The Dog Is A Peasant

Because We Remember Pain And The Menace Of Death More Vividly Than Pleasure, And Because Our Feelings Toward The Beneficent Aspects Of The Unknown Have From The First Been Captured And Formalised By Conventional Religious Rituals, It Has Fallen To The Lot Of The Darker And More Maleficent Side Of Cosmic Mystery To Figure Chiefly In Our Popular Supernatural Folklore.

Mid-summer ... When The Alchemy Of Nature Transmutes The Sylvan Landscape To One Vivid And Almost Homogeneous Mass Of Green; When The Senses Are Well-nigh Intoxicated With The Surging Seas Of Moist Verdure And The Subtly Indefinable Odours Of The Soil And The Vegetation. In Such Surroundings The Mind Loses Its Perspective; Time And Space Become Trivial And Unreal, And Echoes Of A Forgotten Prehistoric Past Beat Insistently Upon The Enthralled Consciousness.

There Was Really Nothing For Serious Men To Do In Cases Of Wild Gossip, For Superstitious Rustics Will Say And Believe Anything.

I Am Disillusioned Enough To Know That No Man's Opinion On Any Subject Is Worth A Damn Unless Backed Up With Enough Genuine Information To Make Him Really Know What He's Talking About.

There Are Horrors Beyond Life's Edge That We Do Not Suspect, And Once In A While Man's Evil Prying Calls Them Just Within Our Range.