Purple Martins and the Moon 



in quest of worlds that really shine by 

 reflected light, and which, if reached, 

 prove but cold, dead, dreary, barren 

 wastes? I could tell you of certain 

 human hopes and aspirations that 

 seemed to be leading up to a fancied 

 Paradise, which faded away as com- 

 pletely as my martin vanished in the 

 vapors of the upper air at the close of 

 this perfect day in June! That he 

 failed to reach that icy wilderness we 

 call the moon is physically certain. 

 That he returned to Mother Earth 

 again is equally sure. Thus toil we 

 all towards some distant light that 

 lures us on, only to turn back at last 

 on wearied wing. 



As a matter of fact, you don't have 

 to race up and down the earth and 

 air and sea to learn what little there is 

 to be known about creation. The 

 whole world is in your immediate 

 neighborhood. The same sun shines 

 over your woodlot that lights Mont 

 Blanc. The flood-water that rushed 



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