ar as possible--a
liberated soul, with no duties excepting to rejoice and to recruit.
This is not an easy thing to do; it is like tearing apart one's very
life; but it can be done by earnest endeavor, it has been done, and it
is a charm more potent than magic to bring restoration and recreation to
the brain and nerve-weary worker.

To insure any measure of success I always go alone; one familiar face
would make the effort of no avail; and I seek a place where I am a
stranger, so that my ordinary life cannot be recalled to me. When I
reach my temporary home I forget, or at least ignore, my notions as to
what I shall eat or drink, or how I shall sleep. I take the goods the
gods provide, and adjust myself to them. Even these little things help
one out of his old ways of thought and life. To still further banish
home concerns, I mark upon my calendar one week before the day I shall
start for home, and sternly resolve that not until I reach that day will
I give one thought to my return, but will live as though I meant to stay
always. I take no work of any sort, and I banish books, excepting a few
poets and studies of nature.

Such is the aim of my honest and earnest striving; that I do not quite
reach my goal is merely to say I am human. Letters from home and friends
will drag me back to old interests, and times will come, in sleepless
nights and unguarded moments, when the whole world of old burdens and
cares sweep in and overwhelm me. But I rouse my will, and resolutely,
with all my power, push them back, refuse to entertain them for a
moment.

The result, even under these limitations, is eminently satisfactory.
Holding myself in this attitude of mind, I secure a change almost as
complete as if I stepped out of my body and left it resting, while I
refreshed myself at the fountain of life. A few weeks in the country
make me a new being; all my thoughts are turned into fresh channels; the
old ruts are smoothed over, if not obliterated; nerves on the strain all
the year have a chance to recreate themselves; old worries often weaken
and fade away.

The morning after I left home that balmy evening in May dawned upon me
somewhere in western New York, and that beautiful day was passed in
speeding through the country, and steadily getting farther and farther
from work and care.

And so I went on, day after day, night after night, till I entered
Kansas, which was new to me. By that time I had succeeded in banishing
to the fa