THE SECOND YEAR. 171 



love although I do not believe that ever bought a 

 load of compost any where or money. 



Of course, I did not know exactly what seeds Pat 

 rick had put in, and if I asked him, during the spring, 

 whether he had this or that vegetable, his answer al 

 ways was, &quot; Shure and he had lashings ov it ;&quot; but I 

 feared he had a sneaking weakness for onions and 

 cabbages. My first question on my return, which 

 was after a flying visit of a few months, in which I 

 had learned all that w r as essential, was about the suc 

 cess of the asparagus-bed. 



&quot; Faith, nothing has iver come up,&quot; was the heart 

 rending response. &quot; There was a most beautiful pond 

 of water standing on the spot all winter, and I con- 

 saited that the roots was rotted out intirely ; so, as 

 the bed was ilegantly manured, 1 jist put in a fine 

 crop o turnips, as I thought that would be the doin 

 ovit.&quot; ; 



This was the end of my asparagus a bed that re- 

 ^uires three years to mature, and which could not be 

 started till another fall ; a bed that had been trench 

 ed and fertilized, and on which so much brain- work 

 and back-work had been expended ; a bed in which 

 the roots ought to have slept comfortably and safely 

 during their sleepy season. One or two spears strug 

 gled up through the second planting, but even they 



