No. 11. 



Dialogue — Cultivallon. 



341 



like him? you know how tall and slim lie is. 

 and how sickly he looks, and how thin and 

 sandy-coloured his hair; active and indus- 

 trious, hut complains of the steepness of the 

 hill behind his house, and is not able to 

 leave his home until the season is warm, 

 and the cold weather has passed ; civil and 

 kind-hearted, but with little energy, eitiier 

 of body or mind ; while on the approacii of 

 ■winter he keeps to the house, and suffers 

 from every change of climate. Now, you 

 must be gentle in the cultivation of so ten- 

 der a subject. 



Father — Yes, I would trench up the sand, 

 and mix with it a large dose of strong loam 

 and lime compost; prune very close, leaving 

 but about three buds on each branch, and 

 look well to the worms, which such a weak 

 and sickly subject is pretty sure to be infect- 

 ed with. 



No. 4. Is the wet, a most unhappy soil, 

 truly ! It is shown by strangely formed 

 branches, sometimes smooth and straight, 

 at others, crooked, burly and rickety; with 

 leaves of different sizes and shapes, smooth 

 or wrinkled, green or yellow, thick or thin, 

 just as the season happened to be during 

 their growth : the tree generally glutted with 

 too much moisture, and in a happy state only 

 when others are parched with drought : 

 nothing more uncertain than its fruiting; 

 sometimes producing largely at a time of 

 general failure, and barren in the most fruit- 

 ful season. The wood which it makes during 

 the summer, dying back almost the whole 

 of its length, but shooting again vigorously 

 from the first living buds in the spring : 

 sometimes healthy to appearance, with large 

 promises of productiveness, seldom realized. 

 Now, see if you can find any one so unfor- 

 tunately situated in life. 



Frank. — Well, to be sure it is a wretched 

 j)icture, and yet, I think, poor James Snooks, 

 the shoemaker, is the pitiable object. You 

 have often remarked, as he passed, that he 

 is the strangest being you ever saw ; lively 

 in a time of sadness, and gloomy and sad at 

 merry-makings : always preparing to do 

 great things, but failing, just at the time 

 when great exertion is necessary : sick, but 

 not sorry ; sorry, but not sick; doing more 

 work in a week than any one, and less in a 

 fortnight than nil : joyous, grievous, bright, 

 and gloomy, all by fits and starts. Now, 

 how could any thing be done to recover so 

 pitiable a case 1 



Father. — It would, indeed, require a rei^u- 

 lar course of medicine, and strong measures, 

 but even here I should not despair of perfect 

 success. I would fairly remove the tree, 

 clean the roots, dig out the earth to a great 

 depth, and if on a declivity, I would drain 

 the soil ; if on a level, fill the hole with 



about eighteen inches of brick and mortar 

 rubbish, and well ram it down ; and upon 

 this I would spread a tiiick bed of good 

 mould and lime, replace the free, and sup- 

 port it by tieing it to stakes with hay ropes, 

 and my life for its recovery ; looking well to 

 the worms, however. 



Frank. — Well, these would be decisive 

 measures, at any rale. 



Father. — Yes, and would be decidedly 

 efficacious. 



No. 5. The dry and impenetrable soil, 

 shows a tree, poverty-smitten in all its parts; 

 unable to do much, nor that little to any good 

 purpose ; brisk and lively, however, in early 

 spring, and making exertions to push into 

 bloom and leaf, but cramped and spell- 

 bound midway: the under leaves fall pre- 

 maturely, but the wood which it makes 

 during the summer is retained through the 

 winter, although but little of it; stunted and 

 bark-bound, but healthy in a degree, and not 

 liable to be affected by the worms, for that 

 reason. Now, this is so common a character, 

 that we have known many such, who are 

 truly to be pitied. To recover such a tree, 

 it is only to " dig about it and dung it, and 

 let it stand another year," adding, however, 

 a good portion of lime with the earth, on 

 filling in. 



No. 6. The rich surface and sterile sub- 

 soil ; frequently to be met with, and often 

 the cause of disorder, disease, and death, 

 to the tree that is planted in it; the richness 

 of the surface-soil calling forth early spring 

 foliage, and the most promising expectations ; 

 the sterility of the sub-soil causing a lament- 

 able falling away of the brightest hopes, 

 and the most grievous disappointment. In 

 early youth, it is lavish of foliage, and the 

 sweetest blossoming; all appears well, and 

 as it should be, and no one would sus[)ect 

 the mortification which is sure to follow, 

 when the roots have penetrated to the poverty- 

 stricken soil below. Now, this is a charac- 

 ter which is, unhappily, very common, and 

 is aptly figured out in the case of William 

 D., in our former conversation. Hundreds 

 of such young men, reared in the rich surface- 

 soil of parental affection, their cultivation ne- 

 glected through a mistaken fondness, aftergiv- 

 ing promises of the most enviable greatness, 

 are doomed to poverty, disgrace, and con- 

 tempt, through the want of the proper stirrino; 

 of the sub-soil— the only security for parental 

 hope. Such cases require a strong hand — 

 nothing less than a regular trenching will 

 be of any avail : the rich surface should be 

 turned down, and the sterile sub-soil be 

 brought up, to be enriched by future dress- 

 ings, lime forming a large proportion in 

 every stage of the business; for it is much 

 to be feared that the worms will be found to 



