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THE GUIDE TO NATURE 



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A TYPE OF THE RESIDENTIAL SECTION OF "THE VILLAGE." 



a time lay aside the axe and the gun, 

 we must not forget that the tools of 

 humanity are still in use, and require 

 greater nerve strain than the clearing 

 of forests and the banishing of wolves. 

 If nerves break down, or our faults 

 or those of our fathers are visited upon 

 us, what may we expect, if not freed 

 from their effects? That they shall be 

 visited upon our children — yes, even to 

 the third or fourth generation. 



* ^s sjs j|c sjs * 



It was midday — warm, calm, peace- 

 ful. These thoughts, of reveries, or 

 waking dreams, ran through my mind 

 as I sat alone in a summer house on 

 the summit of a hill white with summer 

 •daisies. The outlines of neighboring 

 hills were tremulous in a summer haze. 

 At the foot of my hill, just beyond a 

 stone wall, rugged and picturesque, 

 was the broad and well travelled high- 

 way ; I watched the wayfarers ; I won- 



dered what were their thoughts and 

 ambitions. And then to me it seemed 

 that I, like Mirzah, (figuratively de- 

 scribed, in Addison's Spectator ) had as- 

 cended alone the high hills of Bagdat 

 for meditation and prayer. He tells 

 us that while "airing myself on the 

 tops of the mountains, I fell into a 

 profound contemplation on the vanity 

 of human life." My meditations were 

 not "profound" nor limited to "vanity," 

 yet Mirzah's words came to mind, and 

 I remembered "the valley," and what 

 he heard, and his conclusion that "man 

 is but a shadow and life a dream." 



Mirzah dreamed when the ills of 

 humanity were to be borne ; now they 

 may be remedied or cured. Before me 

 was a rock of an institution — a village 

 of rest and peace, where persons tem- 

 porarily disabled from the great stress 

 and strain of modern civilization can 

 restore exhausted and shattered nerves. 



