ELKVEN] COME AND SEE MY CABBAGES 



being like flour. Yet there is so much in the 

 cooking of a potato that we are Hable to reject the 

 best varieties for lack of what our mothers called 

 "drying off" — that is, steaming after cooking. 



Some of us remember when tomatoes were 

 " Love Apples," and not supposed to be eatable. 

 The older sorts were, in fact, hardly fit for the 

 table. The smell was very rank, and the core 

 was hard, while the skin and seeds constituted 

 the bulk of the fruit. But when our mothers 

 made them into savory pies they stole a march 

 on prejudice. "Father" said the little mother, 

 "do you like the pie.?" "To be sure," said the 

 father, "but what is it made of.?" "Apples, 

 my dear — love apples." So we have come down 

 the years, conquering and being conquered. We 

 have not so many vegetable prejudices as we had 

 one hundred years ago. A tomato trellis, half 

 Golden Queen and half Trophy or Perfection, is a 

 beautiful sight. The beauty goes hand in hand 

 with comfort and pleasure when these are sliced 

 with granulated sugar in Jersey cream. 



Muskmelons can be grown successfully all 

 through our Northern States. There are also one 

 or two varieties of watermelon that perfect as far 



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