MAN'S SECOND FALL 



167 



of the large forests. Already the hunter and trapper 

 must go farther and farther from the abode of civiliza- 

 tion to procure skins to keep my lady from the chill 

 blasts of winter, and we have witnessed the price of fur 

 coats run as high as three and four hundred dollars. 

 For the sake of the animals themselves the forests should 

 be replanted. If any there are who plead for the con- 

 servation of forests above others they are the dumb 

 creatures of mountain and jungle who depend upon deep 

 seclusion for reproduction and for protection to them- 

 selves and their young. One magnificent mountain range 

 in New Hampshire is 

 now being clipped of its 

 trees as close as a school- 

 boy's head is barbered at 

 the approach of summer. 

 Reverberations from ex- 

 plosions of dynamite 

 heard morning, noon 

 and evening awake the 

 surrounding countryside 

 with a knowledge of 

 the nearby devastation. 

 Herds of deer which fre- 

 quent these mountains, 

 upon hearing the horri- 

 ble blasts and upon feel- 

 ing the very foundations 

 of the hills shake under 

 them, fled wildly to 

 northern slopes only to 

 5nd another lumber com- 

 pany there before them. 

 Where they are now is 

 a mystery, but that they 

 will become extinct if 

 they cannot reproduce in 

 quiet and security is a 

 certainty. 



It is one of the incon- 

 sistencies of man that he 

 will make laws to pro- 

 tect the deer, surround 

 the partridge with game 

 regulations, compel the 

 fisherman to respect the 

 small fish, and yet allow the ruthless destruction of the 

 home in which these wild things live. 



Surrounding one lumber camp in a New England for- 

 est instead of deer, rabbit, and fox, there is a herd of 

 forty fat wallowing hogs, some of them too fat to walk 

 with ease. No comparison is here intended between 

 these pigs and the lumber interests sweeping the hills 

 of all that grows, but it is to be noted that the porkers 

 where they root and forage leave no sprout or green 

 thing. It must be said for them that they are ignorant 

 of what they do. 



There are other practical sides to the denuding of the 

 mountains that may perhaps best be illustrated by a 



J.f.W 



STUMPS WHICH TELL A SAD TALE OF RECKLESS WASTE IN 

 LUMBERING 



personal experience. My wife and I have long desired 

 to visit the source of Cold River, the beautiful mountain 

 stream which runs by our New Hampshire summer home. 

 We have watched it for years go gurgling by, sending cool 

 breezes through our groves, welcoming to its arms our 

 own incomparable trout brook ; and many and many an 

 evening as we have sat under the grand old pine tree 

 which canopies and carpets the entire front lawn of our 

 cottage we have listened to the music of rushing waters 

 as the river danced on its way to Bear Camp Water in 

 the region made immortal by the poet Whittier, who 



spent his vacations here. 

 Of late we have im- 

 agined a new note in 

 that music, a troubled 

 murmur, a complaint as 

 of some hurt thing cry- 

 ing from its wounds : 

 the ripply laughter seem- 

 ed less gay, and the hap- 

 py gushing labored and 

 full of pain. 



"Let us climb to its 

 source," exclaimed my 

 wife one evening as we 

 listened to the cry of the 

 river which was surely 

 growing faint from lack 

 of volume. "Let us find 

 the very beginning and 

 learn what is going on 

 in those upper secluded 

 regions where, clouds and 

 mountains meet four 

 thousand feet above sea 

 level." 



Plans were quickly 

 made, and the next 

 morning with knapsacks 

 packed for a several 

 days' trip we two, as 

 in the fairy tale, started 

 to find where the river 

 began. 



And then came the 

 tragedy of our adven- 

 ture. Where had been the most wonderful spruce forest 

 known to New Hampshire we found the trail had dis- 

 appeared beneath huge piles of tree tops and underbrush, 

 ready for some careless cigarette or axman's match ; 

 then there came a blast, followed by another and another 

 until the mountain rang and reverberated, booming from 

 one hill to another like a general artillery engagement. 

 We knew then why trout were scarce in the river, and 

 why we had seen no wild creature as in past excursions. 

 Vast areas of this Eden we found stripped of its leafy 

 denizens, the carcasses of which were rolled high on 

 platforms waiting the mountain cars to carry them to 

 a mill fifteen miles down the mountain. One stump we 



