The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. 96, October 1865

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"That fellow must be three years old," said he, holding it up for me to
examine. "Very likely you have cut off the top every season, supposing
you were killing it. But the dandelion can be exterminated only by
destroying the root.

"Then," he continued, "there is the dock, more prolific of seeds than
the dandelion, and the red-sorrel, worse than either, because its roots
travel under ground in all directions, throwing up suckers at every
inch, while its tops are hung with myriads of seeds,--the hoe will never
exterminate these pests. You must get rid of the roots; throw them out
to such a sun as this, and then you may hope to be somewhat clear of
them."

All this was entirely new to me, as well as the botanical names, with
which he seemed to be as familiar as with the alphabet. I had often
wondered how it was that the dandelions in our garden never diminished
in number, though not one had usually been allowed to go to seed. I now
saw, that, instead of destroying the plant itself, we had only been
removing the tops.

"But how is it, Mr. Logan," I inquired, "that the weeds are everywhere
more numerous than the flowers?"

"Ah, Miss," he replied, resting the hoe upon his shoulder, taking off
his hat, and wiping the perspiration from his forehead, "I sometimes
think the weeds are immortal, but that the flowers are not. Some one has
said that the earth is mother of the weeds, but only step-mother to the
flowers. I think it is really so. We who cultivate the soil must
maintain against them, as against sin, a perpetual warfare."

"This is hoeing made easy," said my sister, as Mr. Logan walked away
toward the house for a glass of water. "A nice journeyman, Lizzie, eh?
Don't seem as if he could ever be tired! Will you ask him to come
again?"

"Why, Jane, you are foolish!" I replied.

But there was an arch smirk on her countenance, and she continued
looking at me with so much latent meaning in the expression of her eye,
that I was fairly compelled to turn away.

Noon came, that witching time with all who labor in the fields or woods,
and not until then did Mr. Logan lay down his clumsy hoe. I half pitied
his condition as we came out of the hot sun into the shelter of a
trellis which ran along the side of the house, over which a dozen
grape-vines were hanging so thickly as to exclude even the noonday
glare. It was a sweltering day for a gentleman to work among the weeds
in a strawberry-field, in coat and cravat. But he made very light of it,
and declared that he would come the next morning and see us through the
job, and even another, if we thought there would be room for him. After
he had gone, Jane reminded me of these offers; adding,--

"I felt quite sure he would be down again, even without your inviting
him. He seems to admire something else here besides strawberries. What
do you think it can be?"

But I considered her inquiries too ridiculous to be worth replying to.

After dinner we gave up hoeing for the day, and went to our usual
afternoon occupation of picking the next morning's supply for the widow.
She not only sold readily all we could gather, and at excellent prices,
but even called for more. It seemed that her customers were also
increasing, as well as those of our neighbors. Indeed, her urgency for
more fruit was such, during the entire season, that the question
repeatedly crossed my mind, whether we could not appropriate more ground
to strawberries by getting rid of some of the flowers. They were
beautiful things, but then they paid no profit.

When one strikes a vein that happens to be profitable, he is apt to
become impatient of doing well in a small way, and forthwith casts about
for ways and means to increase its productiveness, as he thinks, by
enlarging his operations. It was natural for me to conclude, that, if I
were thus fortunate on one acre, I could do much better by cultivating
more. I presume this hankering after additional acres must be a national
weakness, as there were numerous disquisitions on the subject scattered
through my agricultural papers, in many of which I noticed that there
was great fault-finding because men in this country undertook the
cultivation of twice as much land as they could properly manage. The
propensity for going on and enlarging their possessions seemed a very
general one. Thus even I, in my small way, was insensibly becoming a
disciple of these deluded people. But there was this comfort in my case,
that, while others were able to enlarge, even to their ruin, there was a
limit to my expansion, as it was impossible for me to go beyond an acre
and a half.

