It is time,"" says Archie Carr, ""to start ransacking the earth for the little landscapes that need saving."" With such singly commonplace words, set down on the middle of his third chapter, this obviously enchanted professor begins his ffbeat and utterly beguiling plea for ecological conservation, at home as well as abroad. What matter that his readers have never before stopped to consider the mnological consequences of inter-pluvial speciation in cichlid fishes? What matter that one has never seen a jungle snake, or a buff-back cattle egret? Following the tantalizingly alliterative tracery of Carr's typewriter upon the page, one is also following the hegira of the herons, one is hearing the sounds a snake makes simply going about his affairs. Ulendo, the non-immolatory counterpart of safari, appropriately describes Carr's occupation whether practiced in Kenya, Africa, or Kissimmee, Florida. Even his analysis of the origins of the marimba -- even the flashbacks to his days as a student biologist -- are invested with the same high excitement as later lion-viewing or python-wrestling. The Wilderness Preservation people can be grateful that this author has named the motive of their work, but the double boon is not to be overlooked; Carr's writing is as literate as his research is specific; it is as luminous as his view of the world is wide.