FOREST FABLES. 



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invited to send it in " on suspicion." 



IT is a well-known fact that life in the for- 

 est, with its concomitants of hunting and 

 fishing, will develop a romancer of the 

 most unblushing type from one who at home 

 is a staid, unimaginative man of business and 

 a prop to the sanctuary. 



After a week in the woods the artificial ve- 

 neerings of civilized truthfulness warp, split, 

 and fall away from the man like shriveled 

 husks from an ear of corn, leaving his real 

 seamy nature exposed. All men then behold 

 him as his ancestor was in the Stone Age a 

 cunning, shifty creature, puffed with the van- 

 ity of his own achievements in war and the 

 chase, and ever desiring to chant his deeds. 



With the most engaging candor he will tell 

 you, as you smoke together over the evening 

 camp-fire, that the buck he killed in the morn- 

 ing was 270 paces away and dashing along in 

 full career when the fatal shot WHS fired. He 

 will prove it by showing you his rear-sight, 

 still elevated three notches. He will flatter 

 your judgment, tickle your self-esteem, and 

 prostitute the sacred bonds of friendship in 

 order to convince you. 



You, meanwhile, are perfectly well aware 

 that the man can not hit a stationary tomato 

 can at thirty feet. But do you flout and con- 

 tradict him ? By no means. Your very heart 

 warms to him, for you feel within your bosom 

 the secret workings of similar impulse's, inher- 

 ited from a thousand shaggy ancestors of lux- 

 uriant imaginations. 



You listen with a look which expresses only 

 the most childlike credulity and bland appre- 

 ciation. No hint of suspicion can be detected 

 in your tones; your glance meets his unflinch- 

 ingly, and, having rendered the homage of 

 respectful attention to his recital, you gather 

 all your resources of wit and craft and launch 

 forth upon a tale which can give his story 

 cards and spades. 



Now, in the Stone Age it was considered 

 perfectly good form for the first raconteur to 

 arise at the psychological moment and bash 

 his successful opponent painfully upon the 

 head with a large jagged war-club. 



This form of retort has been abandoned of 

 late by those who pride themselves on smart- 

 ness of demeanor. No. I is expected merely 

 to show his teeth in pleasant fashion at No. 2, 

 and perhaps undermine his reputation for ve- 

 racity upon returning to his clubs in town. 



Yes, the forest is certainly a magic realm. 

 Its atmosphere is full of giants and were- 

 wolves and marvelous things. Under its in- 

 fluence a man harks back and takes to the 

 telling of tales which are good in all points 

 except that it would be very difficult for them 

 to happen. 



TWO GASEOUS FABLES. 



Think of Hans Christian Andersen, and 

 Grimm, and Baron Munchausen, and all of 



the other fellows who write stuff about the 

 magic bean-stalk growth of Eucalypts and 

 how to pull up stumps by letting a pond freeze 

 around them and yank them out by hydraulic 

 pressure. They all understand very well that 

 probably nobody will call them down if they 

 just make a good bold bluff, because most 

 people will think it might be so as long as it 

 is in the forest. While you are thinking of 

 these gentlemen, it would be a good scheme 

 to think of Ananias also, for to omit him at 

 such a time would seem like invidious discrim- 

 ination. Speaking of him brings to mind an 

 alleged news item which apparently came from 

 some logging district of Pennsylvania. It 

 runs to the effect that after cutting down a 

 hollow tree in that region the woodmen were 

 surprised by a rush of natural gas which burst 

 forth from the hole in the stump and threat- 

 ened to destroy the entire surrounding forest 

 upon becoming ignited accidentally. The 

 strangest part of the affair, however, and one 

 which is given no mention in the item, is that 

 this great volume of gas emanated entirely 

 from the man who wrote the thing up. 



Pennsylvania is not alone with her gaseous 

 inventors. They have them out in California, 

 too. In that country much interest is felt in 

 the matter of reforestation, for which work 

 large amounts of tree seeds are necessary. 



But think of climbing a California tree say, 

 for instance, a Sugar Pine, with its ten or 

 twelve feet in diameter at the butt and its two 

 hundred and more feet of towering trunk. 

 Sugar Pine seed must be had, though, and in 

 order to fill the interval until Professor Lang- 

 ley can perfect his flying machine an ingenious 

 civil engineer comes forward and modestly an- 

 nounces that he has solved the difficulty. 



His plan is to soar aloft in a hydrogen balloon 

 and pluck the cones from a secure position in 

 the car. It's easy, he says. All you have to do 

 is to transport the balloon over the mountains 

 to the place where it is needed, on a mule's 

 back, being sure to take along plenty of zinc 

 and sulphuric acid with which to manufacture 

 the hydrogen. The method of operation is 

 obvious, and as there are not more than seven 

 or eight reasons why the plan wouldn't work, 

 the inventor is clearly deserving of a vote of 

 thanks. 



It is unfortunate that the gas-giishing stumps 

 are not more conveniently located. One of 

 those could inflate a balloon in short order. 

 That would save carrying acid on muleback. 

 Only consider how a mule would act if a few 

 drops of acid came in contact with his hide ! 



We offer it as an amendment that hot-air 

 balloons would be more convenient. Of course 

 the hot-air generator would have to be taken 

 along; but his keep wouldn't amount to much 

 and it might prove right convenient to have a 

 civil engineer in camp once in a while, if he 

 could be kept securely corked when not in 

 actual use. 



