146 MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN. 



value in this world. You can only estimate 

 what a thing is worth to you. Does gardening 

 in a city pay ? You might as well ask if it pays 

 to keep hens, or a trotting-horse, or to wear a 

 gold ring, or to keep your lawn cut, or your hair 

 cut. It is as you like it. In a certain sense, it 

 is a sort of profanation to consider if my garden 

 pays, or to set a money-value upon my delight in 

 it. I fear that you could not put it in money. 

 Job had the right idea in his mind when he 

 asked, &quot; Is there any taste in the white of an 

 egg ? &quot; Suppose there is not ! What ! shall I 

 set a price upon the tender asparagus or the 

 crisp lettuce, which made the sweet spring a 

 reality ? Shall I turn into merchandise the red 

 strawberry, the pale green pea, the high-flavored 

 raspberry, the sanguinary beet, that love-plant 

 the tomato, and the corn which did not waste its 

 sweetness on the desert air, but, after flowing in 

 a sweet rill through all our summer life, mingled 



