364 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



Aug. 



very flushed and heated with her work. "I never 

 used to work half so hard as I have since I got a 

 master. Molly oughtn't to say a word ; she's bet- 

 ter off' than any of us." 



But Molly is very stubborn ; shakes her head, 

 and goes on with her work ; evidently convinced 

 that the married women have entered into a com- 

 pact to dissuade the single women from matri- 

 mony. 



I learn that about fifty of these women, with 

 about twenty men, do the whole work upon a 

 hundred acres of land in the busiest season. In 

 the winter time, half that number only are em- 

 ployed. Women are strong enough for almost 

 any kind of labor required, except trenching and 

 the like. A number of supernumeraries (all wo- 

 men) are employed in the strawberry season, who 

 earn five shillings a day by carrying the fruit to 

 market on their heads. No other kind of carriage 

 answers. Some of the best hands are retained all 

 the year round. In seasons when there is not 

 much doing in the ground, they are employed in 

 mending garden tools, painting and repairing 

 hand-lights — three thousand in number — besides 

 frames and other "plant." 



My conductor regrets that he has little more 

 to tell me ; but I assure him that I have heard 

 and seen enough to convince me of the extraor- 

 dinary skill and pains with which market gardens 

 are cultivated. 



"Why, sir ; we do all naturally try every means 

 for producing a good thing. Look at that field of 

 cauliflowers, for instance." 



"Cauliflowers ! I don't see a sign of blossom 

 on any of them." 



"No ! If they were allowed to be exposed to 

 the sun, they would turn yellow in a few days. 

 Every morning the outer leaves of the plant are 

 folded, one by one, over the flower. Each one, I 

 may say, is regularly nursed and brought up by 

 hand. My man, I'll warrant, knows every plant 

 individually by the shape of the head and the va- 

 ried paleness of countenance. Open the leaves, 

 and look into them. You will find the flower as 

 white as snow. We never allow even a drop of 

 ■wet to fall on it. If it were to begin to rain sud- 

 denly, you would see our people leave whatever 

 work they might be upon, and rush away to cov- 

 er them immediately with those bell-shaped glass- 

 es, which dazzle our eyes so with the sun. All 

 the ground about them has been covered with 

 straw, or mulched, as we call it. We use straw 

 for everything now. Notice that acre of cucum- 

 ber frames yonder ; though the plants grow upon 

 deep hot-beds, and are all under glass, we keep 

 every frame embedded and covered with straw. 

 The beautiful white sea kale you find in the mar- 

 ket is blanched by simply covering it with straw. 

 That pinky rhubarb, which you see in winter and 

 early spring, is forced by the same means. Straw 

 is the market-gardener's sun-blind." 



Having now made the circuit of the gi-ounds, 

 we pry into seed-sheds and sheds full of paint 

 pots, and plumbers' tools, and broken frame- 

 lights, and into out-houses full of garden imple- 

 ments, and huge man-traps — some with shark- 

 like double rows of teeth ; others, of the sort 

 called the humane man-trap, because they snap 

 the bone of a man's leg smoothly and do not 

 make a compound fracture like the old-fashioned 

 ones. These, I understand, are only to be set 



when that fearless aeronaut who lately trailed his 

 grapling-iron through my friend's cucumber 

 frames, and attended by a numerous train of fol- 

 lowers, accomplished an easy descent in his flow- 

 er-garden, shall announce another ascent in the 

 Royal Mammoth Balloon. Which fact we reserve 

 to the last, in the hope that it may meet the eye 

 of that renowned and intrepid individual, and in- 

 duce him to shape his course accordingly. 



The way home is through the cart-yard ; where 

 rows of wagons stacked and ready for to-mor- 

 row's market remind me that I have another 

 chapter to write in vegetable history. Therefore, 

 if there be any sluggards, who, when awakened 

 too soon, are heard to complain, and in whose 

 gardens the thorn and thistle grow higher and 

 higher, let them be warned in time that we in- 

 tend to arouse them at daybreak one fine morn- 

 ing, with a summons to accompany us to Covent 

 Garden Market. — Eousehold Words. 



LITTLE THINGS. 



Scorn not the slightest word or deed. 



Nor deem it void of power ; 

 There's fruit in each wind-wafted seed, 



Waiting its natal hour. 



A whispered word may touch the heart, 



And call it back to life ; 

 A look of love bid sin depart. 



And still unholy strife. 



No acts fall fruitless — none can tell 

 How vast its power may be, 



Nor what results unfolded dwell 

 Within it silently. 



Work and despair not ; give thy mite, 



However small it be ; 

 God 13 with all who serve the right — 



The holy, true and free. 



/-or t/ie New Kngland farmer. 

 ABOUT BUGS. 



Mr. Editor :— "B. H. Crane" will find that 

 his method of preventing bugs from destroying 

 vines will prove a hnui-bug, for the good reason 

 that the material he uses is good for the vine, 

 but will not prevent the visits of the striped or 

 black bug. Being a practical gardener, I have 

 used barrels of the liquid from hen manure, from 

 the tannery in which great quantities were used 

 in the process of tanning, but in vain. Notwith- 

 standing the application was beneficial to the 

 plant, it did not prevent the destructive proper- 

 ties of the bugs. 



Having been engaged in tanning for nearly 

 fifty years, and after trying all other methods to 

 preserve my vines, I have found the only reme- 

 dy in making boxes fiom one foot to one foot 

 and a half square, and from eight to ten inches 

 deep, covered with what is called musquito cloth, 

 and by this means good success has attended my 

 eff'orts. I have now about 70 boxes, under which 

 the vines look flourishing, and those not thus 

 covered are nearly destroyed. With the utmost 

 respect for Mr. Crane, I sign my name as a con- 

 stant reader, as well as an admirer of the N. E, 

 Farmer, S. L. Billings. 



Rockingliam, Vt., June 21st, 1858. 



