28 MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN. 



He has planted a seed that will keep him 

 awake nights ; drive rest from his bones, 

 and sleep from his pillow. Hardly is the 

 garden planted, when he must begin to hoe 

 it. The weeds have sprung up all over it in 

 a night. They shine and wave in redundant 

 life. The docks have almost gone to seed ; 

 and their roots go deeper than conscience. 

 Talk about the London Docks ! the roots 

 of these are like the sources of the Aryan 

 race. And the weeds are not all. I awake 

 in the morning (and a thriving garden will 

 wake a person up two hours before he ought 

 to be out of bed) and think of the tomato 

 plants, the leaves like fine lace - work, 

 owing to black bugs that skip around, and 

 can't be caught. Somebody ought to get up 

 before the dew is off (why don't the dew 

 stay on till after a reasonable breakfast?), 

 and sprinkle soot on the leaves. I wonder 

 if it is I. Soot is so much blacker than the 

 bugs that they are disgusted, and go away. 

 You can't get up too early, if you have a 

 garden. You must be early due yourself, if 



