were any vestiges of his creation extant. His time and patience being at
length exhausted, he went into the field to immolate himself with ever
new devotion on the shrine of corn and potatoes. Then my scheme came to
a head at once. In my walking, I had observed a box about three feet
long, two broad, and one foot deep, which Halicarnassus, with his usual
disregard of the proprieties of life, had used to block up a gate-way
that was waiting for a gate. It was just what I wanted. I straightway
knocked out the few nails that kept it in place, and, like another
Samson, bore it away on my shoulders. It was not an easy thing to
manage, as any one may find by trying,--nor would I advise young ladies,
as a general thing, to adopt that form of exercise,--but the end, not
the means, was my object, and by skilful diplomacy I got it up the
backstairs and through my window, out upon the roof of the porch
directly below. I then took the ash-pail and the fire-shovel and went
into the field, carefully keeping the lee side of Halicarnassus. "Good,
rich loam" I had observed all the gardening books to recommend; but
wherein the virtue or the richness of loam consisted I did not feel
competent to decide, and I scorned to ask. There seemed to be two kinds:
one black, damp, and dismal; the other fine, yellow, and good-natured.
A little reflection decided me to take the latter. Gold constituted
riches, and this was yellow like gold. Moreover, it seemed to have more
life in it. Night and darkness belonged to the other, while the very
heart of sunshine and summer seemed to be imprisoned in this golden
dust. So I plied my shovel and filled my pail again and again, bearing
it aloft with joyful labor, eager to be through before Halicarnassus
should reappear; but he got on the trail just as I was whisking
up-stairs for the last time, and shouted, astonished,--

"What are you doing?"