PLANNING A GARDEN. "Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight: With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, To bind them all about with tiny rings." 83 "Now," said I, "Mrs. Sparrowgrass, let us arrange these in proper order; I will make a chart of the garden on a piece of paper, and put everything down with a date, to be planted in its proper time." Mrs. Sparrowgrass said she thought that an excellent plan. "Yes," I replied, tasting the cider, "we will make a garden to-night on paper, a ground plan, as it were, and plant from that; now, Mrs. S., read off the different packages." Mrs. Sparrowgrass took up a paper and laid it aside, then another, and laid it aside. "I think," said she, as the third paper was placed upon the table, "I did not write any names on the seeds, but I believe I can tell them apart; these," said she, "are watermelon." "Very well, what next?" "The next," said Mrs. S., "is either muskmelon or cucumber seed." "My dear," said I, "we want plenty of melons, for the summer, but I do not wish to plant half an acre of pickles by mistake; can't you be sure about the matter?" Mrs. Sparrowgrass said she could not. "Well, then, lay the paper down and call off the next." "The next are not radishes, I know," said Mrs. S., "they must be summer cabbages." "Are you sure now, Mrs. Sparrowgrass?" said I, getting a little out of temper. Mrs. Sparrowgrass said she was sure of it, because cabbage seed looked exactly like turnip seed. "Did you save turnip seed also?" said I. Mrs. Sparrowgrass replied, that she had provided some, but they must be in another paper. "Then call off the next; we will plant them for cabbages, whether or no." "Here is a name," said Mrs. Sparrowgrass, brightening up. "Read it," said I, pen in hand. "Watermelonsnot so good," said Mrs. S. "Lay that paper with the rest and proceed." "Corn," said Mrs. Sparrowgrass, with a smile. "Variety?" "Pop, I am sure." "Good, now we begin to see daylight." "Squash," said Mrs. Sparrowgrass. "Winter or Summer?" "Both." "Lay that paper aside, my dear." "Tomato." "Red or yellow?" Mrs. Sparrowgrass said she had pinned up the one and tied up the other, to distinguish them, but it was so long ago, she had forgot which was which. "Never mind," said I, "there is one comfort, they cannot bear without showing their colors. Now for the next." Mrs. Sparrowgrass said, upon tast ig th A DISSERTATION ON BEANS. 85 tomato seed, she was sure they were bell peppers. "Very well, so much is gained, we are sure of the capsicum. The next." "Beans," said Mrs. Sparrowgrass. There is one kind of bean, in regard to which I have a prejudice. I allude to the asparagus bean, a sort of long-winded esculent, inclined to be prolific in strings. It does not climb very high on the pole, but crops out in an abundance of pods, usually not shorter than a bill of extras, after a contract; and although interesting as a curious vegetable, still not exactly the bean likely to be highly commended by your city guests, when served up to them at table. When Mrs. Sparrowgrass, in answer to my question, as to the particular species of bean referred to, answered, "Limas," I felt relief at once. "Put the Limas to the right with the sheep, Mrs. S., and as for the rest of the seeds sweep them into the refuse basket. I will add another stick to the fire, pare an apple for you, and an apple for me, light a cigar, and be comfortable. What is the use of fretting about a few seeds more or less? But, next year, we will mark all the packages with names, to prevent mistakes, won't we, Mrs. Sparrowgrass?" There has been a great change in the atmosphere within a few days. The maple twigs are all scarlet and yellow fringes, the sod is verdurous and moist; in the morning a shower of melody falls from the trees around us, where blue birds and "pewees" are keeping an academy of music. Off on the river there is a long perspective of shadpoles, apparently stretching from shore to shore, and, here and there, a boat, with picturesque fishermen, at work over the gill-nets. Now and then a shad is held up; in the distance it has a star-like glitter, against the early morning sun. The fruit trees are bronzed with buds. Occasionally a feeble fly creeps along, like a valetudinarian too early in the season at a watering-place. The marshes are all a-whistle with dissipated bull-frogs, who keep up their revelry at unseemly hours. Our great Polander is in high cluck, and we find eggs in the hens' nests. IT IS SPRING! It is a good thing to have spring in the country. People grow young again in the spring in the country. The world, the old globe itself, grows young in the spring, and why not Mr. and Mrs. Sparrowgrass? The city, in the spring, is like the apples of Sodom, "fair and pleasant to behold, but dust and ashes within." But who shall sing or say what spring is in the coun try? 66 -To what shall I compare it? It has a glory, and naught else can share it : "Mrs. Sparrowgrass," said I, "the weather is beginning to be very warm and spring-like; how would you like to have a little festa ?" Mrs. Sparrowgrass said that, in her present frame of mind, a fester was not necessary for her happiness. I replied, “I meant a festa, not a fester; a little fête, a few friends, a few flowers, a mild sort of spring dinner, if you please; some music, claret, fresh lettuce, lamb and spinach, and a breakfast of eggs fresh laid in the morning, with rice cakes and coffee." Mrs. Sparrowgrass said she was willing. "Then," said I, "Mrs. S., I will invite a few old friends, and we will have an elegant time." So, from that day we watched the sky very cleverly for a week, to ascertain the probable course of the clouds, and consulted the thermometer to know what chance there was of having open windows for the occasion. The only drawback that stood in the way of perfect enjoyment was, our lawn had |