I Cannot Help But Think A Curious

A True Conservationist Is A Man Who Knows That The World Is Not Given By His Fathers, But Borrowed From His Children.

But Hopes Are Shy Birds Flying At A Great Distance, Seldom Reached By The Best Of Guns.

There Is The Morass, Wherein You Plunge Up To Your Knees, Or The Walking Over The Stubborn, Dwarfish Shrubbery, Whereby One Treads Down The Forests Of Labrador; And The Unexpected Bunting Or Sylvia Which Perchance, And Indeed As If By Chance Alone, You Now And Then See Flying Before You, Or Hear Singing From The Ground Creeping Plant.

I Can Scarcely Manage To Scribble A Tolerable English Letter. I Know That I Am Not A Scholar, But Meantime I Am Aware That No Man Living Knows Better Than I Do The Habits Of Our Birds.

If I Can Procure Three Hundred Good Substantial Names Of Persons, Or Bodies, Or Institutions, I Cannot Fail To Do Well For My Family, Although I Must Abandon My Life To Its Success, And Undergo Many Sad Perplexities And Perhaps Never See Again My Own Beloved America.