MY FARM OF EDGEWOOD 



the societies for agricultural encouragement 

 persist in giving premiums to— so called— fat 

 cattle; mere monsters — not of good, whole- 

 some, muscular fibre, well-mottled— but moun- 

 tains of adipose substance, which no Christian 

 can eat, and which are only disposed of profit- 

 ably, by serving as an advertisement to some 

 venturesome landlord, from whose table the 

 reeking fat goes to the soap-pot. 



Crossness does not absorb excellence, or even 

 imply it — either in the animal or vegetable 

 world. I have never yet chanced to taste 

 the monstrosities which the generous Califor- 

 nians sometimes send us in the shape of pears ; 

 but without knowing, I would venture the 

 wager of a bushel of Bartletts, that one of our 

 own, little, jolly, red-cheeked Seckels would 

 outmatch them thoroughly — in flavor, in 

 piquancy, and in vinous richness. 



Shall the flaunting Dahlia match us a Rose ? 

 Yet the dahlia has its place too ; it gives scenic 

 effect ; its tall stiffness tells in the distance ; but 

 we have a thousand roses at every hand. 



I sometimes fear that this disposition to set 

 the mere grossness of a thing above its finer 

 qualities, is an American weakness. We do 

 not forget, so often as we might to advantage 

 — that we are a great people. That eagle which 



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