and weeds.

The new strawberry-plants, for one thing, had taken advantage of my
absence. Every one of them had sent out as many scarlet runners as an
Indian tribe has. Some of them had blossomed; and a few had gone so
far as to bear ripe berries,--long, pear-shaped fruit, hanging like
the ear-pendants of an East Indian bride. I could not but admire
the persistence of these zealous plants, which seemed determined
to propagate themselves both by seeds and roots, and make sure of
immortality in some way. Even the Colfax variety was as ambitious as the
others. After having seen the declining letter of Mr. Colfax, I did not
suppose that this vine would run any more, and intended to root it out.
But one can never say what these politicians mean; and I shall let this
variety grow until after the next election, at least; although I hear
that the fruit is small, and rather sour. If there is any variety
of strawberries that really declines to run, and devotes itself to a
private life of fruit-bearing, I should like to get it. I may mention
here, since we are on politics, that the Doolittle raspberries had
sprawled all over the strawberry-bed's: so true is it that politics
makes strange bedfellows.

But another enemy had come into the strawberries, which, after all that
has been said in these papers, I am almost ashamed to mention. But does
the preacher in the pulpit, Sunday after Sunday, year after year, shrink
from speaking of sin? I refer, of course, to the greatest enemy of
mankind, "p-sl-y." The ground was carpeted with it. I should think that
this was the tenth crop of the season; and it was as good as the first.
I see no reason why our northern soil is not as prolific as that of the
tropics, and will not produce as many crops in the year. The mistake we
make is in trying to force things that are not natural to it. I have no
doubt that, if we turn our attention to "pusley," we can beat the world.

I had no idea, until recently, how generally this simple and thrifty
plant is feared and hated. Far beyond what I had regarded as the bounds
of civilization, it is held as one of the mysteries of a fallen world;
accompanying the home missionary on his wanderings, and preceding the
footsteps of the Tract Society. I was not long ago in the Adirondacks.
We had built a camp for the night, in the heart of the woods, high up on
John's Brook and near the foot of Mount Marcy: I can see the lovely spot
now. It was on the bank of the cryst