To sow ? or not to sow ? - that is the question,

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The greatest torment of a gardener's life

In poring yearly through "fat catalogues,"

Or to take means by popping them, when sent,

Into the waste basket, - to be looked to

No more; and, by doing so, to say we end

The thirst for new and special nevelties

That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wished. To grow ? to sow ?

To grow ? perchance to cram our beds and borders

With useless rubbish - ay! there's the rub !

For to pick out the best of the trade lists.

Full of "ennobled roots." and "improved, seeds "

Must give us pause. There's the respect

That raisers have for their own progeny ;

For who would bear to look o'er all the lists

Now daily sent to gardeners and employers,

"Descriptive guides" "Vade mecums," "Little books,"

For teaching when to sow, transplant and reap,

When he himself might the commotion end

By never reading them ? Who would yearly bear

To sow the good old seeds of former lists ?

But that the thoughts of something after seed-time -

That the "ringleaders," "gems," and "first crop" peas,

New brocolis, kales, French beans, and cauliflowers,

Might not turn out so profitable or early

As the well-tried old sorts, puzzles the will,

And makes us rather grow the seeds we have

Than order others that we know not of.

W T., in Gardener's Weekly Magazine.