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AGRICULTURAL.
Mrs. Partington was out, one morning, scratching
about the roots like a hen or a lexicographer, with a
black bonnet on her head, when her neighbor, Mr.
Vintner, who deals largely in wines, reached his long
neck over the gate. “Good crop of grapes, ma'am?”
said he. — “'T will be pretty burdensome,” she replied,
looking up to where the seven bunches hung which
had been left after Ike made himself sick by eating the
eighth green. — “Any ordium upon the vine?” he asked.
— “I don't know as regards the odium upon my vine,”
replied she, “but I am not going to make any wine
that will be likely to have the odium that some wine
has that is sold for good, that never saw a grape in its
life.” She wondered why he turned away so suddenly,
but supposed he had an errand round the corner. The
black bonnet hovered again over the yellow flowers, as
and the old case-knife was plied vigorously among the
roots. “Ah, there is health in it,” said Mrs. Partington,
“depend upon it; for since I 've been soiling I 've
moved a structure from my chest, and feel like somebody
else.” Bless her, what an example hers is to
follow!
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