MY FARM OF EDGEWOOD 



casements of so old a country house, in the 

 first warm days of Spring, are not out of 

 reach of my boy, (just turned of five,) as he 

 mounts a chair, and makes a cut at them with 

 his dog-whip, upon the ceiling. 



I must confess that I do not dislike this old 

 humility of house-building; if windows, open 

 chimney-places, and situation give good air, 

 what matters it that your quarters by night are 

 three or four feet nearer to your quarters by 

 day? In summer, if some simple trellised 

 pattern of paper cover the ceiling, you enjoy 

 the illusion of a low branching bower; and of 

 a winter evening, the play of the firelight on the 

 hearth flashes over it, with a kindly nearness. 



I know the outgoing parties found no 

 pleasant task in the leave-taking. I am sure 

 the old lady who was its mistress felt a pang 

 that was but poorly concealed ; I have a recol- 

 lection that on one of my furtive visits of 

 observation, I unwittingly came upon her — 

 at a stand-still over some bit of furniture that 

 was to be prepared for the cart, — with her 

 handkerchief fast to her eyes. It cannot be 

 otherwise at parting with even the lowliest 

 homes, where we have known of deaths, and 

 births, and pleasures, and little storms that 

 have had their sweep and lull; and where 



54 



