IN THE OLD PATHS 



FOB men who know how to bear themselves 

 company there are few better ways of im- 

 proving a holiday, especially a home-keep- 

 ing, home-coming, family feast, like our au- 

 tumnal Thanksgiving, than to walk in one's 

 own childish steps up through the old cat- 

 tle pasture behind the old homestead, into 

 the old woods. Every jutting stone in the 

 path and there are many is just where 

 it was. Your feet remember them perfectly 

 (as your hand remembers which way the 

 door-knob turns, though you yourself might 

 be puzzled to tell), and of their own accord 

 take a zigzag course among them, coming 

 down without fail in the clear intermediary 

 spaces. Or if, by chance, in some peculiarly 

 awkward spot, the toe of your boot forgets it- 

 self, the jar only helps you to feel the more at 

 home. You say with the poet, " I have been 

 here before." Some things are unaltered, 



