Have you heard of the great Forest of Burzee? Nurse used to sing of it when _as a child. She sang of the big tree-trunks, standing close together, wit_heir roots intertwining below the earth and their branches intertwining abov_t; of their rough coating of bark and queer, gnarled limbs; of the bush_oliage that roofed the entire forest, save where the sunbeams found a pat_hrough which to touch the ground in little spots and to cast weird an_urious shadows over the mosses, the lichens and the drifts of dried leaves.
The Forest of Burzee is mighty and grand and awesome to those who stea_eneath its shade. Coming from the sunlit meadows into its mazes it seems a_irst gloomy, then pleasant, and afterward filled with never-ending delights.
For hundreds of years it has flourished in all its magnificence, the silenc_f its inclosure unbroken save by the chirp of busy chipmunks, the growl o_ild beasts and the songs of birds.
Yet Burzee has its inhabitants—for all this. Nature peopled it in th_eginning with Fairies, Knooks, Ryls and Nymphs. As long as the Forest stand_t will be a home, a refuge and a playground to these sweet immortals, wh_evel undisturbed in its depths.
Civilization has never yet reached Burzee. Will it ever, I wonder?