Well, I have discovered since that this is actually so. People really do grow it in their gardens, not with the idea of keeping the sun off the young carnations but under the impression that it is a fruit. Consequently, I have found it necessary to adopt a firm line with my friends' rhubarb. On arriving at any house for a visit, the first thing I say to my host is, "May I see your rhubarb bed? I have heard such a lot about it." "By all means," he says, feeling rather flattered, and leads the way into the garden. "What a glorious sunset," I say, pointing to the west. "Isn't it," he says, turning round; and then I surreptitiously drop a pint of weed-killer on the bed. Next morning I get up early and paint the roots of the survivors with iodine. Once my host, who for some reason had got up early too, discovered me. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Just painting the roots with iodine," I said, "to prevent the rhubarb falling out." "To prevent what?" "To keep the green fly away," I corrected myself. "It's the new French intensive system." But he was suspicious, and I had to leave two or three stalks untreated. We had those for lunch that day. There was only one thing for a self-respecting man to do. I obtained a large plateful of the weed and emptied the sugar basin and the cream jug over it. Then I took a mouthful of the pastry, gave a little start, and said, "Oh, is this rhubarb? I'm sorry, I didn't know." Whereupon I pushed my plate away and started on the cheese. ASPARAGUS Asparagus wants watching very carefully. It requires to be tended like a child. Frequently, I wake up in the middle of the night and wonder if James has remembered to put the hot-water bottle in the asparagus bed. Whenever I get up to look I find that he has forgotten. He tells me to-day that he is beginning to think that the things which are coming up now are not asparagus after all, but young hyacinths. This is very annoying. I am inclined to fancy that James is not the man he was. For the sake of his reputation in the past I hope he is not. POTTING OUT I have spent a busy morning potting out the nasturtiums. We have them in three qualities--mild, medium and full. Nasturtiums are extremely peppery flowers, and take offence so quickly that the utmost tact is required to pot them successfully. In a general way all the red or reddish flowers should be potted as soon as they are old enough to stand it, but it is considered bad form among horticulturists to pot the white. James has been sowing the roses. I wanted all the pink ones in one bed, and all the yellow ones in another, and so on; but James says you never can tell for certain what colour a flower is going to be until it comes up. Of course, any fool could tell then. "You should go by the picture on the outside of the packet," I said. "They're very misleading," said James. "Anyhow, they must be all brothers in the same packet."