38 MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN. 



Observation. Nevertheless, what a man needs 

 in gardening is a cast-iron back, with a hinge in 

 it. The hoe is an ingenious instrument, cal 

 culated to call out a great deal of strength at a 

 great disadvantage. 



The striped bug has come, the saddest of the 

 year. He is a moral double-ender, iron-clad at 

 that. He is unpleasant in two ways. He bur 

 rows in the ground so that you cannot find him, 

 and he flies away so that you cannot catch him. 

 He is rather handsome, as bugs go, but utterly 

 dastardly, in that he gnaws the stem of the plant 

 close to the ground, and ruins it without any 

 apparent advantage to himself. I find him on 

 the hills of cucumbers (perhaps it will be a 

 cholera-year, and we shall not want any), the 

 squashes (small loss), and the melons (which 

 never ripen). The best way to deal with the 

 striped bug is to sit down by the hills, and pa 

 tiently watch for him. If you are spry, you can 



