New Walks in Old Ways 



to its last resource, each for his own 

 benefit. 



A friend of mine, who had his health 

 shattered by twenty-five years' con- 

 finement behind steel bars of his own 

 making, bought a little place near 

 Dumbiedykes the other day. You can 

 hardly see into his enclosure, so thick 

 are the native forest trees still growing 

 round about the house. He has crawled 

 back deep into the woods; in other 

 words, just as a caribou would do when 

 very sick or badly wounded, there to 

 philosophize upon his past life and 

 incidentally, perhaps, give nature a 

 chance to restore ebbing strength with 

 the balm that exudes from every leafy 

 Gilead, whether in the Holy Land or 

 the mountains of North Carolina. 

 Holy Land, did I say? All land is 

 holy, wherever it is, but some people 

 don't seem to find this out until they 

 have first exhausted city pavements. 



I caught my friend yesterday evening 

 studying the western horizon at sun- 

 [i8o] 



