the more distant beds, dahlias, with annuals and hardy calceolarias, last till the frost sets in; and one feels that neatness is now all that can be sought for till spring restores gaiety and beauty once more."

At the end of March, primroses, red, white, and yellow, come in as successors to crocuses and snowdrops. April and May bring daffodils, narcissus, early heath, jonquils, wall-flowers, cowslips, and polyanthus, - all common, but all sweet, all suggestive of spring, all fit for nosegays, and readily gathered; contrasting pleasantly in this with the tiny, low-growing flowers they have succeeded, - to gather which required both time and patience, and sometimes left the fingers half-frozen. These short-stemmed flowers, which can scarcely be put into water, look well in saucers of damp moss; but I have seen another pretty way of arranging them in a flower-basket, in imitation of a grass plot with beds in it. The tin case with which these flower-baskets are lined is filled with damp sand; over this a piece of turf is laid, small holes being cut into it to allow of the flowers being stuck into the sand. Small bunches of violets, primroses, and snowdrops have a very pretty effect in this toy garden; crocuses do not suit so well, as the warmth of the room makes them expand too much; indeed this tendency renders them unsuited for nosegays, although their lovely colour and early blooming make it irresistible to bring them indoors as ornaments to the drawing-room.

Hyacinths, in water or in pots, are certainly one of our spring pleasures, from the first watching the roots sprouting and the bud swelling up to the full enjoyment of the beauty and fragrance of the flower. Out of doors there cannot be the same enjoyment of them; but a bed of common hyacinths, not too fine to be gathered, is a great addition to the stock of flowers for spring nosegays. Common anemones ought to be in profusion in the garden; the variety of their colours makes each patch of these pretty flowers like a mingled flower-bed, while the finer double-kinds and the ranunculus require more careful culture and separate beds. These "wind-flowers," as they are called, flourish readily, and are all pretty, from the Anemone hor-tensis down to the lovely little A. nemorosa of our woods. This last species is sometimes cultivated as a double flower, and few things are prettier than its little white rosettes; but it is apt to die out, not being so hardy, I suppose, as the single native kind. This is one of our easily transplanted wild flowers, and among grass, and at the roots of trees, it will flourish for years, shewing its delicate white or pink-tinged flowers early in spring.

This endeavour to bring within our garden the flowers of the field or the wood is not always successful, though there are some which thrive well when thus transplanted into a more artificial life. It is very delightful to set out on a bright spring day, basket and trowel in hand, on a plant-gathering excursion; the places where wild primroses, anemones, woodsorrel, and foxgloves grow naturally are always lovely - either woods, whose tender foliage is just beginning to burst, or sunny banks under a hedgerow; and very beautiful it is to see the brown carpet of last year's leaves starred over with the snowy bells of the woodsorrel, or the drooping flowers of the anemone, while bank and brae are yellow with starry primroses. No thought then of the gardener's rule not to lift flowers in full bloom; the larger and more profuse the flowers, the more eager do we feel to get them up by the root. In a wood among the half-decayed leaf-mould this is an easy operation, but in a grassy bank how often does the primrose tuft come up with half its fibres cut away, the peculiar perfume of the root telling at once the mischief it has suffered. Somehow these little flowers do not seem to suffer from this transplanting, if kept moist and cool for a day or so; it is true, and "pity 'tis, 'tis true," they do not look so fair as in their own native haunts, but the desire to transplant them is irresistible. We have high poetical sanction for this robbing of the woods to deck the garden, for Wordsworth addresses his Grasmere orchard thus:-