MY FARM OF EDGEWOOD 



of a Michigan plough, in a wiry and dusty 

 last-year's stubble:— the horses are fresh and 

 well trained, and the plough enters bravely to 

 its work— smoothly at first, but presently an 

 ugly stone flings it cleanly from the furrow, 

 and there is a backing,— a heavy tug, and on he 

 goes with his mind all centered in the plough- 

 beam, and nervously watching its little pitches 

 and yaws; he lifts a hand cautiously to wipe 

 the perspiration from his forehead (a great 

 imprudence), and the plough sheers over 

 gracefully, and is out once more. There is 

 a new backing and straining, and the plough 

 is again in place ; no more wiping of the fore- 

 head until the headlands are reached. Watery 

 blisters are rising fast on his hands, and a 

 pebble in his shoe is pressing fearfully on a 

 bunion ; but at the headland he finds temporary 

 relief, and a small can of weak barley-water. 

 Refreshed by this, but somewhat shaky in the 

 legs, he pushes on with zeal — possibly think- 

 ing of Burns, and how he walked in glory and 

 in joy, 



"Behind his ploug^h 

 Upon the mountain side," 



— and wondering if he really did? There are 

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