MR. URBAN AND A COUNTRY 

 HOUSE 



REAL ESTATE PURCHASE 



WHAT on earth my friend Mr. Urban 

 wants of a farm of fifty acres, I do 

 not know ; but he wants it. At least 

 he says as much ; and I am not the man to dis- 

 pute him. I feel assured that when he gets it, 

 he will grow red in the face over it, and per- 

 spire fearfully, and use language forbiddeii 

 in the decalogue, and find his pet Alderneys 

 season after season, very obstinately dropping 

 calves of the wrong sex, and his steers breaking 

 into his cabbage patch. I am confident that he 

 will feel persuaded, before the end of the first 

 year, that all his country neighbors have con- 

 spired to fleece him, and that the butchers are 

 all cut-throats — in which opinion he will not 

 be far out of the way. Notwithstanding this, 

 which I have represented to him in the mildest 

 manner possible, (seeing his infatuation,) 

 Mr. Urban still wants a fifty-acre farm. Of 

 course, he is no farmer ; and his idea of a good 

 farmer is of one who raises large vegetables, 

 keeps his fences and buildings in Pimlico or- 



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