VI. 



MY GARDEN WHAT FRUITS WERE CULTI- 

 VATEDCONTINUED. 



WE next come to the delicate raspberries that 

 melt on your tongue like a snowflake ; picked 

 in hot July with the cool morning dew upon 

 them, what could be as refreshing ? The old 

 heathen knew enough to cultivate them fourteen 

 centuries ago, while now many a Christian farmer 

 "can't bother with them," and regales his wife 

 and daughters mainly on corn, potatoes, and pork. 

 With very many in the country these delicious 

 small fruits are as neglected as the means cf grace, 

 Man is a queer animal to boast of reason ; for, go 

 the world over, God's best gifts are generally the 

 most slighted. There is not a farmer but might 



