MY FARM OF EDGEWOOD 



bower of leaves; and to the right of them, 

 where they straggled and faded, there came to 

 the eye a white burst of water which was an 

 arm of the sea; beyond the harbor and town 

 was a purple hazy range of hills, — in the fore- 

 ground a little declivity, and then a wide 

 plateau of level land, green and lusty, with all 

 the wealth of June sunshine. I had excuse to 

 be fastidious in the matter of landscape, for 

 within three months I had driven on Rich- 

 mond hill, and had luxuriated in the valley 

 scene from the cote of St. Cloud. But neither 

 one nor the other forbade my open and out- 

 spoken admiration of the view before me. 



I have a recollection of making my way 

 through the hedging lilacs, and ringing with 

 nervous haste at the door bell ; and as I turned, 

 the view from the step seemed to me even 

 wider and more enchanting than from the car- 

 riage. I have a fancy that a middle-aged man, 

 with iron-gray whiskers, answered my sum- 

 mons in his shirt sleeves, and proposed joining 

 me directly under some trees which stood a 

 little way to the north. I recollect dimly a 

 little country coquetry of his, about unwill- 

 ingness to sell, or to name a price; and yet 

 how he kindly pointed out to me the farm- 

 lands, which lay below upon the flat, and the 



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