26 LH Ey AUDUBON 9B OU: bslereeees 
sheep. All he got out of it was four mounted heads to put in a den relatiy 
few people will ever see. For the same money, he could have donate, 
vehicle and a motor launch, to ensure proper protection of the rapi 
vanishing Indian rhino in a new sanctuary in Nepal.” 
The author, while delving into conservation, recommends four 
ganizations as most worthy of financial support: the Sierra club, Natio: 
Audubon society, and “two smaller organizations which are gaining rapi 
in stature and influence ... the Defenders of Wildlife, 1346 Connecti 
Ave., Washington, D.C. ... (and) ... the Fund for Animals, 1 Wall | 
New York, N.Y. 10005 ...” 
There is much more to this fine book than a plea for stronger cons 
vation. It contains amusing annecdotes from the long-ago and the prese 
fascinating stories of animal lore; little-known facts on animal habits 
and out of zoos; and exotic scraps of information like that concern; 
baboons which were trained in ancient Egypt “to handle such chores 
weeding gardens, harvesting fruit, carrying water, and waiting on table 
But Hunt’s concern for the safety of the world’s vanishing species 
what gives the book its singular impact, and he states his case w 
awful clarity: 
“Any day now,” the final chapter begins, ‘some trigger-happy hun 
in Maryland is going to take a shot at a grayish squirrel with a strir 
tail. If he hits it, it could well mean that ‘Sciurus niger cinereus’ (the pe 
insula fox squirrel), found principally in a single county of Maryland, | 
reached the end of the line. So few exist now that any one seen very p 
sibly could be the last one. If that day comes, and if the species becon 
extinct, few people will care enough to take the trouble to notice. One mc 
dead squirrel means nothing to most people, even if it happens to be t 
last of its species ...”’ 
AS_OmInGUSeaSs-acrifiessnot... 
THE HORNED LARK 
Such indecision fills his little brain! 
He can’t decide to which sphere he belongs. 
Does he for earth spin out his bright refrain 
Or to the sky owe his delightful songs? 
Unconscious egoist, he stands apart; 
Head high to show his puckish little horns. 
His face black-bridled, and his beak a dart, 
He scorns the earth and, too, the sky he scorns. 
So much that’s human can be seen in him, 
Mouse-fearful now, and then so human-proud; 
We're cousins to this rustic seraphim 
For, like the lark, we are half clod, half cloud. 
—Harlow- Baa 
1113 Cottage 
Racine, Wis. 
