h the whole
being, mind and heart as well as body. To deposit one's physical frame
in the most secret and sacred "garden of delights," and at the same time
allow the mind to be filled, and the thoughts to be occupied, with the
concerns of the world we live in year after year, is utterly useless;
for it is not the external, but the internal man that needs recreation;
it is not the body, but the spirit that demands refreshment and relief
from the wearing cares of our high-pressure lives. "It is of no use,"
says a thoughtful writer, "to carry my body to the woods, unless I get
there myself."

Let us consult the poets, our inspired teachers, on this subject. Says
Lowell,--

"In June 't is good to lie beneath a tree
While the blithe season comforts every sense,
Steeps all the brain in rest, and heals the heart,
Brimming it o'er with sweetness unawares,
Fragrant and silent as that rosy snow
Wherewith the pitying apple-tree fills up
And tenderly lines some last-year's robin's nest."

And our wise Emerson, in his strong and wholesome, if sometimes rugged
way,--

"Quit thy friends as the dead in doom,
And build to them a final tomb.

* * * * *

Behind thee leave thy merchandise,
Thy churches and thy charities.

* * * * *

Enough for thee the primal mind
That flows in streams--that breathes in wind."

Even the gentle Wordsworth, too; read his exquisite sonnet, beginning,--

"The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers."

All recognize that it is a mental and spiritual change that is needed.

With the earnest desire of suggesting to tired souls a practicable way
of resting, I will even give a bit of personal history; I will tell the
way in which I have learned to find recreation in nature.

When I turn my back upon my home, I make a serious and determined effort
to leave behind me all cares and worries. As my train, on that beautiful
May evening, passed beyond the brick and stone walls, and sped into the
open country, and I found myself alone with night, I shook off, as well
as I was able, all my affairs, all my interests, all my
responsibilities, leaving them in that busy city behind me, where a few
burdens more or less would not matter to anybody. With my trunks
checked, and my face turned toward the far-off Rocky Mountains, I left
the whole work-a-day world behind me, departing--so f