PREFACE 



A FRIEND asks,— "Are you not tired, then, of 

 that fancy of Farming ? Is it not an expensive 

 amusement ; is it not a stupefying business ? 



"Do you find your brain taking breadth or 

 color out of Carrot-raising, or Pumpkins? 

 Poultry is a pretty thing, between Tumblers, 

 and Muscovy ducks; but can you not buy 

 cheaper than you raise, — without the fret of 

 foxes and vermin, — in any city market? 



"Shall I sell out and join you? Shall I 

 teach this boy of mine (you know his physique 

 and that gray eye of his, looking after some 

 eidolon) to love the country — so far as to 

 plant himself there, and grow into the trade 

 of farming? A victory over the forces of na- 

 ture, and of the seasons, — compelling them to 

 abundance,— is no doubt large; but is not a 

 victory over the forces of mind, which can only 

 come out of sharp contact with the world, im- 

 mensely larger ?" 



In my reply,— loving the country as I do, 

 and wishing to set forth its praises; and be- 



