All spruced up with malice aforethought, this happy little afterthought to Psychopathia sexualis deals (via letters, diary excerpts, the local police log, etc.) with the horrors which overtake the trees in the little English village of Mundham. Holes are bored in many of them, 33 inches above the ground, and the natives who can't see the wood for the shavings, suspect that it's the work of a sabretoothed dormouse or a Fringed Woodpecker. Actually it's the very active pecker of one Humphrey Mackevoy who deals in old books but entertains a mad passion for the arboreal splendors of nature; in fact he has never seen a poem as lovely as his laburnum which will be cut down while a local DDT spraying program leaves him momentarily incapacitated. Then there's what's also happening to the Low-Calory Wine distillery. . . and it hardly seems necessary to go any further here except to say that if you're a prude, you'll be growling and barking up the wrong one. If you're not, smiles should be exfoliating all over since it's wickedly funny.