250 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST 
may be necessary to repeat this bath several 
times, before a cure is effected. 
Those who are unwilling or afraid to use 
Quinine, Miner’s Fever Cure, Choloqoque, &c., 
will probably do themselves no harm by trying 
this warm bath. I have seen it given repeatedly 
with the desired success. I do not suppose it 
infallible, but believe it would generally prove 
efficacious. 
Perhaps some of the readers of the Agricul¬ 
turist will place the hot bath in the same cate¬ 
gory with the hole in the earth, and the string 
on the tree. But if they are the victims of ma¬ 
larious disease, they will not be unmindful of so 
simple a mode of relief, unless hope has been 
quite shaken out of their hearts, and despond¬ 
ency settled down upon them like an incubus. 
I shall not charge them for my advice, but 
shall only assure them of my sympathy, if they 
look like the pictures I have seen on some of 
the patent medicine bottles. Anne Hope. 
WHAT A GARDEN SHOULD BE. 
Having discussed Gardens at some length 
under their ornamental aspect, lest the accusa 
tion be brought that the useful has been forgot¬ 
ten, this article shall be devoted to the special 
consideration of the Kitchen Garden. 
"We are wrongly apt to associate with the 
word Garden, a corner of land filled with weeds 
and flowers, and another corner marked into 
rows, by a regiment of White Birch, bean poles, 
and pea bushes, with an intersprinkling of corn 
stalks, some squashes, vines—and a great deal 
of rubbish—where, as the country people say, 
the “ Garden Sauce” is grown. Now, as the 
object of this article is to have a little talk about 
this very “ Garden Sauce,” let us see if we need 
to abandon our much-loved vegetables, in im¬ 
proving our homestead, and making its surface 
a little more pleasing to the eye. 
Rather than abandon them, it would be better 
to loose much that would be pleasing of the 
purely ornamental, for in the country, people 
are very dependent upon the vegetables of their 
own growing, as markets are rare, and but ill 
supplied. Were there no other argument for 
their culture but this, it, alone, would be enough, 
but there is a still stronger one; few are aware 
how conducive to health summer vegetables 
are; all authorities agree in recommending their 
free use ; and the danger of cholera arises, not 
from the bad effects of good, fresh vegetables, 
so much as from the stale and wilted denizens 
of the market. It is always a matter of very 
great surprise to city residents, to find so little 
attention paid to the growth of any thing but 
potatoes, corn, and a few beans, in the country. 
Leaving bricks and dust for green lanes and 
trees, they revel in the fresh air, and with a 
keen appetite, eagerly await the promised din¬ 
ner, imagining all the dainties of the vegetable 
world they have heard of, strawberries and 
cream, green peas, sweet corn, tomatoes, &c. 
When to their surprise they see the kitchen 
maid returning from the neighbor’s with a 
bought, or borrowed pint of milk, and meet 
with the excuse from the matron, that “ she 
regrets the lack of asparagus, lettuce, &c., but 
the butcher didn’t bring any, and it’s so hard 
to get vegetables in the country.” The diffi¬ 
culty lies in the dread of trouble , not in the 
trouble itself; do not be so afraid, good sir, 
after you have come home from the day’s work, 
to drop a few peas, or tomatoes, or lettuce seeds! 
and do not let your imagination dwell upon the 
hot days’ weedings by and by. 
It is a great shame, that it should be univer¬ 
sally true, that it is no where so difficult to get 
vegetables as in the country. It will not do 
for you to say, any time will answer for that 
work. Any time is no time. Believe me, the 
ten minutes of aggravation a day your wife 
will feel when the dinner presents no variety ; 
of disappointment you will experience when 
your wife is not a fairy, and cannot produce 
baked beans and potato in any other shape than 
baked beans and potato, and is unable to alter 
the everlasting veal and bread, into green peas 
and sweet corn—is much more, than the mere 
trouble of weeding and sowing the seed. But 
weight enough has not been given to the health¬ 
fulness of vegetables; we are too essentially a 
meat-eating race ; we do not know how to make 
the most of things; and hundreds of poor fam¬ 
ilies might enjoy a luxurious variety, would 
they but use the bounties of the vegetable 
world. The English and European peasantry, 
live entirely on a vegetable diet, and yet are 
quite as healthy as we are, and hundreds and 
hundreds of thousands of our poor people 
have more sumptuous meat fare, than the ma¬ 
jority of the inhabitants of the old world. 
Lay off, then, in your garden, a bit of land; 
plant a few of the different vegetables, just 
enough to supply yourself, and do not make 
that fatal mistake of getting so much land un¬ 
der culture. 
People are inclined to go to work too largely, 
and plant enough of a few things, to supply sev¬ 
eral families, and then to allow the quantity to 
take the place of variety. It is very easy to cal¬ 
culate how much you will want, and when you 
have decided, do not plant all at once, but have 
a succession ; plant a row of peas and corn to¬ 
day, another in a week, and another the third 
week ; then have a few hills of squashes, sum¬ 
mer and winter, and remember it is no economy 
to cover the land with winter squashes to the 
exclusion of summer vegetables ;—it is robbing 
Peter to pay Paul, and no gain; then a few hills 
of melons, some distance from the squashes, to 
prevent impregnation of seed. Have some ten 
tomato plants, a little patch, ten feet square, of 
carrots, another of parsnips, a few hills of rhu¬ 
barb, or pie-plant, a small square, say 20x20, of 
asparagus, and dotted in, a few pepper plants, 
some cucumbers, and in a corner by themselves, 
one hundred raspberry vines with two or three 
strawberry beds, 4x20 feet. On the edge of 
the walk, set currants and gooseberries, and a 
little farther in, dwarf pears. By a judicious 
selection of place, you can get two or three 
crops a year from some of the land ; the pars¬ 
nips will be eaten before time of planting, when 
their place may be taken by radishes, and they 
be followed by peas, and they by a few turnips. 
