120 MY VINEYARD , 



I stood, the whole winter through, with arms outstretched 

 to their fullest extent. It would have become quite fa- 

 tiguing had not the trellis afforded me a good support. 



The next, the fourth year of my vineyard life, a cane 

 was produced from each of the two buds left on the spurs, 

 making a dozen canes to an arm. These were treated pre- 

 cisely as those of last season, but the amount of fruit I 

 produced was very much increased. I think there must 

 have been some sixty or seventy bunches in all. In the 

 fall, each alternate cane was cut entirely away, aud the 

 rest down to two buds. 



From that day to this my life has been simply a repeti- 

 tion of my fourth year's experience. Many good crops 

 of fruit have I borne, but I do not feel exhausted, or that 

 old age is creeping upon me. Indeed, when I recall to 

 mind the stories I used to hear father tell of some of our 

 ancestors who had rejoiced in the summer sun of half a 

 dozen centuries, the notion creeps over me that I shall 

 live and bear my fruit foi* at least a hundred years to 



