THE MANSE GARDEN. 43 



half days, and odd hours, as per Andrew's account. 

 Still there is nothing to eat. I have so often met 

 with complaints of the unproductiveness of manse 

 gardens, that I have suspected some ill bit of ground, 

 long peeled by the parish privilege of feal and divot, 

 had generally been allotted for clerical horticulture ; 

 but the suspicion was bad, and the deep black mould 

 every where testified against it. However rich the 

 soil, it gets deadened by long use ; the constant sup- 

 plies of manure serve to quicken it rather for the 

 production of animal than of vegetable life; and so 

 fed for half a century, without trenching or rest, it 

 becomes a living heap of worms. Hence the verity 

 of the statement, the worm took the carrots, the 

 worm took the onions, and the snails, as busy above 

 ground, left not a vestige of the peas. Having so 

 many eaters in the garden, it is easily understood 

 that you are at no little expense in feeding them, and 

 have nothing left for yourself. A little skill on your 

 own part, to be acquired herewith, together with a 

 few days of a potent labourer, might dispense with 

 Andrew and his worm-eaten crops. 



As in the vegetable, so in the flower department, 

 (for what garden wants something in that way ?) 

 Andrew cannot remember, and no bump of locality 

 could, where all the lilies in the parish have made 

 their beds for the winter, and what cares he for the 

 sleeping beauties that lie waiting for the summer 

 sun. Slash goes the murderous spade, with the harsh- 

 ness of a guilotine, through dhalias, jonquils, crown- 

 imperials, and narcissus-poetica. This, perhaps, you 

 consider of little consequence, but if you do not care 

 for flowers do not have them. It is not natural to 



