92 MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN. 



The pleasure of gardening in these days 

 when the thermometer is at ninety, is ona 

 that I fear I shall not be able to make intel- 

 ligible to my readers, many of whom do not 

 appreciate the delight of soaking in the sun- 

 shine. I suppose that the sun, going through 

 a man, as it will on such a day, takes out 

 of him rheumatism, consumption, and every 

 other disease, except sudden death from 

 sunstroke. But, aside from this, there is 

 an odor from the evergreens, the hedges, the 

 various plants and vines, that is only ex- 

 pressed and set afloat at a high temperature, 

 which is delicious ; and, hot as it may be, a 

 little breeze will come at intervals, which 

 can be heard in the tree-tops, and which is 

 an unobtrusive benediction. I hear a quail 

 or two whistling in the ravine ; and there 

 is a good deal of fragmentary conversation 

 going on among the birds, even on the warm- 

 est Hays. The companionship of Calvin, 

 also, counts for a good deal. He usually 

 attends me, unless I work too long in one 

 place ; sitting down on the turf, displaying 



