I do not know what their scheme will ripen to; at
present it does not deeply engage my hopes. It is thus far
only a little better way than others. I doubt if they will get
free from all they deprecate in society.'
* * * * *
'_Paradise Farm, Newport, July, 1841._--Here are no deep
forests, no stern mountains, nor narrow, sacred valleys; but
the little white farm-house looks down from its gentle
slope on the boundless sea, and beneath the moon, beyond the
glistening corn-fields, is heard the endless surge. All
around the house is most gentle and friendly, with many
common flowers, that seem to have planted themselves, and
the domestic honey-suckle carefully trained over the little
window. Around are all the common farm-house sounds,--the
poultry making a pleasant recitative between the carols of
singing birds; even geese and turkeys are not inharmonious
when modulated by the diapasons of the beach. The orchard of
very old apple-trees, whose twisted forms tell of the glorious
winds that have here held revelry, protects a little homely
garden, such as gives to me an indescribable refreshment,
where the undivided vegetable plots and flourishing young
fruit-trees, mingling carelessly, seem as if man had dropt the
seeds just where he wanted the plants, and they had sprung up
at once.
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