A BOYHOOD MECCA. 145 



the human soul when in the woods, that innate 

 fear of the great unknown, engendered by the 

 omnipresent falling leaf and dying herb, and by 

 the last love calls of the locusts and the katy- 

 dids. Octobers, too, call forth those thrills of 

 life power and energy which the hoar frosts 

 have begotten in my brain those desires to be 

 up and doing to prove my right to be on earth 

 and among men a worker where workers are 

 ever welcome. Then, too, October bears my 

 natal day, and by its coming and going is my 

 lifetime measured by others than myself. 



I most welcome that blessed feeling of peace 

 and restfulness which comes to me on summer 

 Sabbath days when stretched out on the grassy 

 slope beside these, my boulders ; that feeling of 

 having nothing on hand which ought to be done. 

 At such a time, when half dozing, my mind 

 often reverts, I know not why, to that little 

 country village which was the Mecca of my boy- 

 hood days. Now its peaceful quiet comes up to 

 me in dreams. There one day was as another in 

 the procession of the years. The one store and 

 postoffice ; the broad, unshaded, unpaved streets ; 



(10) 