That afternoon we had just got well under way at picking, when a man
came into the garden with a bundle of hoes and rakes on his shoulder,
and coming up to us, took off his hat and bowed with the utmost
deference, then drew from his pocket a letter, which, singularly enough,
he handed to me, instead of giving it either to my mother or Jane. On
opening it, I found it to be a note from Mr. Logan, in which he said he
had noticed that our garden-tools were so heavy as to be entirely unfit
for ladies' use, and he had therefore taken the liberty of sending me a
variety of others that were made expressly for female gardeners, asking
me to do him the great favor to accept them. Both my mother and Jane had
stopped picking, as this unexpected donation was laid before us, so I
read the note aloud to them, the messenger having previously taken his
leave. I think, altogether, it was the greatest surprise we had ever
had.

"The next thing, I suppose," said Jane, "you'll have him down here to
show you how to use them"; and she laughed so heartily as quite to
mortify me. I understood her meaning, but my mother did not appear to
comprehend it, for she replied, with the utmost gravity,--

"No need of his coming to teach us; haven't we been hoeing all our
lives?"

"Not _us_, mother," interrupted Jane, in her peculiarly provoking way,
"but _her_; he won't come to teach _us_,--one will be enough. As to the
_need_ of his coming, it looks to me to be growing stronger and
stronger."

She fairly screamed with laughter, as she said this. I was so provoked
at her, that I was almost ready to cry; and as to answering her as she
deserved, it seemed beyond my power. My mother could not understand what
she meant; but while Jane was going on in this foolish way, she had
untied the bundle and was examining the tools. There were three hoes,
and as many rakes. Observing this, Jane again cried out,--

"What! all for _you_? Well, Lizzie, you are making a nice beginning! I
suppose you will now have more conversational topics than ever, though
there seemed to be plenty of them this morning!"

One would think that this was quite enough, but she went on with,--

"Don't you wish the weeds would last all summer? for what is to become
of you when they are gone?"

Still I made no reply, and Jane persisted in her jokes and laughter. But
I think one can always tell when one is blushing. So I held down my head
and concealed my face in my sun-bonnet, as I felt the blood rushing up
into my cheeks, and was determined that she should not have the
satisfaction of discovering it.

These garden-tools were the most beautiful I had ever seen, and there
was evidently a hoe and a rake for each of us. They were made of
polished steel, with slender handles, all rubbed so smooth as to make it
a pleasure to take hold of them. The blades had been sharpened beyond
anything that Fred had been able to achieve. Being semicircular in
shape, they had points at the corners, adapted to reaching into
out-of-the-way places,--as after a weed that had grown up in the middle
of a strawberry-row, thinking, perhaps, that a shelter of that kind
would preserve it from destruction. Then they were so light that even a
child could ply them all day without their weight occasioning the least
fatigue. The rakes were equally complete, with long and sharp teeth,
which entered the ground with far greater facility than the old-time
implements we had been using. Indeed, they were the very tools we had
been promising ourselves out of the profits of our second year. My
mother was especially pleased with them, as she was not of very robust
constitution, and found the old heavy tools a great drag upon her
strength. I think no small present I have ever received was so
acceptable as this.

Whoever first manufactured and introduced these beautiful and
appropriate garden-tools for ladies has probably done as much to make
garden-work attractive to the sex as half the writers on fruits and
flowers. It is vain to expect them to engage in horticulture, unless the
most complete facilities are provided for them. Their physical strength
is not equal to several hours' labor with implements made exclusively
for the hands of strong men; and when garden-work, instead of proving a
pleasant recreation, degenerates into drudgery, one is apt to become
disgusted with it, and will thus give up an occupation truly feminine,
invariably healthful, and in many cases highly profitable.

True to his promise of the preceding day, Mr. Logan came down next
morning to help us through with our job of hoeing, but rather better
prepared to operate under a broiling June sun. My mother, seeing his
determination to assist us, invited him to take off his coat, and
brought out Fred's straw hat for him to wear. He seemed truly grateful
for these marks of consideration for his comfort, and in consequence
there sprung up quite a cordiality between them. There was of course a
profusion of thanks given to him for the handsome and appropriate
present he had made, but he seemed to consider it a very small affair.
Still, I think he appeared as much gratified at finding he had thus
anticipated our wishes as we were ourselves. It is singular how far a
little act of kindness, especially when its value is enhanced by its
appropriateness and the delicacy with which it is performed, will go
toward establishing a bond of sympathy between giver and receiver.

