1858. 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



363 



rieties of every thing grown are necessarily pro- 

 duced." 



"You will of course choose the best." 



"Some kinds are equally good. Others are 

 known for certain qualities, for which we choose 

 them as we want them. Some are by their na- 

 ture fit for earlier or later growing than others ; 

 and as our object is to keep the markets supplied, 

 we grow several sorts of most things. In this 

 way we have various crops of the same vegetable, 

 which we know will come due every week while 

 the season lasts." 



Walking on through other gardens, all plant- 

 ed with the same regularity and neatness, we no- 

 tice in every patch one or two laborers, chiefly 

 women. Some are hoeing among crops so fine 

 and thickly sown that it is a marvel how the 

 greatest care can prevent their cutting them down 

 with the weeds. Others are propping bell-shaped 

 and square glass-lights with bits of wood, to let 

 the air in to the plants beneath. Some men are 

 perseveringly watering, one by one, tomatoes, 

 or love-apple plants, against a wall. Others in 

 deep alleys, among rows of beds, as regular as a 

 ground plan of the city of Philadelphia, are care- 

 fully picking weeds with the hand ; while a few, 

 I see on coming nearer, are cutting asparagus. 

 Wherever a blue top has just forced its way 

 through the mould, a woman thrusts in, sideways, 

 a long steel instrument, notched at the end, and 

 saws at the stem some inches under the ground. 

 The notched cutter, I am told, leaves a ragged 

 surface where the stem is severed, which heals 

 more readily than a smooth cut — the mould staun- 

 ching the sap more completely, and preventing it 

 from bleeding. These asparagus roots have been 

 three years in the ground, and have only yielded 

 shoots strong enough to bear cutting this year — 

 though the soil is of course occupied by other 

 crops during that time. The shoots grow rapidly 

 in the season, and are cut every other day for 

 five weeks. The "grass" is removed to the yard 

 in baskets as fast as it is cut, to be washed and 

 tied in bundles for the market. I learn that the 

 long, hard, white stem — which the eater rejects 

 for its earthy and watery flavor — is produced by 

 earthing the shoots, or "blanching," which is a 

 mere waste for the sake of appearance. By sim- 

 ply removing some of the mould the shoots would 

 grow up with five or six inches of eatable top, 

 instead of that half inch of purple sprout, which 

 would tantalize anybody but that morbidly car- 

 nivorous lady in the Arabian Nights. So long, 

 however, as the public prefer the purple tip and 

 tasteless stem, and the green-grocer refuses to 

 buy a wholesomer kind, the market-gardener is 

 compelled to earth up, and blanch, and make 

 pretty looking bundles. Some laborers are sprink- 

 ling lime-dust here and there, which I take to be 

 manure ; but my friend corrects me. 



"The only remedy for slugs. A dust of lime 

 when the dew is on, spreads all over leaves, and 

 kills everything without injuring the plants. 

 These insects puzzle us. Look at the scarlet 

 beans just coming up, and all eaten away." 

 While I am looking at them, my conductor pulls 

 out a microscope in a brass tube, and begins to 

 inspect a leaf minutely. "We have been watch- 

 ing this," he continues — screwing up one eye, 

 and wrinkling his forehead like a Scotch kale — 

 "We have been watching this for a week past, 



and can't find what it is. There is a disease 

 among cabbages called 'clubbing,' which looks 

 like the ravages of insects ; but it come from 

 over-manuring ; for you may manure too much. 

 Some say fhe disease in the potatoes and cucum- 

 bers, as well as in several other vegetables late- 

 ly, is from the same cause." 



"Are you much troubled with vermin ?" 



"Well, we keep a sharp look-out to burn or 

 fumigate them before they've time to spread. 

 Field mice eat our seeds. We take care to frighten 

 all birds away with scarecrows, but I doubt 

 whether we don't do more harm than good, by 

 preventing the birds from eating the insects, 

 with which we are always more troubled than far- 

 mers are. I am tempted to make a bonfire of all 

 our Guy Fawkeses one day. A friend of mine 

 keeps young bantams, who peck up worms and 

 slugs like barleycorns ; they scratched a good 

 deal among the crops, at first ; but he got over 

 that by putting their feet in socks." 



A bantam with his feet in socks is so diflficult 

 to imagine, that I am suspicious that my friend 

 is mystifying ; but I find him quite serious. "This 

 little insect that rolls itself into a perfect black 

 ball as soon as you touch it," he continues, "is 

 one of our most troublesome visitors. A wood- 

 louse will eat anything, sweet, sour, or bitter. 

 They can't have any sense of taste ; or if they 

 have, it is the reverse of ours. They will greed- 

 ly devour a leaf, that, to us, has the moot nause- 

 ous flavor imaginable. I have seen three young 

 bantams peck up a hundred of these in two min- 

 utes by the watch. Our plan for killing them in 

 the green-house and cucumber frames is with 

 toads." 



"Toads !" 



"Toads. We buy toads ; I have paid as much 

 as six shillings a dozen for toads." 



There is considerable bustle in an adjoining 

 field, where a number of women are pulling gi- 

 gantic rhubarb stalks, and loading barrows. I 

 observe a considerable diff'erence in the rapidity 

 with which some do their work ; and my conduc- 

 tor confirms my observation. "That young Irish 

 woman, yonder," he says, "with her gown pinned 

 up behind, and her bare arms, as brown as ma- 

 hogany, will get through twice as much work in 

 a day as some of our people. We give her two 

 shillings a day ; most of them get only a shilling 

 or eighteen pence. How are you, Molly ?" 



"Very well, sir, thank you," (without pausing 

 in her work.) 



"Here's the shilling I promised you three wo- 

 men." Molly protests she "never thought he 

 meant it ;" but constitutes herself, at once, a 

 trustee for the other two ; and deposits the shil- 

 ling in a large, heart-shaped pocket, hanging at 

 her side. 



"How old are you, Molly ?" 



"Thirty, sir." 



"Married ?" 



"No, sir. Nobody won't have me." Molly's 

 face would certainly not be deemed equivalent to 

 a fortune in the matrimonial market. 



"She's a good deal better off single, sir," says 

 an old woman. "I know that to my cost." 



Molly won't look us in the face, but she keeps 

 to her point, and honestly confesses her matri- 

 monial inclinations. 



"Ah!" says another— a young woman looking 



