OUT-OF-TOWN PLACES 



own vegetables, smelling at his own rose-tree 

 and smoking under his own vine? If he goes 

 up with the question to some high court of 

 Horticulture, he comes away with a list as 

 long as my arm — in which are remontants 

 that must be strawed over, vines that must be 

 laid down, vegetables that must be coaxed by 

 a fortnight of forcing, rare shrubs that must 

 have their monthly pinching, monster berries 

 that must have their semi-weekly swash of 

 guano water, and companies of rare bulbs 

 that, after wilting of the leaves, must be dug, 

 and dried, and watched, and put out of reach, 

 and found again, and replanted. 



And my friend Lackland reporting such a 

 list to me, sees a broad grin gradually spread- 

 ing over my face. 



"You think it a poor list, then?" says he. 



"I beg your pardon; it 's a most capital 

 one; there are the newest things of every sort 

 in it; and if you cultivate them as they ought 

 to be cultivated, you '11 make a fine show; 

 they '11 elect you member of a Horticultural 

 Society; heaven only knows but they '11 name 

 you on a tasting committee." 



"That would be jolly," says he. 



"And you '11 need plenty of bass-matting, 

 and patent labels, and lead wire, and a box of 



36 



