168 
April, 1921 
FOREST AND STR E A M 
A TRIBUTE TO FRANK FORESTER 
To the Editor of Forest and Stream: 
A FTER the lapse of a lengthy period 
marked by growing appreciation 
and increasing interest the sportsmen 
of America have decided to observe 
Frank Forester Day, and with this 
worthy object in view a pageant, both 
spectacular and fitting, was staged at 
Warwick, N. Y., October 23rd last, just 
sixty-two years after this sturdy cham- 
pion of all manly sports died by his own 
hand at the Stevens House, in New 
York City. 
Frank Forester’s sun rose brightly 
in the literary world and his career was 
brilliant, but its latter part was be- 
clouded somewhat by misunderstand- 
ings and the unfortunate estrangement 
of friends. After his demise several 
persons, through motives of revenge, 
attempted to dim the luster of his fame 
by giving publicity to mischievous ru- 
moi's regarding his habits and mode of 
living, but staunch admirers came to 
his rescue and put at rest these malig- 
nant and ill-befitting imputations. 
It is not our purpose to attempt 
■■a memoir of this brilliant and gifted 
■author, but rather to examine and em- 
phasize the priceless heritage he left the 
American people in the form of teach- 
ings calculated to stimulate an interest 
in outdoor life and thus develop a race 
of manly and virile men. 
There are two paragraphs from his 
“Fugitive Sporting Sketches,” collected 
and preserved to posterity by Will 
Wildwood, that best serve our purpose. 
They cannot be read too often and we 
may, therefore, be forgiven for quoting 
them in their entirety: 
“There is certainly no more manly, 
no more salubrious, no more animating 
sport than the pursuit of game, with 
the trained dog and gun. It naturally 
induces hardihood and strength of limb, 
freeness of breath, vigor of constitu- 
tion; it makes men familiar with those 
works of God, in the field and forest, 
which are unknown to the dwellers of 
pent cities. To the studious and sedent- 
ary scholar, it is a salutary change of 
habits, a better tonic and restorative 
than any bark or bitters; to the rich 
citizen, the man of wealth, luxury 
and leisure, it is almost the only thing 
that shall save him from driveling down 
into a mere gluttonous sensualist, or 
worse yet into a mere effeminate man- 
milliner. It leads us into the wildest 
and the fairest scenes of nature ; it 
brings us quietly to think and ponder 
within ourselves; it teaches us the hab- 
its and instincts of those inferior ani- 
mals which we too much incline to 
undervalue; it causes us to weigh their 
instincts, to compare them with our 
own boasted reason; it discovers to us 
that the poorest bird, the humblest 
quadruped, has gifts and attributes 
greater than we possess, and exquisite- 
ly suited to its wants. 
“Does it not lead us, then, to self- 
examination in some sort and to hu- 
mility? To the knowledge of ourselves, 
of our fellow men, and of the great 
works of our Maker?” 
In all the realm of literature is there 
anything truer, or more impressive, or 
better calculated to prompt and stimu- 
late healthy thought? Here we have 
the philosophy of the plains and the 
hills read in the treasures ’neath the 
open sky, far away from the thronged 
thoroughfares of man-built cities. 
What has made the English race but 
its love of outdoor life and manly 
sports? What can be of more para- 
mount importance than development 
and care of the body? Is 'a disordered 
mind housed in a healthy frame? Right 
living comes with right thinking and 
right thinking comes with that glow 
of health we get under the empyrean 
stretches of the fleece-bedecked sky, 
where brooks babble and birds warble 
and the shafts of sunlight make ver- 
dant the silently creeping grasses. All 
these things Frank Forester told us with 
his facile and graceful pen. But he did 
not stop here. He taught us to love wild 
life and the wonder of Nature through 
the medium of his sporting tales told in 
a smooth and flowing style. He taught 
us to go forth to the chase that begets 
hardihood and manhood, and that teach- 
es us to observe, and to love and cher- 
ish the faunal and floral wonders that 
best illustrate the works of the Maker. 
It is unfortunate that with wealth 
and the refinements of civilization come 
effeminacy and a tendency to forego 
those primitive pleasures that make for 
a robust body and lusty courage. There 
are even members of our citizenry who 
decry the game of football, calling it 
hazardous and brutal, but a wise and 
far-sighted editor has pointed out that 
a broken leg or broken arm is better 
than a dwindling, dwarfish race of men 
degenerating physically and mentally. 
An authority has stated that the lit- 
erary labors of Frank Forester would 
fill two hundred volumes. In this vast 
aggregation are many literary gems, 
and all give proof of consummate 
knowledge of the various subjects treat- 
ed. His range was wide and each sub- 
ject was treated with thoroughness and 
marked fidelity. Many of his matchless 
stories were written during the long 
winter evenings at his cottage tucked 
away among the wind-tossed cedars 
overlooking the Passaic. 
Thackeray in his graceful little trib- 
ute to the artist Leslie, who left unfin- 
ished a painting at the time of his 
death, has us believe the master hand 
of the artist will complete its work in 
some other sphere. And shall we not 
hope, too, that the noble hand of our 
brilliant and versatile author may con- 
tinue its labors and thus delight the 
fancies and warm the cockles of sports- 
men’s hearts in some other realm? 
Surely such a hope is not inconsistent 
with the stern quality of our reason 
and tenets. As he closed his eyes to 
cross the “Great Divide” let us hope 
that he opened them in a sylvan dell 
where sprites with elfin grace were 
dancing away halcyon hours; and 
where, at times, he may listen to the 
sweetest of all music, the silken rust- 
ling of the wings of myriads of wild- 
fowl overhead; and where, when the 
leaves turn yellow and crimson, he may 
stroll afield with those two boon com- 
panions, a dog and a gun, and live in 
mellowed fullness the old days over 
again. 
J. William Yates, Jr., 
Washington, D. C. 
THE ALLAGASH CANOE TRIP 
To the Editor of Forest and Stream: 
'VW'HENEVER the Maine Woods are 
W spoken of we instinctively think 
of the great out-of-doors, but if you 
really want to forget business cares and 
get a real touch of nature make the 
Allagash canoe trip. 
You need not worry about the details, 
except your personal outfit including 
your favorite rods and flies, just write 
to Tom Snow, Northeast Carry, Moose- 
head Lake, Maine, advise him of the 
number in your party and the time of 
your arrival and he will have guides, 
canoes and the grub all ready. The 
evening train out of Boston will land 
you at Greenville, Maine, at eleven the 
next morning and it is a delightful five 
hour run on the Moosehead Lake boat to 
Tom Snow’s comfortable camp at North- 
east Carry. You may be sure of a 
hearty welcome as it was in my case 
when I met Anthony LeVasseur, the 
French-Canadian guide, who was to go 
with me. 
During the evening we packed the out- 
fit necessary for the fifteen day trip and 
early the next morning we loaded the 
canoe and outfit on an auto and made 
the two mile run to the Penobscot River 
where the real canoe trip started. We 
