228 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 



I remember reading somewhere an article 

 in which the writer accounted for the small 

 amount of walking done by our people, by 

 the absence of good footpaths along our 

 roads and through our fields. And, inade 

 quate as the reason may appear to some of 

 us, who were born with legs and were taught 

 in childhood how to use them, it is a reason 

 which has weight, and a reason which should 

 not be allowed to exist. The fact is an evi 

 dence of our imperfect development, but it 

 is a fact, that with comparative infrequency 

 do we find a comfortable path along any of 

 our ordinary country roads. lie or she who 

 goes from house to house or from village to 

 village on foot, which most have to do at 

 times, and all ought often to do, is compelled 

 to take to the dusty wagon track, or to 

 scramble up and down rough banks and 

 among the vines and bushes and weeds. 

 The vines and bushes and weeds are not to 

 blame. They often form the chief beauty 

 of the roadside, until some enterprising far 

 mer or road mender comes along and cuts 

 and hacks until he has left nothing but a 

 barren waste, naught but short stumps pro 

 jecting above prostrate saplings and seed 

 lings, upon which the unripe leaves wilt and 

 turn brown and rattle in the hot wind. 