To the other early peas, the parsnips may fol¬ 
low ; on the corn land you can grow squashes, 
and vice versa. 
Half an acre arranged in this way, will give 
all that a family of six persons can possibly 
need, but be sure to remember at starting, that 
you want no more land under culture, than you 
can keep free from weeds, and to plant no 
greater quantity than you can use yourself. 
Where the most of the surface is under culture, 
and the ornamental is entirely excluded, there 
is danger of a too great spirit of utility ; there¬ 
fore do not forget that we must feed the mind 
and soul as well as the body, but pay a due re¬ 
gard to both. It is very desirable, however, to 
keep each division by itself, and not mix them 
together heterogeneously. No one wishes to 
see gilly-flowers and cabbages side by side, be¬ 
cause they are of the same family; let the two 
divisions be just as separate as parlor and 
kitchen, but do not omit either any more than 
one of these two rooms from your house. It 
may seem rather late to make this appeal for 
the vegetables, but there is yet time for toma¬ 
toes, late peas, sweet corn, carrots, parsnips, 
and cabbages, and when you read over this list, 
recall the savory dishes they may be com¬ 
pounded into, and be willing to give your wife 
the assistance you can, into the culinary de¬ 
partment. Lest the succession of the vegeta¬ 
bles should be forgotten, an enumeration may 
be of service; first parsnips, then asparagus, 
rhubarb, radishes, lettuce, dandelions, peas, 
beans, cucumbers, corn, squashes, tomatoes, 
carrots, turnips, cabbages and potatoes. For 
fruits, strawberries, raspberries, currants, cher¬ 
ries, melons, pears, peaches and apples—all 
within the reach of every owner of one hundred 
and fifty feet square of land.—R. Morkis Cope¬ 
land, in N. E. Farmer. 
ROSES. 
The Month of Roses! Bright, dewey, deli¬ 
cious June! Reader mind, if you live only to 
eat pancakes, beefsteafs, talk scandal, and 
“ chronicle small beer,” do not read this; if 
you breathe because lungs are a proper appara¬ 
tus to oxygenize the blood, turn aside—we have 
nothing in common—but if a cup of water is 
nectar to your lips—a bit of biscuit and these 
strawberries and cream are food for the gods in 
your eye, and breathing through healthful lungs 
a joy in itself, then come with us to some mag¬ 
nificent retreat. Imagine yourself on the piazza 
of the good Dr. E-, the honeysuckle flaunt¬ 
ing its blossoms over the colonnade—the Mich¬ 
igan rose in a fever of blossoming, turning 
crimson with the hurry and excitement of pro¬ 
duction, like a young poet under the first kisses 
of Apollo; the yellow rose, so airy in its form, 
so exquisite in shade, that you go into ecstacies 
over its sweetness, and are ready to make mouths 
at Wordsworth, for saying: 
“ I’ll betide the yellow flowers, 
Children of the glaring hours.” 
roses of every shade and form of beauty, till 
your soul is like to exhale in fragrance. Milton 
loved the rose, and made his Angel blush 
“ Celestial, rose-y red, Love’s proper hue.” 
Gentlemen love pinks, and wishing to compli¬ 
ment a lady, present her one of these stiff, pru¬ 
dish-looking flowers; excellent in one respect, 
as types of the ordinary class of our sex, who, 
“confined to decencies, forever,” are formal, 
laced-in, perked-up, and puritanic; but once 
free from restraint, burst all the bounds of pro¬ 
priety and good-ordering, and become regular, 
full-blown, bursting-out carnations. Pshaw! 
never offer a woman a pink, gentlemen—keep 
your likings, in trappings of this kind, to your¬ 
self ; but present a rose—not one full-blown, 
finished up—but a bud, gently unfolding, with 
sweetness and beauty, that no eye hath looked 
upon, not even your own ; but no, no. It is 
folly to talk in this wise. People say they love 
flowers; talk sentiment over them; but it is a 
petty external appreciation. We do not see 
that deep inspiration of their beauty which 
fills us with a new life, and lifts us out of the 
atmosphere of dullness and commonplaceism, 
into one of heavenly peace and love. Ah ! it 
is promised that the wilderness of life shall 
blossom as the rose. Exquisite image! “ Mo¬ 
ther,” said a dying child, “are there roses in 
heaven?” “Yes, my love.” “Then I want to 
go there,”—he replied. There must be roses 
and fillies there, the best types of beauty here. 
In dreams we are often in that state of beati¬ 
tude, and we are always there twining over 
alabaster columns, and sleeping amid pure wa¬ 
ters. Once we remarked this to the companion 
who walked with us ; not through the “ golden 
city,” but a “faire countrie,” saying, “we had 
always on earth hoped these flowers would be 
in heaven, and now were glad to find it true, 
that Hope was not a mockery.” Alas! how we 
abuse the Angel Hope—she, with her heavenly 
eye, luring us like the bird with the talisman, 
in eastern fable, from point to point, till like 
herself we come to look upward and beyond. 
Another thing came in our dreams, and sure are 
we it was a dream-thought entirely. We were 
walking in the midst of green fields, and blos¬ 
soms, with the plash of falling waters, when we 
beheld in the distance a green slope with trees 
leaning to the breeze, and we said, “ Oh! lovely, 
most lovely! there .are shadows in heaven—I 
had thought the light would be diffused, so that 
