was Sara Coleridge who, in her old age, complained because she could
no longer walk more than fifteen miles a day. In that delightful essay,
written by Charles Lamb, on "Old China," Bridget Elia sighs because
she and her companion have become so rich they cannot walk their thirty
miles, as they had so often done, on a holiday.

In England or in Switzerland, one meets whole flocks of English girls
out on a walk of a week's duration. Think of the sport in such a
tramp,--the hilarity on the way! the lunches gathered by hap-hazard
from country bake-shops and groceries, and eaten in any retired nook
that offers by the roadside! Think of the appetite for commonest food,
and of the amusing difficulties which come from lack of knives and
forks! On such a walk, how easy to pick one's self up after lunch,
throw the dinner-table away, and trot on to the next village. As a
girl passes from town to town, how eager she is to note their
characteristics, to look at the people curiously, and to pry into their
shop-windows. How much she learns about Nature! Is the sky so blue
at home? Are the wild flowers so abundant? Is the grass so soft and
green? Oh, girls! try to make yourselves at home with Nature, and walk
out among her attractions. In all your observations of Nature do not
forget her living personality, her power to love you, to comfort you,
and to develop you. Feel that you have a friend with you even when
you seem to go solitary. Remember that, in learning to know Nature,
you are learning to know yourselves. From your friends and your books,
ask all about what you see. Be favored with every grand spectacle in
Nature, but be never wearied with her commonplace aspects. Do not think
of yourselves so much as living in rooms and houses, but as living
in _the_ house, the palace of the earth and sky, whose every gallery,
corridor and hall, is carpeted with Nature's tapestries of unfading
color and deep softness; whose walls are hung with glowing sunsets; and