I may here say, that, the better we became acquainted with Mr. Logan,
the more evident it was that his heart was made up of kindness. He
seemed to consider himself as almost nothing, and his neighbor as
everything. His spirit was of that character that wins its way through
life, tincturing every action with good-will for others, and seeking to
promote the happiness of all around him in preference to his own. He
once remarked, that we must not look for happiness in the things of the
world, but within ourselves, in our hearts, our tempers, and our
dispositions. On another occasion he quoted to me something he had just
been reading in an old author, who said that men's lives should be like
the day, most beautiful at eventide,--or like the autumn rich with
golden sheaves, where good works have ripened into an abundant harvest.

Of course, at that time, we knew nothing of who or what he was, beyond
an assurance incidentally given by our pastor, that he was the worthiest
young man of his acquaintance, and that he hoped we would entertain him
in the best way we could, as his passion for the pursuits he discovered
me to be engaged in, coupled with what he had learned of the great
object I had in view, had so much interested him in my behalf that he
thought it likely Mr. Logan would often come down to watch my progress,
and very possibly in some way assist me. This recommendation was quite
sufficient to make him a welcome visitor at our little homestead. But
even without that, we all felt he would have no difficulty in winning
his way wherever he might think it desirable to make a favorable
impression. Though he was evidently highly educated, and had been
brought up in a superior circle to ours, and, for aught we knew, might
be very wealthy, yet his whole manner was so free from pretension to
superiority of any kind, that we never felt the least constraint in his
company.

Well, as I was saying, Mr. Logan came down to assist me in my weeding.
Jane had gone to the factory, telling me that I should have help enough
to do her share of the hoeing. I was really not sorry for her absence,
as she seemed to have taken up some very strange notions, which led her
into remarks that annoyed me. Besides, she was sometimes so impetuous in
giving utterance to these notions, that I was afraid she might
thoughtlessly break out where he would overhear. I might have had other
reasons, not worth while to allude to, for not regretting her absence;
but this dangerous propensity was quite sufficient. Hence that was a
most agreeable morning. It is true that my mother was a good deal
absent, having something extra to do within doors, thus leaving Mr.
Logan and myself sole tenants of the garden for probably an hour at a
time. But it did not occur to me that her presence would have made the
time pass away any more quickly, or that any remarks from her would have
made our interchange of ideas more interesting. There was abundance of
conversation between us, as he seemed at no fault for either words or
topics. Then there were long pauses in the work, when we would rest upon
the handles of our hoes, and discuss some point that one of us had
started. On these occasions I was struck with the extreme politeness and
deference of his manner toward me. The very tones of his voice were
different from any I had ever heard. How different, indeed, from those
of the coarse and mercenary creatures it had been my fortune to
encounter elsewhere! It was impossible to overlook the contrast. What
wonder, then, that the softness with which they were modulated, when
conversing with me, should fall with grateful impressiveness on my
heart?

But this pleasant acquaintance occasioned no interruption of my labors
in harvesting my strawberry-crop. It was picked regularly every
afternoon, and I went with Fred every morning by daylight to see it
safely delivered to the widow. The sale kept up as briskly as ever,
though the price gradually declined as the season advanced,--not, as the
widow informed me, because the people had become tired of strawberries,
but because the crops from distant fields were now crowding into market.
Then, too, she said, as other delicacies came forward, buyers were
disposed to change a little for something different.

It was a striking feature of the business, that, however abundant the
strawberries might be, selected fruit always commanded a higher price
than that which went to market in a jumble just as it came from the
vines. This is a matter which it is important for all cultivators to
keep in remembrance, as attention to it is a source of considerable
profit. We all know that the large berries are no better or sweeter than
the smaller ones; but then we are the growers, not the consumers, and
the public have set their hearts on having the largest that can be
produced. In fruits, as in other things, it seems that "the world is
still deceived by ornament." Moreover, people are willing to pay liberal
prices for it, and thus the producer is sure of being rewarded for a
choice article. I never discovered that a pumpkin or a turnip possessed
any superior flavor because it had been stimulated to mammoth size. But
such being the public craving for vegetable monsters, the shrewd
cultivator is constantly on the alert to minister to it, knowing that it
pays.

