MY FARM OF EDGEWOOD 



while away, upon the lawn, or opening into 

 green fields, or — better still — in the very bight 

 of the wood, I give the contrast of a brilliant 

 and flashing white. 



I am touching a very large subject here, 

 with a very short chapter. Indeed, there is no 

 end to the pretty and artistic combinations by 

 which a man who loves the country with a 

 fearless, demonstrative love, may not provoke 

 its rarer beauties to appear. Flower, tree, 

 fence, out-building — all wait upon his hands; 

 and the results of his loving labor do not end 

 when his work is done; but the vines, the 

 trees, the mosses, the deepening shadows, are, 

 year after year, mellowing his raw handiwork, 

 and ripening a new harvest of charms. And in 

 following these, I think there is an interest — 

 not perhaps quotable on 'Change, but which 

 rallies a man's finer instincts, and binds him 

 in leash— not wearisome or galling— to the 

 great procession of the seasons, ever full of 

 bounties, as of beauties. 



FLOWERS 



There is a class of men who gravitate to the 

 country by a pure necessity of their nature; 

 who have such ineradicable love for springing 



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