MY FARM OF EDGEWOOD 



The weazen-faced old gentlemen who drive 

 by in their shirt sleeves, and call attention to 

 the matter with a gracious wave of their 

 hickory whipstocks, allow that— "it looks hand- 

 some; but don't pay." Such observers— and 

 they make up the bulk of those who have the 

 country in their keeping— must be addressed 

 through their notions of economy, or they 

 will not be reached at all. 



In the case supposed, I have, of course, as- 

 sumed that only ordinary farm culture was to 

 be bestowed: although there may be condi- 

 tions of high tillage, extraordinary nicety of 

 culture, and nearness to a large market, which 

 would warrant the expenditure of even a 

 thousand dollars per acre with profitable re- 

 sults. 



But rocky farms, even away from markets, 

 are not without their profits, and a certain 

 wild, yet subdued order of their own. I have 

 never seen sweeter or warmer pasture ground, 

 than upon certain hill-sides strown thick with 

 great granite boulders spangled with mica, 

 and green-gray mosses ; nor was the view un- 

 thrifty, with its fat, ruffle-necked merino ewes 

 grazing in company; nor yet unattractive to 

 other than farm-eyes— with its brook burst- 

 ing from under some ledge that is overhung 



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