Lady. Well, give nie the Ifom'e Journal, and such ns that. 



J)((it(/fi(cr. I'm sure, nia, there's a thousand better thiiif^s in it than tales. Those 

 articles on hanging i)lants, you know you liked. 



L(t(h/. "Why, yo^ — now and then 1 do see something I like, but the fact is, I 

 rarely read it! 



S(»u Then, ma, you certainly don't know what is in it. / wouldn't give it up 

 for ten times its cost. It seems to me full of information and entertainment com- 

 bined. But here comes neighbor Hob Acres, let's ask him. 



Acres. If you ask me for an opinion, I'm always prepared. The J foriicultnrist 

 isn't wutli three cents ! It never has drawings of horses, cattle, sheep, or pigs ; 

 and as to your garden flowers, and frip))ery, who cares a coi»per, I don't ! 



Diincihter. ^Ycll, Bol), but I wish you did. Do you thiidv umj young lady would 

 live at Cloverdale and never see anything but hay ? I won't, believe me. 



Acres. Wait, my dear, till you're 1 



Daiujlder. No, I won't wait till I'm asked! I hate to see a place without fruit, 

 and a garden and flowers, and you needn't ask me — never ! 



Gentleman. There, Bob, you've got it ; now you take the IlorticuUurist, and get 

 uj) a garden, if you want ever to be married. 



Bob. AVell, if ever I do, then 



Son. We'll think you mean to pop the question. 



Boh. No, no. I'll never read any such stud". Why, do you suppose I don't 

 know how to plant a tree, or cut it down either ! 



Daughter. Ah! Bob, you are perfectly incorrigible. 



Boh. Incorrigible or not, you don't catch me reading books. Incorrigible, am 

 I — that's one of your botanical terms, is it ! 



Gentleman. Come, Bob, that will do. 



\_Enter, a young Lady, with a hasket.'\ 



Young Lady. Oh, Maria! I've got such beautiful mosses; I've been in the 

 woods all the morning, collecting to make those elegant moss baskets described 

 in the Horticulturist. I've made enough l)y their sale to purchase plenty of books 

 for our little school, and they say in town they want two dozen more ! That's the 

 way I use my dear Horticulturist! 



Boh (who evidently has a liking for the last speaker). Oh, Charlotte, why didn't 

 you ask me to help you i)ick the mosses? I should have been so glad. 



Charlotte. I'll never ask a favor of you, Master Robert, till you have a proper 

 respect for reading and knowledge; and if ever I see you tearing out those colored 

 pictures of apples and pears, I'll — I'll never s})eak to you again ; mind that 1 



Boh. Oh dear, what a little hornet ! 



{Aside. I believe I must take to reading a little, or they'll never talk to me.) 



\^Enier, Charlotte'' s mother.'] 



Mother. Really, how perfect your garden looks this morning. Those plants 

 recommended in the Horticulturist are all that was said of them. Can't I have 

 cuttings ? 



Gentleman. Certainly you can ; but here is neighbor Acres, who thinks this kind 

 of thing all trash ! 



Daughter. He won't think so always ; will you, Bob ? 



Bob looks a little crest-fallen, takes up the Horticulturist from the table, asks 

 what it costs, and ends by ordering a copy. He reads it, too, and by next year 

 we hope to record that one of the two young ladies — we believe it will be the 

 basket-maker — has become Mrs. Acres, with a flower-garden, a lawn, some 



