364 



Dialogue — Cultivation. 



Vol. IV. 



Dialogue Continued— Cultivation. 



Sykes. — Poor Grabb ! he 's a kind-hearted 

 man, truly ; but if his father had not lived 

 before him, and left him at his death, the 

 fine farm which he so miserably manages, he 

 would, by this time, have been in the alms- 

 house. It is a pity, however, that he did 

 not do a little in the way of cultivating his 

 son's mind at the same time — his sub-soil 

 must be in a wretched state, I guess. Well 

 then, neighbour, my team shall be here by 

 peep of day to-morrow, to join yours ; and 

 as I wish to drag, and roll, and harrow, three 

 times in a place, the field designed for tur- 

 nips, we must make up our mind to stretch 

 a point, and complete it before we leave ; 

 and they can then collect the weeds and burn 

 them the next day. My heart aches when 

 I look at the poor widow of an excellent 

 friend, and her bereaved little ones, and I 

 have made up my mind and my vow, if God 

 spares me, to assist her in her trouble, until 

 her fine lad is capable of taking a father's 

 place, and work for his poor mother and sis- 

 ters. 



Father — My noble friend, I must partake 

 "with you in that luxury, and I shall not only 

 be ready and willing, but be glad to meet 

 you at any time with heart and hand ! — God 

 bless you — good bye. 



Frank. — What a contrast ! I think, how- 

 ever, that there must be a difference in the 

 nature of the tree as well as the soil — the 

 fruit is so very unlike. 



Father. — No doubt there is, but cultivation 

 will always work wonders. 



Frank, — How droll to hear Grabb talk of 

 a song ! It must be a gloomy one to fit his 

 state of mind ; I should like to hear it. 



Father. — And so it is — words and tune : 

 it is one of Dibdia's happiest efforts; and 

 you must fancy it, sung in the most doleful 

 strain, to a tune in the minor key. 



We bipeds, made up of frail clay, 



Alas! are the children of sorrow, 

 And though brisk and merry to-day, 



We all may be wretched tn-morrow. 

 For sunshine 's succeeded hy rain — 



Then, fearful of life's stormy weather; 

 Since pleasure caa only bring pain, 



Let us all be unhappy together. 



Frank — Capital ! but how would you re- 

 claim a soil so sour, cold, and sterile, and 

 which produces such crabbed fruit, as that 

 of which Grabb is the similitude 1 

 * Father. — Oh nothing is easier or more 

 agreeable : I would remove the soil from 

 about the roots to a good depth and distance, 

 and fill the opening with fresh mould, mixed 

 with a copious supply of lime; prune very 

 close, and leave the event, trusting to the 

 sweetening influence so beautifully expressed 

 by the Methodist preacher, " lime to a sour, 



stubborn soil, is like the grace of God to a 

 wicked man's heart." 



Frank. — I should like to try the effect of 

 such liming in Grabb's case, for, poor fel- 

 low, he is so miserable, that I expect he is 

 as great an object of charity and commise- 

 ration as Mrs. Williams and her poor family 

 — is there nothing that can be done for him ? 



Father. — I fear not. 



Frank. — And yet, you said, cultivation 

 will always work wonders. 



Father. — That's good — and so it will : 

 and suppose that I get Sykes to assist us to 

 take him up and carry him, as though he 

 were a bereaved widoiu ? 



Frank. — Oh ! pray do, I will be answer- 

 able for him ; at present he appears quite 

 friendless and miserable, within doors as 

 well as without — as he saj's. 



No. 9. The rich and healthy surface and 

 poisonous sub-soil. This is an interesting 

 case — shall we take the beautiful Newington 

 peach tree, which flourished so finely for 

 two years in our garden, and died so prema- 

 turely last year ] I think we shall find the 

 analogy complete. That fine tree was train- 

 ed with the greatest care in the nursery, 

 until it was fit for transplanting into the gar- 

 den, when the soil, a firm, rich hazel loam, 

 was trenched, and cleaned, and limed for its 

 reception. The first season after its removal, 

 it bore much fine fruit, of the most delicious 

 flavour, and large, handsome appearance, 

 bringing them all to maturity, and perfectly 

 ripening its wood. The next season it bore 

 most abundantly, and made noble shoots, 

 which required no pruning or heading back ; 

 its blossoms were remarkably large, and of 

 healthy appearance ; both fruit and wood 

 were well ripened, and fully testified the 

 care and attention which had been exercised 

 in its culture from the first. 



On the appearance of the blossoms the 

 next spring, they were observed to be much 

 smaller, and paler in colour; and although 

 the fruit set well, many fell off when they 

 were the size of peas ; and at midsummer, 

 many of the under leaves withered, and fell 

 from the branches. Before Michaelmas, the 

 colour of the foliage had completely changed ; 

 the fruit ceased to grow, and the tree was 

 declared to be infected with the disorder, 

 called the yellows. The worms had made 

 sad havoc beneath the bark near the ground ; 

 nor was it a matter of surprise when, on the 

 opening of the last spring, not a bud or blos- 

 som made their appearance — the tree was 

 quite dead. On removing it, I was deter- 

 mined, if possible, to learn the cause of such 

 premature decay and sudden death, and 

 therefore very carefully removed the earth 

 from about the roots, laying them quite bare, 

 without wounding tliem. All appeared 



