MOVED TO THE CITY, 



Crows and chickeos are next in order in their destructive propensities, especially 

 on acorns, beechnuts, chestnuts, and soft-shelled seeds generally. The remedies 

 for these are various, depending, in their application, entirely on the feelings of 

 the seed-grower. Many employ the gun with good effect. 



MOVED TO THE CITY! 



Julia lias moved to the city ! Our amiable competitor for early salads and fine camellias, 

 has become entangled in the meshes of love, and for this she has left her garden ! ! How 

 much of her individuality has she not lost ? We were never weary of talking over our 

 fruit projects, and our insect remedies, in vieing with our bouquets and asparagus. Our 

 grapes and our pears made regular tours to each other's tables. What pleasure can I now 

 take in sending a fine bowl of pei-petual strawberries, or a basket of my Reine Hortense 

 cherries ? She buys her vegetables from the market ! eats stale salads and radishes, and, 

 for the sake of her lover-husband, is therewith content ! 



Julia and I have no longer a common topic. When I visit her, she will parade her pur- 

 chased fruits, and, very probably, may substitute for them sugared bon-bons. Ah ! Julia — 

 that was a mistake to devote your aflections on a cit ; I am much afraid — dare I say it ? — 

 you have not married your right husband ! Does he know the names of your favorite roses ? 

 Is not one bouquet as good as another to the man brought up on Wilton carpets in Walnut 

 Street ? Why, spring has gone and autumn come ! my lost Julia, and can you consent — 

 have you really consented — to traverse paved streets, and look out upon a garden — no, it is 

 not a garden — upon a paved yard with only one sickly tree and a clothes-line in it ? What 

 will you substitute for the early apple-blossom, the fragrant grape-vine, and the ever- 

 engrossing new buds that formerly engaged so much of your fond care? 



If I did not fully believe your earlier attachment to the beauties of nature would surely 

 return, I would have to write you out of my books. I luill send you flowers, and fruits, and 

 your favorite moss rose-buds, if for no other purpose, for the selfish one of keeping you in 

 order for a future return to us. Shall I tell you of the bulbs you so resolutely tore yourself 

 away from ? They are peeping from their old beds to-day, and will soon be in all their 

 panoply of glory ! Your spiraeas, unconscious of your absence, promise a full display, not- 

 withstanding you have left them. The birds are singing merrily, and mating, too, but they 

 do not choose the chimney tops for listeners to their notes. Your rosewood piano and gas- 

 lights, Julia, are a poor substitute for the robin or the newly-arrived twittering wren ! 



You have unconsciously given me a theme, and, though I will not call you fickle, like the 

 April that has passed, I must deprecate the altered mode of life your new relations have 

 brought you into. Why, in the country, you were companionable 1 — are you any longer 

 so ? Will your talk be of verbenas, or your ambition be for evergreens ? Can you think of 

 mignonette, and of your old lawn, when you are surrounded by omnibuses ? Alas ! no. 

 The next time we meet, you will tell me of some crowded lecture, a concert, or a party. A 

 party, Julia, where there are no fresh flowers from your old conservatory, and where the 

 artificial will predominate over the natural ! Pray, my darling Julia, get your new man to 

 make haste and be rich, and return to our rustic habits, our rural lanes, and drives, and 

 walks ; but, above all, to your good old garden, where your ancestors dug, and delved, and 

 planted — where, Julia! you passed so many happy hours of careless child and opening 

 womanhood ! 



Julia loas our beau-ideal of an American lady. She was versed in all those accomplish- 

 ments which render a home in the country a pleasant place to visit. She had read, and 

 wisely ; understood history, music, and belles-lettres, and was acquainted wi 

 iology of botany. No one could so well direct a gardener, and, what was more 



