THE AMERICAN FORESTS 857 



man would have to grow whiskers to hide its 

 nakedness, but he thanked God that at least the 

 sky was safe. Had he gone West he would 

 have found out that the sky was not safe ; for all 

 through the summer months, over most of the 

 mountain regions, the smoke of mill and forest 

 fires is so thick and black that no sunbeam can 

 pierce it. The whole sky, with clouds, sun, 

 moon, and stars, is simply blotted out. There is 

 no real sky and no scenery. Not a mountain is 

 left in the landscape. At least none is in sight 

 from the lowlands, and they all might as well be 

 on the moon, as far as scenery is concerned. 



The half-dozen transcontinental railroad com- 

 panies advertise the beauties of their lines in gor- 

 geous many-colored folders, each claiming its as 

 the i( scenic route." " The route of superior 

 desolation " — the smoke, dust, and ashes route 

 — would be a more truthful description. Every 

 train rolls on through dismal smoke and bar- 

 barous, melancholy ruins ; and the companies 

 might well cry in their advertisements : " Come ! 

 travel our way. Ours is the blackest. It is the 

 only genuine Erebus route. The sky is black 

 and the ground is black, and on either side there 

 is a continuous border of black stumps and logs 

 and blasted trees appealing to heaven for help as 

 if still half alive, and their mute eloquence is most 

 interestingly touching. The blackness is perfect. 

 On account of the superior skill of our workmen, 



