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An Unprogressive Farm 



MOST of our friends, Jonathan s and mine, 

 are occupying their summers in &quot;reclaiming&quot; 

 old farms. We have an old farm, too, but we, 

 I fear, are not reclaiming it, at least not very 

 fast. We have made neither formal gardens 

 nor water gardens nor rose arches; we have 

 not built marble swimming-tanks, nor even 

 cement ones ; we have not naturalized forget- 

 me-nots in the brook or narcissus in the mead 

 ows; we have not erected tea-houses on choice 

 knolls, and after six years of occupancy there 

 is still not a pergola or a sundial on the place ! 

 And yet w r e are happy. 



To be happy on a farm like ours one must, 

 I fancy, be either very old or very unpro- 

 gressive. While we are waiting to grow com 

 fortably old, we are willing to be considered 

 unprogressive. 



Very old and very, very unprogressive is 

 the farm itself. There is nothing on it but 



