MY FARM OF EDGEWOOD 



daintily called her mistress cuckoo) from the 

 edge of the wood — what eager, earnest, de- 

 lighted listeners have we— lifting the blue 

 eyes,— shaking back the curls— dancing to the 

 melody? And when the violets repeat the 

 sweet lesson they learned last year of the sun 

 and of the warmth, and bring their fragrant 

 blue petals forth — who shall give the rejoicing 

 welcome, and be the swift and light-footed 

 herald of the flowers ? Who shall gather them 

 with the light fingers, she put to the task— 

 who? 



And the sweetest flowers wither, and the 

 sweetest flowers wait — for the dainty fingers 

 that shall pluck them, never again. 



L'ENVOI 



I HAVE now completed the task which I had 

 assigned to myself; and I do it with the bur- 

 densome conviction that not one half of the 

 questions which suggest themselves in connec- 

 tion with Farm-life in America, can be dis- 

 cussed—much less resolved — within so narrow 

 a compass. Yet I have endeavored to light up, 

 with my somewhat disorderly array of hints 

 and suggestions, those more salient topics 

 which would naturally suggest themselves to 



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