"Then I think you ought to take it back at once. Let me beg of you not to risk it—" But she was gone; and I turned to my arbor and sat down to read Sylvia's poem, which I found to be inscribed to "The Potato," and to run as follows:
"What on this wide earth
That is made or does by nature grow
Is more homely yet more beautiful
Than the useful Potato?
"What would this world full of people do,
Rich and poor, high and low,
Were it not for this little-thought-of
But very necessary Potato?
"True, 'tis homely to look on,
Nothing pretty even in its blow,
But it will bear acquaintance,
This useful Potato.
"For when it is cooked and opened
It's so white and mellow,
You forget it ever was homely,
This useful Potato.
"On the whole it is a very plain plant,
Makes no conspicuous show,
But the internal appearance is lovely
Of the unostentatious Potato.
"On the land or on the sea,
Wherever we may go,
We are always glad to welcome
The sound Potato."[*]
[*]The elder Miss Cobb was wrong in thinking this poem Sylvia's. It was extant at the time over the signature of another writer, whose authorship is not known to have been questioned. Miss Sylvia perhaps copied it out of admiration, or as a model for her own use.
J.L.A.
In the afternoon I was cutting stakes at the wood-pile for my butterbeans, and a bright idea struck me. During my engagement to Georgiana I cannot always be darting in and out of Mrs. Cobb's front door like a swallow through a barn. Neither can I talk freely to Georgiana—with her up at the window and me down on the ground—when I wish to breathe into her ear the things that I must utter or die. Besides, the sewing-girl whom Georgiana has engaged is nearly always there. So that as I was in the act of trimming a long slender stick, it occurred to me that I might make use of this to elevate any little notes that I might wish to write over the garden fence up to Georgiana's window.