like that she can, but my lilies must express themselves with no other flower to interfere with them. A lily has so little to say to the world; it must have an atmosphere of the completest reticence if it is to speak at all. The roses will be reinforced by twenty-five other sorts from the Government Gardens at Saharanpore; and there are to be several new admittances to the home for decayed gentlewomen. The border nearest the upper khud has been arranged to take everything we don’t want in other places--the phloxes, the antirrhinums, the lupins and carnations and gaillardias and surpluses of all sorts which it would be a sin to throw away. It will be a kind of garden-attic, but the medley should be bright. Also, to do him justice, Tiglath-Pileser has given me a wild-rose hedge round our whole property, along both roads and up and down the khuds. Thick and fragrant it will be in May and starred with creamy blossoms. He said he owed me something on account of the grafts, and I could not conscientiously dispute the matter. So that will be my garden, I hope, of next year. It will hold no brilliant effects; we only want to be gay and merry on the shelf and to keep certain relations intact; we have no room to be ambitious. I know now at least where my garden begins and where it leaves off, and a little more. Next year I hope to pretend to that intimate knowledge which comes of having gone over every foot of it, without which no one should say anything, or even write anything probably. However, Elizabeth[6] did, and everybody liked it. Elizabeth began as a complete amateur; and her very amateurity disarmed criticism. She had nothing but taste and affection, and her struggles to garden upon this capital have often sympathetically occurred to me during the past summer. Frequently I have had occasion to say to her, speaking quite anonymously, “What would you think of that, Elizabeth, supposing you lived on a shelf?” and often in the depression of wondering whether it was quite fair to try to follow her charming fashion, I have explained that I really have to write about my garden; I was turned out in it, I had no more choice than Nebuchadnezzar; and that I sincerely hope I have not plagiarized her plants. And I assured her it is a thing I would never do, that those hereinbefore mentioned grew for me, every one, from seed or bulb--that I would not ever plagiarize from Mr. Johnson, whose Japanese lilies were glorious to behold this year and very moderate.