The garden lover who is occupied away from home, possibly in a town office, for the greater part of every week day, enjoys his garden to the full in July. The town streets are suffocatingly hot in the dog days. The dust nuisance is at its worst. The odour from the motors has a peculiarly offensive and penetrating quality. The gardenless townsman sighs for the green, sweet countryside, or for the cool breezes of the sea-coast, when the shade thermometer stands at 850, and the breeze seems strong enough to carry to his nostrils only the smell from exploded petrol charges. He pants, he stews, he groans at the too lagging approach of his holidays.

Things are not so bad with the suburbanist, who has a cheerful and umbrageous garden. The thought of it braces and heartens him. He buckles to his affairs with greater zest from thinking of the cool and shady corner which he has made at "Sunnyside" or "Roselea," and the office hours pass the quicker. He steps out briskly when he turns homeward, and thinks of the fragrant, blossomy hours which he will pass with his wife and bairns in the garden before bedtime comes.

Alike with flowers, fruit, and vegetables, we are in the heart of the garden year. The garden is at its fullest and fairest. Roses are a blaze of beauty, Carmine Pillar is in the "lustihood of its young powers," Crimson Rambler is opening, Dorothy Perkins is laden with pink trusses, not yet expanded. Sweet Peas have clothed their sticks from top to bottom, and are gay with bloom. Carnations are spindling up rapidly, and fat buds are already visible.

The Strawberry bed is a place of attraction, and yet of bitter sorrow, for the blackbirds, which gaze hungrily at rich red clusters that an entangling abomination of black threads in the form of a fish net prevents them from getting access to. Gooseberries and Currants are yielding delicious material for tarts and stews. Early Apples are already more than half-grown. Cherries are taking on colour.

The kitchen garden is providing new Potatoes, and in spite of their comparative starchlessness they somehow have a flavour which the best of old ones cannot equal. The first dish of Green Peas has been picked, eaten, and pronounced to be positively the greatest vegetable treat in all history. Longpod Beans are only awaiting a little gap in the Pea supply to prove that they, too, have a wondrous flavour of their own.

These are the joys of the July garden, and the reward for much hard and possibly tedious work in the winter and early spring. There are troubles, of course, and disappointments; these things come in everything, and why should gardening be expected to be free from them? Some plants have failed of which much was expected. Perhaps an unfortunate forgetfulness in respect to watering has led to disaster with a frame of Cucumbers, an oversight in connection with ventilation has ruined a batch of young seedling Stocks, a late frost has spoiled some of the fruit blossom, the newly planted Crimson Rambler Rose looks feeble and appears to be infested with mildew. These and other trials are disappointing, but there is generally a useful lesson to be learned from them, and in any case they must not be allowed to assume undue proportions. Very likely there is a set-off to them in the success of some particular crop which was not expected to do so well. The young bed of Strawberries, for instance, may be carrying a much better crop than was anticipated, and the unknown pillar Rose which we planted experimentally may be a gem.

There should be deep joy in the July garden, and the owner must squeeze every drop of pleasure and interest out of it. He should live every second of the golden days. One garden hour ought to be worth a dozen that are spent in town streets. The amateur should be in his garden soon after daybreak, and should not leave it at night until darkness has fallen, if then.

If the weather is somewhat trying owing to the heat, he can make a point of performing the harder tasks, such as mowing, in the evening, when the sun is near the horizon. For the rest, a loose, soft collar, a light jacket, and a sun-hat will make all the difference between comfort and discomfort.

Let him keep a tight grip on his gardening duties, relaxing not one jot of the ground made already. The garden is full and gay, and it must be kept so. The means are simple - watering, mulching, hoeing, removal of decaying flowers. The labour of watering may be reduced considerably by the use of a hose, also by mulching - that is, covering the surface of the soil with some loose, close substance, such as cocoa-nut fibre refuse or lawn mowings. Hoeing is a light, healthful, and pleasurable task. It is one that can be done with advantage in the early morning. While pursuing it, the amateur can think out plans for his business day far better than he could do while lying in a comatose state in a stuffy bedroom. His faculties will be bright and clear. His mind will be stimulated. He will have fresh and fruitful ideas.