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It is a good thing to live in the country. To
escape from the prison-walls of the metropolis—
the great brickery we call “the city”—and to live
amid blossoms and leaves, in shadow and sunshine,
in moonlight and starlight, in rain, mist, dew,
hoar-frost, and drouth, out in the open campaign,
and under the blue dome that is bounded by the
horizon only. It is a good thing to have a well
with dripping buckets, a porch with honey-buds,
and sweet-bells, a hive embroidered with nimble

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bees, a sun-dial mossed over, ivy up to the eaves,
curtains of dimity, a tumbler of fresh flowers in
your bedroom, a rooster on the roof, and a dog
under the piazza.

When Mrs. Sparrowgrass and I moved into the
country, with our heads full of fresh butter, and
cool, crisp radishes for tea; with ideas entirely
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 in 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 eyelids
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.

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“Richard and Robin were two pretty men,
They laid in the 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 pine-apples. 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 hippopotamusses.
I accordingly rose 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?'

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“Why,” said she, innocently, “out of that basket
from Long Island!” The last of the hippopotamusses
were before me, peeled, and boiled, and
mashed and baked, with a nice thin brown crust
on the top.

I was more successful afterwards. 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 house wife,
said to me one day, “Now, my dear, we shall soon
have plenty of eggs, for I have been buying a lot
of young chickens.” There they were, each one
with as many feathers as a grasshopper, and a
chirp not louder. Of course, we looked forward
with pleasant hopes to the period when the first
cackle should announce the milk-white egg,
warmly deposited in the hay which we had provided
bountifully. They grew finely, and one day
I ventured to remark that our hens had remarkably
large combs, to which Mrs. S. replied, “Yes
indeed, she had observed that; but if I wanted to
have a real treat, I ought to get up early in the
morning and hear them crow.” “Crow!” said I,
faintly, “our hens crowing! Then, by `the cock

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that crowed in the morn, to wake the priest all
shaven and shorn,' we might as well give up all
hopes of having any eggs,” said I; “for, as sure as
you live, Mrs. S., our hens are all roosters!” And
so they were roosters! that grew up and fought
with the neighbors' chickens, until there was not a
whole pair of eyes on either side of the fence.

A dog is a good thing to have in the country. I
have one which I raised from a pup. He is a
good, stout fellow, and a hearty barker and feeder.
The man of whom I bought him said he was
thorough-bred, but he begins to have a mongrel
look about him. He is a good watch-dog, though;
for the moment he sees any suspicious-looking person
about the premises, he comes right into the
kitchen and gets behind the stove. First we kept
him in the house, and he scratched all night to get
out. Then we turned him out, and he scratched
all night to get in. Then we tied him up at the
back of the garden, and he howled so that our
neighbor shot at him twice before day-break.
Finally, we gave him away, and he came back;
and now he is just recovering from a fit, in which
he has torn up the patch that has been sown for
our spring radishes.

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A good, strong gate is a necessary article for
your garden. A good, strong, heavy gate, with a
a dislocated hinge, so that it will neither open nor
shut. Such an one have I. The grounds before
my fence are in common, and all the neighbors'
cows pasture there. I remarked to Mrs. S., as we
stood at the window in a June sunset, how placid
and picturesque the cattle looked, as they strolled
about, cropping the green herbage. Next morning,
I found the innocent creatures in my garden.
They had not left a green thing in it. The corn in
the milk, the beans on the poles, the young cabbages,
the tender lettuce, even the thriving shoots
on my young fruit-trees had vanished. And there
they were, looking quietly on the ruin they had
made. Our watch-dog, too, was foregathering with
them. It was too much, so I got a large stick and
drove them all out, except a young heifer, whom I
chased all over the flower-beds, breaking down my
trellises, my woodbines and sweet-briers, my roses
and petunias, until I cornered her in the hot-bed.
I had to call for assistance to extricate her from
the sashes, and her owner has sued me for damages.
I believe I shall move in town.

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