irely
lucid respecting milk, and a looseness of calculation as to the number
in family it would take a good laying hen to supply with fresh eggs
every morning; when Mrs. Sparrowgrass and I moved into the country, we
found some preconceived notions had to be abandoned, and some departures
made from the plans we had laid down in the little back parlor of Avenue
G.

One of the first achievements in the country is early rising: with the
lark--with the sun--while the dew is on the grass, "under the opening
eye-lids of the morn," and so forth. Early rising! What can be done with
five or six o'clock in town? What may not be done at those hours in the
country? With the hoe, the rake, the dibble, the spade, the
watering-pot? To plant, prune, drill, transplant, graft, train, and
sprinkle! Mrs. S. and I agreed to rise _early_ in the country.

Richard and Robin were two pretty men,
They laid in bed till the clock struck ten;
Up jumped Richard and looked at the sky;
O, Brother Robin, the sun's _very_ high!

Early rising in the country is not an instinct; it is a sentiment, and
must be cultivated.

A friend recommended me to send to the south side of Long Island for
some very prolific potatoes--the real hippopotamus breed. Down went my
man, and what, with expenses of horse-hire, tavern bills, toll-gates,
and breaking a wagon, the hippopotami cost as much apiece as pineapples.
They were fine potatoes, though, with comely features, and large,
languishing eyes, that promised increase of family without delay. As I
worked my own garden (for which I hired a landscape gardener at two
dollars per day to give me instructions), I concluded that the object of
my first experiment in early rising should be the planting of the
hippopotamuses. I accordingly arose next morning at five, and it rained!
I rose next day at five, and it rained! The next, and it rained! It
rained for two weeks! We had splendid potatoes every day for dinner. "My
dear," said I to Mrs. Sparrowgrass, "where did you get these fine
potatoes?" "Why," said she, innocently, "out of that basket from Long
Island!" The last of the hippopotamuses were before me, peeled, and
boiled, and mashed, and baked, with a nice thin brown crust on the top.

I was more successful afterward. I did get some fine seed-potatoes in
the ground. But something was the matter; at the end of the season I did
not get as many out as I had put in.

Mrs. Sparrowgrass, who is a notable housewife,