At a certain season of our life we are accustomed to consider

every spot as the possible site of a house. I have thus surveyed

the country on every side within a dozen miles of where I live. In

imagination I have bought all the farms in succession, for all were

to be bought, and I knew their price. I walked over each farmers

premises, tasted his wild apples, discoursed on husbandry with him,

took his farm at his price, at any price, mortgaging it to him in my

mind; even put a higher price on it -- took everything but a deed of

it -- took his word for his deed, for I dearly love to talk --

cultivated it, and him too to some extent, I trust, and withdrew

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