PREFACE. 



from time to time, and strolled around my garden- paths (which 

 are irregular and straggling as my story), and chatted in a famil- 

 iar way on the topics suggested as we passed along. 



I know that I shall be met at the outset by that inevitable 

 Yankee question, " Does a garden pay ? " 



I might answer indignantly, does it pay to kiss your wife, 

 to dandle your baby, or to go back to the past (?) to look 

 at the choir, or do anything else agreeable to human nature ? 



Is the gain in health, strength, and happiness, which this 

 Eden form of recreation secures, to be gauged by the dollar 

 symbol ? 



Can the flavor of your own crisp lettuce or strawberries and 

 cream be bought? Is the perfume of the flowers that your 

 own hands have planted, to be had in the market ? 



I don't believe that Eden was laid out on the principle of 

 a "truck -garden," every inch being planted in a profitable 

 crop; nor do I think that Adam and Eve bustled out every 

 morning with the expression seen on so many American faces, 

 " Time is money." The question in regard to a garden seems 

 to me to be, shall we enjoy a little bit of Paradise this side 

 of Jordan? 



Still aware of the general indifference to Paradise on either 

 ride of Jordan, I hasten to state that my garden did pay in 

 dollars and cents, and I think yours can be made to do the 

 same, my reader, as I shall try to prove in the following pages. 



