130 MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN. 



stroy all evil and to reform all abuses, and 

 to suspect that there will be much left to do 

 after he has done. I stepped into my gar- 

 den in the spring, not doubting that I should 

 be easily master of the weeds. I have simply 

 learned that an institution which is at least 

 six thousand years old, and I believe six 

 millions, is not to be put down in one season. 

 I have been digging my potatoes, if any- 

 body cares to know it. I planted them in 

 what are called " Early Rose," the rows 

 a little less than three feet apart ; but the 

 vines came to an early close in the drought. 

 Digging potatoes is a pleasant, soothing oc- 

 cupation, but not poetical. It is good for 

 the mind, unless they are too small (as many 

 of mine are), when it begets a want of grat- 

 itude to the bountiful earth. What small 

 potatoes we all are, compared with what we 

 might be ! We don't plough deep enough, 

 any of us, for one thing. I shall put in the 

 plough next year, and give the tubers room 

 enough. I think they felt the lack of it 

 this year : many of them seemed ashamed to 



