1868. 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



295 



ble. Procure a small liglit spade — one of those 

 that are made for ladies' use — a fork, a hoe, a 

 rake, and a trowel ; and a small weeding hoe. 



Now we win suppose that the surface of the 

 ground has been thoroughly raked, the dried grass, 

 dead leaves, sticks, etc., carried to the compost 

 heap. This, made of refuse vegetable matter, 

 bones from the kitchen, ashes, the sediment of 

 drains — in fact, all animal and vegetable waste 

 that can be collected— must be in every garden ; 

 for out of decay spring the subtle forces that will 

 crown your work with life and beauty. Just as 

 the ragged, dingy, disagreeable bits of scrip may 

 be returned to Uncle Sam's treasury and we get in 

 their stead, clean, crisp, new bank notes and 

 gleaming gold, so mother earth must have her 

 womout treasures back again in her bosom before 

 she supplies us with new riches. Of the stones, 

 hits of brick, and similar rubbish, by-and-bye we 

 will make make a rockery, — where some of our 

 flowers will delight to dwell — so these must* be 

 put away for that purpose, and if the soil is dry 

 enough to crumble easily we will commence oper- 

 ations. If you have men, or large boys, that you 

 can depend upon to do the digging, it will be well 

 to avail yourself of their assistance. But you can 

 do it alone, and also design and lay out your 

 ground if you will work moderately. 



To begin : attach two stakes to the ends of a 

 rope two yards long; this is to be a measur- 

 ing line, and also a guide for the digging. Stretch 

 it parallel to the boundary of your land, along the 

 sunniest side, driving the stakes into the ground 

 to hold the line steady. Follow this with your 

 spade, keeping yonr work straight and even by it, 

 and moving it and arranging it so that the furrows 

 which you make are of equal width. It will take 

 two or three thrusts of the spade to dig the soil 

 deep enough, because you have not yet the skill 

 or the strength to raise a large quantity at once ; 

 after a liitle practice you will get along faster. 

 But do not hurry ever, gardening is to be recrea- 

 tion, not toil. Get all the pleasure out of it that 

 you can. Stop often to look at the objects around 

 you, and to inhale the odor of the newly-opened 

 ground. Bonaparte used to say that if he were 

 blindfolded he could distinguish his father's gar- 

 den in the island of Corsica by the smell of the 

 earth. At the first feeling of weariness, lay aside 

 your spade and busy yourself about something 

 else, for this is the hardest of garden work and 

 you must accustom yourself to it gradually. If 

 you do not attempt to do too much in the outset 

 you will enjoy the occupation ; but, rush on, with 

 only the idea of getting things finished, and you 

 will quickly find yourself finished instead — will 

 acknowledge that you are really "used-up," and de- 

 clare that gardening is too hard for you. One 

 hour at a time is the utmost that a woman ought 

 to spend at once in gardening, half of that is 

 enough when she uses a spade or a hoe. After 

 the land is dug it must be made fine and smooth 



by raking ; this can be done, different portions at 

 a time, accordmg to the design, the most impor- 

 tant parts first. 



We have provided for vines in the previous chap- 

 ter, now we will see about trees. Fruit is desira- 

 ble, certainly, but we want ornamental trees along 

 the street, or road, or at the corner of the house. 

 American people have not the same ideas of good 

 manners, or of honesty, that the Prussians have, 

 or we might line the roads, as they do, with fruit 

 trees, and feel sure that the fruit would not be the 

 cause of the tree's destruction. But then the vari- 

 ety of form and foliage which the different forest 

 trees present is particularly agreeable when con- 

 trasted with that of their orchard brethren, and we 

 must think of something beside bare utility if we 

 would elevate and cultivate our tastes. 



I never could agree with the matter-of-fact old 

 man who said to his neighbor, just transplanting a 

 fine young elm at the end of his garden, "Oh, sho ! 

 what a waste o' sile 1 That ere elum aint good for 

 nuthin'. Ef 'twas apple, or winter pear, or cherry, 

 say, ary one on 'em's wuth havin'." But there 

 the "elum" stood, and flourished. In the beauty 

 of its pendant boughs and delicate foliage provid- 

 ing other than material sustenance for its owner, 

 long after cider, and cherry bounce, and good din- 

 ners, had made of the old man a clumsy, grovel- 

 ling human dodo. For we all have wings, and if 

 we gratify only our earthly appetites, as Dr. Brown, 

 the genial biographer of Pet Marjorie says, "if we 

 never soar, but pick up all our daily food at our feet, 

 we shall suffer the fate of that ugly bird ; which, 

 according to ancient naturalists was once a true 

 dove, strong and beautiful of wing, but because 

 she would not plume her feathers, and let her pin- 

 ions gi"ow, she lost the ability to soar." 



Until recently little attention was paid in this 

 country to the cultivation of shade trees. The 

 "forests primeval," in all their magnificence, 

 crowned the hill-tops with glory, and sent the 

 blessings of health and long life on the breath of 

 wandering breezes to the valleys and plains below. 

 But man cared not for their companionship. They 

 afforded good fuel and timber; that was all he 

 could see in them. So whenever he wanted orna- 

 ments for his grounds he imported prim Lombardy 

 poplars, and gloomy sighing aspens, and melan- 

 choly weeping willows. And we meet them now 

 occasionally on desolate country roads, looking 

 like grim ghosts of the past ; save when the joy- 

 ous spring time brings a shower of gold to the 

 swaying elms and hangs the boughs of the maple 

 with rubies, then they get up a semblance of life ; 

 and so drag on, year after year, growing more and 

 more mii^shapen and distorted. We can imagine 

 them as sentinels and out-posts to a desolate bat- 

 tle-field, keeping silent and mournful watch over 

 the remains of the fallen ; but they are too sombre 

 and cheerless for any other position. Everything 

 about home should be cheerful and suggestive of 

 happiness, so if we have trees for ornament or 



