NEW MEXICO: Happy Hunting Ground

One autumn day last week in Seton Village, N. Mex., death came to a man who, in an age of sweeping mechanization, had loved the natural earth, its seasons and its creatures, with rare intensity and an unusual power to communicate his vision to others. To three generations of children whom his stories of wild life had introduced to the life of woods and fields, to naturalists indebted to the scope and minute fidelity of his discernments, Ernest Thompson Seton's death was something like the falling of a forest tree.

He was born (1860) in a city—bleak South Shields, in...

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