Fred kept his usual tally of the number of baskets we took to market,
and how much money each lot produced. His ridiculous miscalculation, the
previous year, of what our profits would be, had so moderated his
enthusiasm, that during all this season his anticipations were confined
within very modest bounds. But as his column of figures lengthened, and
he ciphered out for us the average price for each day's sales, it was
remarkable how much higher it stood than that of most of the fruit I saw
in the market. It was evident that our care in assorting our berries was
giving a good account of itself. Besides, I saw that the widow had the
jumbled-up berries of others on her stand, and heard her complain that
they remained on hand some hours after all mine had been sold. Then, was
it not the superiority of mine that had drawn forth such strong
commendation from my first customer, Mr. Logan? and had he not continued
to admire all that I did in the strawberry way? Setting aside the high
prices, I sometimes thought that this alone was worth all the pains we
had taken.

The season lasted about three weeks, during all which time our pastor
was a frequent visitor at our garden. As both he and Mr. Logan had been
made acquainted with my general object and plans, so from generals they
were at last taken into confidence as to particulars. I showed them
Fred's tally, and it appeared to me they entered into the study of it
with almost as much interest as we did ourselves. Though in many
respects a very small affair, yet it involved great results for me, and
our visitors both thought it might be turned to the advantage of others
also.

"I am astonished," said Mr. Seeley, one day, after examining Fred's
tally, and expressing himself in terms of admiration at the success of
our enterprise,--"I am astonished at the wasteful lives which so many of
our women are living. They seem utterly destitute of purpose. They make
no effort to give them shape or plan, or to set up a goal in the
distance, to be reached by some kind of industrious application. They
drift along listlessly and mechanically, in the old well-worn tracks,
trusting to accident to give them a new direction. It is a sad thing,
this waste of human existence!"

"But consider, Sir," I replied, "how limited are our opportunities, how
circumscribed the circle in which we are compelled to move, and with how
much jealousy the world stands guard upon its boundaries, as if it were
determined we should not overstep them. When women succeed, is it not
solely by accident, or, if there be such a thing, by luck?"

"Accident, Miss," replied Mr. Logan, "undoubtedly has something to do
with it. But observation, energy, and tact are much more important
elements of success. More than sixty years ago a young New-England girl
fell desperately in love with an imported straw bonnet which she
accidentally met with in a shop. The price was too large for her slender
purse, so she determined to make one for herself. With no guide but
recollection of the charming novelty she had seen, no other pattern to
work by, no opportunity of unbraiding it to see how it was made, no
instruction whatever, she persevered until she had produced a bonnet
that filled the hearts of her female friends with envy, as well as with
ambition to copy it. This was the origin of the once famous Dunstable
bonnet. From this accidental beginning there sprung up a manufacture
which now employs ten thousand persons, most of whom are women, and the
product of which, in Massachusetts alone, amounts to six millions of
hats and bonnets annually. This girl thus became a public benefactor.
She opened a new and profitable employment to women, and at the same
time enriched herself."

"Yes," added Mr. Seeley, "and there are many other employments for
female skill and labor that may yet be opened up. This that you are
toiling in, Lizzie, may turn out something useful. I presume that even
bonnets cannot be more popular than strawberries."

"I should think so," interrupted Fred, "It is the women only who wear
the one, but it looks to me as if the whole world wanted the other."

Well, when our little crop had all been sold, I found that it amounted
to nearly twelve hundred quarts, and that it produced three hundred and
eighty dollars clear of expenses. This was quite as much as we expected;
besides, it was enough to enable me to quit the factory altogether, and
stay at home with my mother. And there was a fair prospect of this
release being a permanent one, as it was very certain I now understood
the whole art and mystery of cultivating strawberries. There was another
encouraging incident connected with this season's operations. It
appeared that our pastor had mentioned me and my labors to a number of
his friends, among whom was one who wanted to set out a large field with
plants, all of which he purchased of me, amounting to sixty dollars.
This was a most unexpected addition to our income.

