MY FARM OF EDGEWOOD 



I abandoned the design of terraces. And 

 yet, there are times when I regale myself for 

 hours together, with the pleasant fancy of my 

 city friend. His terraces should be well lich- 

 ened over now ; and I seem to see brimming on 

 the successive shelves of the hill, great festoons 

 of vines, spotted with purple clusters; amidst 

 the foliage, there gleams, here and there, the 

 broad hat of some vineyard dresser (as in 

 German pictures), and crimson kirtles come 

 and go, and songs flash into the summer still- 

 ness, and a soft purple haze wraps the scene, 

 and thickens in the hollows of the land, and 

 swims fathoms deep around the ruin 



"Square, what d' ye ask apiece for them suck- 

 ers?" 



It is my neighbor, who has clambered up, 

 holding by the myrtle bushes, to buy a pig. 



The vexed question of the proper dressing 

 and tillage of the hillside, is still in reserve. 

 I resolved it in this wise:— Of the rocks most 

 convenient, and least available for fencing 

 purposes, I constructed an easy roadway, lead- 

 ing by gradual inclination from top to bottom ; 

 other stones were laid up in a substantial wall, 

 which supplies the place of a staggering and 

 weakly fence, that every strong northwester 

 prostrated ; still others, of a size too small for 



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