ief to me, with only the profit of a meal or two to themselves. For
their own sakes they ought at least to wait till the squashes are better
grown. Why is it, I wonder, that Nature has provided such a host of
enemies for every useful esculent, while the weeds are suffered to grow
unmolested, and are provided with such tenacity of life, and such
methods of propagation, that the gardener must maintain a continual
struggle or they will hopelessly overwhelm him? What hidden virtue is
there in these things, that it is granted them to sow themselves with
the wind, and to grapple the earth with this immitigable stubbornness,
and to flourish in spite of obstacles, and never to suffer blight
beneath any sun or shade, but always to mock their enemies with the same
wicked luxuriance? It is truly a mystery, and also a symbol. There is a
sort of sacredness about them. Perhaps, if we could penetrate Nature's
secrets, we should find that what we call weeds are more essential to
the well-being of the world than the most precious fruit or grain. This
may be doubted, however, for there is an unmistakable analogy between
these wicked weeds and the bad habits and sinful propensities which have
overrun the moral world; and we may as well imagine that there is good
in one as in the other.

Our peas are in such forwardness that I should not wonder if we had some
of them on the table within a week. The beans have come up ill, and I
planted a fresh supply only the day before yesterday. We have
watermelons in good advancement, and muskmelons also within three or
four days. I set out some tomatoes last night, also some capers. It is
my purpose to plant some more corn at the end of the month, or sooner.
There ought to be a record of the flower-garden, and of the procession
of the wild-flowers, as minute, at least, as of the kitchen vegetables
and pot-herbs. Above all, the noting of the appearance of the first
roses should not be omitted; nor of the Arethusa, one of the delicatest,
gracefullest, and in every manner sweetest of the whole race of flowers.
For a fortnight past I have found it in the swampy meadows, growing up
to its chin in heaps of wet moss. Its hue is a delicate pink, of various
depths of shade, and somewhat in the form of a Grecian helmet. To
describe it is a feat beyond my power. Also the visit of two friends,
who may fitly enough be mentioned among flowers, ought to have been
described. Mrs. F. S---- and Miss A. S----. Also I have