MY FARM OF EDGEWOOD 



toggery, and discuss ballotings and the weather 

 —possibly linger an hour or two about the 

 tavern or a pet grocer's ; but they do not meet 

 as townspeople meet — on the walk, over count- 

 ers, on the railway, in the omnibus, and in 

 each other's houses. I have already taken oc- 

 casion to dust out their darkened parlors; but 

 the dust will gather again. They have no 

 Market-Fairs ^ which will bring them together 

 with samples of their crops, to compare notes, 

 and prices, and methods of culture. 



There is no coherence of the farmers as a 

 body — no trade-guild — no banding of en- 

 deavor to work a common triumph, or to ferret 

 out a common abuse. For years, in many parts 

 of New England, the sheep culture has been 

 entirely ruined by the ravages of lawless town- 

 dogs ; and the farmers groan over it, and bury 

 the dead sheep, and whisper valorously between 

 church services about bludgeons and buckshot, 

 but never make a concerted urgent protest; or 

 if they rally so far as to send one of their own 



* A strong eflfort, I am glad to see, is making to estab- 

 lish them in various parts of the country. In my own 

 neighborhood the old town of Cheshire has made a bold 

 stride in this direction, and I trust not in vain. They 

 are worth more to the true interests of farming than 

 all the horse-trotting fairs which could be packed into 

 a season. 



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