286 



THE GUIDE TO NATURE 



"But that would take an awfully big- 

 lot of stones." 



"'Yes," he laughed, "but that is just 

 what we have here." Then he con- 

 tinued to tell entertainly of the build- 

 ing of stone walls in his grandfather's 

 day, how much harder and longer men 

 worked at that time, what fine oxen 

 they had. He was eloquent. 



He took the writer around the prem- 

 ises, pointing out the various stone 

 walls, with the reminiscences that they 

 suggested, and incidentally spoke of 

 different crops in the fields that they 

 surrounded. 



One was forced to decide that the 

 best stone for the purpose was in a 

 wall standing near the house. 



"You wouldn't want to give those 

 would you?" 



"Certainly, if those are the best, then 

 that is where you want to get them." 



For many days the heavy teams 

 drove through his yard to that beauti- 

 ful wall, taking away long sections 

 of it. Then those heavily loaded teams 

 crossed his home mowing lot, cutting- 

 deep ruts. 



From certain sources, perhaps from 

 misunderstandings, not necessary to be 

 explained here, The Agassiz Associa- 

 tion was told to discontinue and was 

 threatened with legal action. Excited, 

 the manager went to Mr. Ferris's home 

 and told him of the trouble. 



Mr. Ferris laughed cordially and 

 said, "Now don't get excited nor 

 alarmed. You have enough to attend 

 to. Go back and see that those stones 

 are put in right. I will take care of the 

 loading and the lawyers too." 



The carting continued for many a 

 day, and the results, thanks mostly to 

 Mr. Ferris, are to be seen in the splen- 

 did foundations under the ArcAdiA 

 buildings. 



There are many others in Sound 

 Beach that feel as if they had lost a 

 true friend in the death of Mr. Ferris. 

 We desire to place in our printed rec- 

 ords and to acknowledge publicly his 

 hearty and extensive support in the 

 restoration of ArcAdiA. 



The Death of the Leaves. 



It is pleasant to walk over the beds 

 of these fresh, crisp, and rustling 

 leaves. How beautifully they go to 

 their graves ! how gently lay them- 

 selves down and turn to mould ! — 

 painted of a thousand hues, and fit to 

 make the beds of us living. So they 

 troop to their last resting place, light 

 and frisky. They put on no weeds, 

 but merrily they go scampering over 

 the earth, selecting the spot, choosing 

 a lot, ordering no iron fence, whisper- 

 ing all through the woods about it, — 

 some choosing the spot where the 

 bodies of men are mouldering beneath, 

 and meeting them half-way. How 

 many flutterings before they rest 

 quietly in their graves ! They that 

 soared so loftily, how contentedly they 

 return to dust again, and are laid low, 

 resigned to lie and decay at the foot 

 of the tree, and afford nourishment to 

 new generations of their kind, as well 

 as to flutter on high ! They teach us 

 how to die- One wonders if the time 

 will ever come when men, with their 

 boasted faith in immortality, will lie 

 down as gracefully and as ripe, — with 

 such an Indian-summer serenity will 

 shed their bodies, as they do their hair. 

 When the leaves fall, the whole 

 earth is a cemetery pleasant to walk 

 in. I love to wander and muse over 

 them in their graves. Here are no 

 lying nor vain epitaphs. What though 

 you own no lot at Mount Auburn ? 

 Your lot is surely cast somewhere in 

 this vast cemetery, which has been 

 consecrated from of old. You need 

 attend no auction to secure a place. 

 There is room enough here. The 

 loose-strife shall bloom and the huckle- 

 berry-bird sing over your bones. The 

 woodman and huntershall be your sex- 

 tons, and the children shall tread upon 

 the borders as much as they will. Let 

 us walk in the cemetery of the leaves, 

 —this is your true Greenwood Ceme- 

 terv- — Thoreau. 



What else but having been brought 

 up with animals and thus learning how 

 lovable they are, will ever eradicate 

 out of fiendish humans the idea that 

 when they have an hour or a day to 

 spare from their work of plundering 

 their fellow-men they must spend it in 

 murdering some animal. — Dr. George 

 M. Gould. 



