Where the slanting forest eaves,
Shingled tight with greenest leaves,
Sweep the scented meadow-sedge,
Let us snoop along the edge;
Let us pry in hidden nooks,
Laden with our nature books,
Scaring birds with happy cries,
Chloroforming butterflies,
Rooting up each woodland plant,
Pinning beetle, fly, and ant,
So we may identify
What we've ruined, by-and-by.




IN SEARCH OF THE UNKNOWN


I


Because it all seems so improbable--so horribly impossible to me now,
sitting here safe and sane in my own library--I hesitate to record an
episode which already appears to me less horrible than grotesque. Yet,
unless this story is written now, I know I shall never have the
courage to tell the truth about the matter--not from fear of ridicule,