138 MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN. 



apart ; but the vines came to an early 

 close in the drought. Digging potatoes 

 is a pleasant, soothing occupation, but 

 not poetical. It is good for the mind, 

 unless they are too small (as many of 

 mine are) ; when it begets a want of 

 gratitude to the bountiful earth. What 

 small potatoes we all are, compared 

 with what we might be ! We don t 

 plough deep enough, any of us, for one 

 thing. I shall put in the plough next 

 year, and give the tubers room enough. 

 I think they felt the lack of it this year : 

 many of them seemed ashamed to come 

 out so small. There is great pleasure in 

 turning out the brown-jacketed fellows 

 into the sunshine of a royal September 

 day, and seeing them glisten as they lie 

 thickly strewn on the warm soil. Life has 

 few such moments. But then they must 

 be picked up. The picking-up, in this 

 world, is always the unpleasant part of it. 