But my sister Jane did not seem at all anxious to give up the factory. I
had, a good while before, let in an idea that there was some other
attraction about the establishment besides the sewing-machine. I
noticed, that, now we had so considerably increased our means, she was
more dressy than ever, and spent a great deal more time at her toilet
before leaving for the factory, as if there were some one there to whom
she wanted to appear more captivating than usual. Poor girl! I know it
was very natural for her to do so. Indeed, I must confess to some little
weakness of the same description myself. We had drawn to us quite a new
set of visitors, and it was natural that I should endeavor to make our
house as attractive to them as possible. As all our previous earnings
had gone into a common purse, from which my mother made distribution
among us, so the new accession from the garden went into the same
repository. Jane was much more set up with this flourishing condition of
our finances than myself. In addition to beautiful new bonnets and very
gay shawls which we bought, she began to tease my mother for a silk
dress, an article which had never been seen in our house. But as the
latter prudently insisted on treating us with equal indulgence, and as I
thought my time for such finery had not come, I was unwilling to go to
that expense, so Jane was obliged to do without it. But I was now to
have a sewing-machine.

Time passed more pleasantly than I had ever known. It was a great
happiness to be able to devote an hour or two to reading every day, and
leisure prompted me to some little enterprises for the improvement of
the surroundings of the old homestead. It seemed to me the easiest thing
in the world to invest even the rudest exterior with true elegance, and
I found that the indulgence of a little taste in this way could be had
for a very small outlay. A silk dress, in my opinion, was not to be
compared with such an object.

I scarcely know how it happened, but, instead of the end of the
strawberry-season being the termination of Mr. Logan's visits, they
continued full as frequent as when there was really pressing work for
him to assist in. It could not have been because his curiosity to see
how my crop would turn out was still ungratified, as he knew all about
it, how much we had sold, and what money it produced. But he seemed to
have quite fallen in love with the garden; and, indeed, he one day
observed, that "there would ever be something in that garden to interest
him." Then in my little improvements about the house, in fixing up some
of our old trellises, in planting new vines and flowers, and in
transplanting trees and shrubs, he insisted on helping me nearly half
the week. He really performed far more work of this kind than Fred had
ever done, and appeared to be perfectly familiar with such matters.
Moreover, he approved so generally of my plans that I at last felt it
would be difficult to do without him. But I could not help considering
it strange that he should so frequently give up the higher society to
which he was accustomed in the city, and spend so much of his time at
our humble cottage.

Thus the season went on until August came in, when the strawberry-ground
was becoming thickly covered with runners, especially from the newly
planted half-acre. I had intended bestowing no particular care on these,
except to keep down the weeds so that the runners could take root. But
when Mr. Logan learned this, he said it would never do. Besides, he
said, the ground looked to him as if it were not rich enough. So, if he
could have his own way, he would show me how the thing should be
managed. Well, as by this time he really appeared to have as much to say
about the garden as any of us, what could I do but consent? First,
then, with my assistance, he turned back the runners into the rows, and
then had the spaces between covered with a thick coat of fine old
compost, which he probably bought somewhere in the neighborhood,--but
how much it cost we could never get him to say. Then he brought in a man
with a plough, who broke up the ground, turning the manure thoroughly
in, and then harrowing it until the surface was as finely pulverized as
if done with a rake. Then we spread out the runners again, and he showed
me how to fasten them by letting them down into the soft earth with the
point of my hoe. I told him I never should have thought of taking so
much trouble; but he said there was no other way by which the runners
could be converted into robust plants, certain to produce a heavy crop
the next season. They must have a freshly loosened soil to run over, and
in which to form strong roots; and as to enriching the ground, it was
absolutely indispensable. To be sure, I could produce fruit without it,
but it would be of very inferior quality.

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