EDITORIAL 



45 f 



fowl are still numerous, laws have been passed 

 limiting one day's bag to twenty-five. 



As to Thinking 



Speaking of the preservation of game, it is 

 interesting to observe how the wild horses are 

 still holding their own in some parts of the West 

 in spite of the fact that the settlers have fenced 

 in the water holes so that the animals might 

 perish of thirst. 



Why is it that you can hunt day after day 

 without catching sight of a deer in a country 

 where they are clamoring for an open season the 

 year round because the deer are destroying the 

 farmers' crops ? 



Why is it that we blame Providence for the 

 floods and famine which our own childish blun- 

 dering have produced ? 



There is no use in trying to preserve game 

 unless you think. There is no use attempting 

 to preserve the forests unless you think. 



To-day the far Northwestern country is 

 strewn with the bones of men who tried to travel 

 with their legs, but those who traveled with their 

 heads lived to return again and again. 



It is claimed that man is a reasoning animal. 

 This is misleading. Most of our minds are full 

 of the things of which we have heard, read or 

 seen. In other words, memory is used as a sub- 

 stitute for thought or reason. 



A mere handful of men do the thinking for 

 the world. Were it otherwise, this world might 

 be a veritable paradise. 



Labor follows the line of the least resistance 

 and it is easier to act as a poll parrot and repeat 

 the things other people have said than it is to 

 hurt the unused muscles of our brain evolving 

 ideas of our own. 



Our literature, art and religion as well as 

 what we eat, what we do, what we wear and 

 what we suppose we think is dictated by 

 fashion. 



No wonder that one is often seized with a wild 

 desire to break away from the irritating conven- 

 tionalities of life altogether, and become what is 

 known as a crank. 



A man often feels like throwing out his chest, 

 drawing in a long breath and bucking the load 

 from his shoulders which is bending his back, 

 a load composed not of the necessities of life but 

 what might be aptly termed the un -necessities. 



Even our economics are devised by fashion 

 and when men's noses are held on the grind- 

 stone year after year by a silly condition pro- 

 duced by an ignorance of political economy, 

 when their every move is governed by the dic- 

 tates of fashion, is it any wonder men become 

 restless ? 



Just think of it! Fashion is made by a lot of 

 effete, sissy men and brainless women. What 



wonder is it, then, that Lee Wilson Dodd gives 

 a despairing cry for MORE LIFE! MORE! 

 and appealing to the God of Action shouts: 



"God of Wanderers! Send me the seas! 



Blustering blue-throats shagged at the nape; 

 Shoulder me forth from my prison of ease, 



Spurn me from Cape to Cape ! 

 Lash me onward from Land to Land, 



Star-bronzed, stained with brine; 

 With the roofless reach of the Iris-spanned 



Soul's lust — that is Life — be mine!" 



This cry from a caged, rebellious soul appeals 

 to something responsive in every real man's 

 breast, until we all feel like joining his wild 

 prayer: 



"Or ever the sordid clutch of the years 

 Tear the leaping heart from my side, 

 Grant me a gust of laughter and tears 

 And the breathing Earth for bride!" 



Ah! The breathing earth! That's the talk! 

 What do we care for the cities, for the paved, 

 ill-smelling streets, for the civilization that pro- 

 duces a Tenderloin district in New York, a 

 Bucktown in Cincinnati, a Chinatown in San 

 Francisco, and a degraded, debauched police 

 force in every city! Give us the green earth for 

 our mother, our bride and our grave! 



As to Recreation 



Breathes there a man with soul so ossified he 

 has no interest in recreation — the refreshment 

 of his strength and spirit after toil? Well, not 

 exactly in our block. There once was an old 

 fellow 



It's an old story, and who could have the 

 effrontery to beard the money-grubber in his 

 den, and attempt to revindicate recreation? 

 And, anyway, may not he have a fairly good 

 form of amusement in counting and recounting 

 his horde, a crony with whom he plays penochle ? 

 Not legitimate, you say; but so long as the old 

 fellow's happy, why take him away from his 

 life ? It is enough that he is sick in the world's 

 regard, wretched and low. "Come away, come 

 away." 



Every one is interested in recreation and 

 Recreation is interested in every one. It is 

 a delightful mission, to make people happier and 

 better, knowing that no one is denied, no one 

 overlooked. Did we appeal only to any par- 

 ticular class or classes, make any distinction, 

 we should feel very differently. But Recrea- 

 tion is everybody's magazine, its one purpose 

 that of bringing humanity to take refreshment 

 of strength and spirit. Hence our radiated 

 happiness. 



Here's to the toil-weary and sad in heart! 

 May they join us, all, at the shrine of Recreation. 



