_Hindu Proverb, Translated by Arthur Guiterman_.

It is astonishing how many people there are in cities and towns who have
a secret longing to get back into quiet country places, to own a bit of
the soil of the earth, and to cultivate it. To some it appears as a
troublesome malady only in spring and will be relieved by a whirl or two
in country roads, by a glimpse of the hills, or a day by the sea; but to
others the homesickness is deeper seated and will be quieted by no hasty
visits. These must actually go home.

I have had, in recent years, many letters from friends asking about
life in the country, but the longer I remain here, the more I know about
it, the less able I am to answer them--at least briefly. It is as though
one should come and ask: "Is love worth trying?" or, "How about
religion?" For country life is to each human being a fresh, strange,
original adventure. We enjoy it, or we do not enjoy it, or more
probably, we do both. It is packed and crowded with the zest of
adventure, or it is dull and miserable. We may, if we are skilled
enough, make our whole living from the land, or only a part of it, or we
may find in a few cherished acres the inspiration and power for other
work, whatever it may be. There is many a man whose strength is renewed
like that of the wrestler of Irassa, every time his feet touch the
earth.

Of all places in the world where life can be lived to its fullest and
freest, where it can be met in its greatest variety and beauty, I am
convinced that there is none to equal the open country, or the country
town. For all country people in these days may have the city--some city
or town not too far away: but there are millions of men and women in
America who have no country and no sense of the country. What do they