MY FARM OF EDGEWOOD 



There was a monstrous growth of dock and 

 burdock about the outer doors, and not a few 

 rank shoots of that valuable medicinal herb — 

 Stramonium. There were the invariable 

 clumps of purple lilacs, in most unmanageable 

 positions; a few straggling bunches of daf- 

 fodils ; an ancient garden with its measly look- 

 ing, mossy gooseberries; a few strawberry 

 plants, and currant bushes keeping up inter- 

 ruptedly the pleasant formality of having once 

 been set in rows, and of having nodded their 

 crimson tassels at each other across the walk. 

 There were some half dozen huge old pear 

 trees, immediately in the rear of the house, 

 mossy, and promising inferior native fruit; 

 but full of a vigor that I have since had the 

 pleasure of transmuting into golden Bartletts. 

 There were a few plum trees, loaded with 

 black knot; a score of peach trees in out of 

 the way places, all showing unfortunate marks 

 of that vegetable jaundice, the yellows, which 

 throughout New England has proven in so 

 many instances the bane of this delicious fruit. 



There was the usual huge barn, a little 

 wavy in its ridge, and with an aged settle to 

 its big doors; while under the eaves were 

 jagged pigeon holes, cut by adventurous boys, 

 ignorant of curvilinear harmonies. Upon the 



SO 



