142 MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN. 



weeds. I have simply learned that an institution 

 which is at least six thousand years old, and I 

 believe six millions, is not to be put down in 

 one season. 



I have been digging my potatoes, if anybody 

 cares to know it. I planted them in what are 

 called " Early Rose," the rows a little less 

 than three feet apart ; but the vines came to 

 an early close in the drought. Digging pota- 

 toes 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, com- 

 pared 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 



