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CHAPTER XII.

THE SECOND YEAR.

We now come to the second year. The house

had been finished. It occupied a commanding position on the beautiful square that constituted my possessions, and, with the wind whistling through the innumerable ornaments that covered the edges of its high peaks, brought to mind its original seafaring owner. The land had been well plowed, at last, and was no longer impervious to spade and pick; the strawberries, whose untimely fate has already been described in anticipation, had been planted, and the asparagus-bed was in a promising state of preparation. Fruit-trees, and raspberry bushes, and the "great Lawton blackberry”—which, having originally been discovered by Mr. Seaton, was called by my intelligent fellow-farmers after Mr. Lawton, because both names ended with "ton"-were set out; my accounts for the year were made up, and I determined to go to Europe.

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My trip was principally undertaken-apart from some business claims which importunate clients insisted on pressing upon me—to study the European mode of agriculture. With that view I spent most of my time in Paris, and went steadily to the Jardin des Plantes, Jardin d'Acclimitation, Jardin Mobille, Château de Vincennes, Château des Fleurs, the Lilac Festival, Bois des Boulogne, Parc Monceau, and all such places where there was a chance to learn any thing I did not know before. The information I acquired was very valuable, and if the reader perceives its effect in the future pages he need not be surprised.

This threw the garden pretty much upon Patrick's shoulders, and he bought me a new lot of forty chickens, two watch-dogs, and four cats-as the rats had almost taken possession of my house and barn, thinking, apparently, that it was built for their convenience and put into the ground the most enormous quantity of manure. He seemed to have imbibed the scientific agriculturist's admiration for fertilizers, or else felt an interest in the welfare of his numerous friends and compatriots in the neighborhood who kept pigs and cattle, and raised what the books politely term compost. He spread seven hundred loads of it on my five acres, and when he was through there was not a load of compost to be had in Flushing for

love-although I do not believe that ever bought a load of compost any where—or money.

Of course, I did not know exactly what seeds Patrick had put in, and if I asked him, during the spring, whether he had this or that vegetable, his answer always was, "Shure and he had lashings ov it;" but I feared he had a sneaking weakness for onions and cabbages. My first question on my return, which was after a flying visit of a few months, in which I had learned all that was essential, was about the success of the asparagus-bed.

66 Faith, nothing has iver come up," was the heartrending response. "There was a most beautiful pond of water standing on the spot all winter, and I consaited that the roots was rotted out intirely; so, as the bed was ilegantly manured, I jist put in a fine crop o' turnips, as I thought that would be the doin’* ov it."

This was the end of my asparagus-a bed that requires three years to mature, and which could not be started till another fall; a bed that had been trenched and fertilized, and on which so much brain-work and back-work had been expended; a bed in which the roots ought to have slept comfortably and safely during their sleepy season. One or two spears struggled up through the second planting, but even they

were feeble, and barely exhibited that delicate fringe that mature asparagus assumes by contrast to its earlier state. My disgust can be imagined—to plant asparagus and reap turnips, which I never eat, and yet have Patrick inform me that this was " the doing of it!" To have, in place of the most aristocratic and delicate of vegetables, the most vulgar and indigestible one; to have the favorite plant of refined gourmets supplanted by the food of cattle! I felt as though the only thing "done" was myself.

Although my return to farming was a little late in the season, I went to work in earnest, undismayed by this deplorable failure, planting every spot that Patrick had neglected, and, as his memory was not very accurate, occasionally putting a second sowing where he had already planted a different seed. I felt I *must make the most of my ground in its present productive condition, and filled up every hole and corner. The weather was propitious, and every thing grew in grand style. The peas climbed up the bushes that were set round them and out over the top; the beans went to the summit of their poles, and then waved their heads round in the wind like measuringworms on the end of a stick; and the squashes covered the ground with enormous leaves.

The first that came to bearing were our peas—

Daniel O'Rourkes, of course. They rather went to stalk, being some seven feet high-about twice their proper height, as laid down in agricultural works, and almost out of reach. There were not many pods, and Patrick said "he 'most broke his back laining up to reach 'em;" but the flavor fully justified Weeville's enthusiasm. Unfortunately, only two rows had been planted, and they furnished but a few meals-we had moved out of town early to enjoy the full benefit of our fresh vegetables-and our next planting consisted of a quantity of dwarf marrowfats. Now dwarf peas have some advantages; they are easy to plant and easier to take care of; they grow luxuriantly and bear abundantly; they are what farmers call a "sure crop," but as for eating them, that is another question. In a religious and penitential point of view they would be invaluable, as no amount of boiling would ever soften them. It is said they are a profitable crop, and good, when plowed under, to enrich the land. It would seem as though they were excellent in every way but on the table, and it so happened that it was just for this especial purpose that I wanted them. My land needed no farther enriching -Patrick's compost had done that effectually. Piety, of course, is desirable in its way, and penitence is necessary, but mine never ran in the pea line; and pil

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