GA RDENING BY M YSELF. i q i 



feel discouraged. There is only a limited 

 number of cut-worms in the world, after all. 

 I thought to myself this morning, when the 

 whole garden was rejoicing over last night's 

 rain, and onl}^ one of my poor stocks lay 

 prostrate, that it was just the gentle tax we 

 pay for the support of some of the Lord's 

 creatures — creatures ugly to us, and yet 

 having their appointed place and work in 

 the world ; and probably (to a robin's eyes) 

 their beauty. Of course, I would rather 

 pay my tax in something besides gilliflow- 

 ers ; and yet, after all, if it were left to me, 

 what should I choose? A seedling helio- 

 trope ? a shoot of my new passion vine ? a 

 percentage of phlox ? Should I offer Mr. 

 Grub a tuft of my thrifty mignonnette, fast 

 pushing up into fragrance ? Could I afford 

 him part of my pansies ? No, no, it is bet- 

 ter as it is, — he breakfasting where he likes, 

 and I seasoning my breakfast with patience ; 

 for you know, though we might like to ban- 

 ish him to the garden behind the house, yet 

 there would be serious inconvenience if he 

 9* 



