WN a farm. This is stated in a 
spirit of pardonable vanity. I am 
of those who are “ purse proud,” 
having ‘a farm which some friends 
of mine affect to make light of as 
; if the possession of a demesne of 
eighty acres was a matter of small 
consequence. However, none of 
these things move me. I am im- 
pervious to such intimations, know- 
4 ing as I do, though I regret to say 
it, that they all spring from envy. 
One friend—though I have cut his 
acquaintance since the remark—being asked where my farm lay, re- 
plied with a Machiavelian look, ‘It does not lie, it stands on end,” 
referring to the fact, in which I take great and legitimate pride, that this 
estate of mine /es on a very steep hill. [| think it strange that envy can 
so seize one who is otherwise pleasant and companionable and virtuous. 
After careful and disinterested observation, I am prone to believe 
that owning a farm tends to catholicity and magnanimity. In any case, 
since having the estate alluded to, I am totally disinterested. Mansions 
tempt me not. No roomy ranch with herds and harvests stings me to 
covetousness. I tooam a landholder. Some of Mother Earth is mine. 
I own a tree, and a ravine, and a spring of running water, and a red 
clover pasture, and a whip-poor-will, and much moonlight, and a small bit 
of sky, and now and then a cloud. What hinders me being a landed 
proprietor? Do I not pay taxes and own tax receipts, and work road 
tax? Do not neighboring landed gentry complain of the ill-repair of 
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