98 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 



A little to the south along my beach is the 

 Edge of the World. At least, it looks very much 

 as I have always imagined that place must look, 

 and I have never been beyond it; so that, after 

 listening to many arguments in courts of law, 

 and hearing the reasoning of bolsheviki, teetcn 

 talers, and pacifists, I feel that I am quite rea- 

 sonable as human beings go. And best of all, 

 it hurts no one, and annoys only a few of my 

 scientific friends, who feel that one cannot in- 

 dulge in such ideas at the wonderful hour of twi- 

 light, and yet at eight o'clock the following morn- 

 ing describe with impeccable accuracy the bron- 

 chial semi-rings, and the intricate mosaic of carti- 

 lage which characterizes and supports the mem* 

 branis tympaniformis of AttUa ihamnophiloides; 

 a dogma which halves life and its interests. 



The Edge of the World has always meant a 

 place where usual things are different; and my 

 southern stretch of beach was that, because 

 of roots. Whenever in digging I have come 

 across a root and seen its living flesh, per- 

 haps pink or rose or pale green, so far under- 

 ground, I have desired to know roots better; and 

 now I found my opportunity. I walked along 

 the proper trail, through right and usual trees, 



