Maybe you're right; maybe you're not. 'Tis sand,
I calls it; but no matter what 'tis called,
With any kind of little snag they're stalled.
They'd starve and die with plenty all around 'em.
I minds when our supplies ran out we found 'em,
Sometimes when we were in the bush, with tea
And baccy gone--no drink or nothin'--we
Would fetch a kettle full of juniper
And boil it for an hour or so, and stir
Barbados black-strap with it--
THE SCHOLAR (_in deep spiritual reflection_).
Do I see,
In its archetypal form, Zymology,
That most potential art?