MY FARM OF EDGEWOOD 



a boy puts you right; and some girl tells you 

 newnesses you never suspected. The rust is 

 on your sword; thwack as hard as you may, 

 you cannot flesh it, as when it had every day 

 scouring into brightness. 



DICKERING 



Sometime or other, if a man enter upon farm 

 life — and it holds true in almost every kind 

 of life — there will come to him a necessity for 

 bargaining. It is a part of the curse, I think, 

 entailed upon mankind, at the expulsion from 

 Eden, — that they should sweat at a bargain. 

 When a Frenchwoman with her hand full of 

 gloves, — behind her dainty counter,— asks the 

 double of what her goods are worth, you are 

 no way surprised. You accept the enormity, 

 as a symptom of the depravity of her race, — 

 which is balanced by the suavity of her manner. 

 But when a hard-faced, upright, Sabbath- 

 keeping New-England bank-officer or select- 

 man, asks you the double, or offers you the 

 half, of what a thing is really worth, there is a 

 revulsion of feeling, which no charm in his 

 manner can drive away. Unlike the case of 

 the French shop-woman, I feel like passing 

 him — on the other side of the street. 



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