296 
FOREST A X D S T R E A M 
June, 1919 
Vacation in the Pine 
Scented Lakelands 
of Canada 
In the “Highlands of Ontario,” 
that wonderful region of scenic 
beauty, you can Fish, Swim, 
Golf, Canoe, Camp, Hunt — 
spend a vacation you will never 
regret or forget. Mirror - like 
lakes set in the grandeur of 
forests of pine and balsam. 
The purest of air, 1,000 to 
2,000 feet above the sea, and 
hay fever is unknown. 
Famous Playgrounds for 
Outdoor Men and Women 
“Algonquin Park” — -“30,000 
Islands of Georgian Bay” — 
“Kawartha Lakes”— “Muskoka 
Lakes” — “Timagami” and the 
“Lake of Bays.” Modern 
hotels — or “rough” it if you 
prefer. Any Grand Trunk 
Agent will gladly plan your 
trip for you. Write any of 
the following for descriptive 
literature: 
C. G. Orttenhurger, 907 Merchants Loan &, Trust B!dg., 
Chicago. Ml. 
W. R. Eastman. Room 510, 294 West Washington St., 
Boston. Mass. 
H. M. Morgan. 1019 Chamber of Commerce Building. 
Buffalo. N. Y. 
J. H. Burgis. 819 Dime Bank Building. Detroit, Mich. 
A. B. 'Chown, 1270 Broadway, New York City. N. Y. 
For adul'-s. hoy's or girl’s camp sites apply to H. R. 
Charlton. General Passenger Department. Montreal. 
RiderAgents_Wanfed 
Every where to ride and exhibit<^^ ^-~ C , ■ 
the new Ranger“IVIotorbilce”com- 
pletely equipped with electric light 
and born, carrier, stand, tool tank, 
coaster*brake. mud guards and 
anti'Skid tires.Choice of 44 other 
styles, colors and sizes ip the fa* 
mou8 **Ranger*^ line of bicycles. 
DELIVERCO FREE on approval 
and 30 DAYS TRIAL. Send for big 
free catalog and particulars of our 
Factory-direcUto^RideT marvelous 
offers and terms. 
TIREQ Lamps, Homs, Wheels, 
I lilbv Sundries, and parts for 
all bicycles — at half usual prices. 
SEND NO MONEY but tell us _ 
exactly what you need. Do not buy until you 
get our prices, terms and the big FREE catalog. 
nil c A CYCLE COMPANY , 
lYlfcAIJ Pept.L234CHlCAGO^ 
ACCURATE AMM®UNITION 
^ WORK 
SHOOTERS SUPPLIES 
T. T. Pierce 
Arm, and Ammunlton Expert 
25B W. 34:h St.. New York City. 
SALESMEN AND CAMPING 
HOW THE MAN WHO SELLS OUTFITS CAN MAKE 
OR UNMAKE THE PROSPECTIVE TENT DWELLER 
By EDWARD RUSSELL WILBUR 
LMOST all men labor 
under a mistake. 
Clenched in their 
fists, when they come 
into the world, is the 
decree of fate com- 
monly called neces- 
sity. They are 
trained and cast into 
the ring to fight an 
unlimited number of 
rounds for the “treas- 
ures of life which 
moth and rust will corrupt and men break 
through and steal.” Between rounds 
they indulge in rest periods in which 
high-powered cars, impossible menus, 
bubbles, and thin stemmed glasses figure 
largely as recreation. 
The fight goes on and on, never to a 
draw. There is a knockout and a new 
victim. He in turn to garner the golden 
shekels and trickle them through his 
fingers for a time and then pass on to 
the end of the passage. The earth, un- 
known to him who walked the flagged 
and tunneled streets of the city, covers 
him, and he goes from the world, know- 
ing it only through the haze of years as 
a busy mart of trade, from which he 
was never able to glean one short vaca- 
tion from the ceaseless round. 
From the cave, man advanced to roofs 
of thatch, then to walls of bark and beds 
of boughs, and on to walls of cement and 
stone, until now he is so walled in that 
life in the open air, the one great free 
gift that comes to rich and poor alike, 
is cast aside a thing unknown. Rents 
and taxes are paid, so he may live in a 
luxurious box. Germs and unclean things 
are hoarded and piped in and lived with, 
from day to day. How happens it that 
he who hoards his gold to buy these 
things is so poor a civilized man. What 
has he to gloat over when the dwellers 
in tents and wigwams meet him on the 
foot bridge across the last river of doubt? 
Through all the great range of sport 
with rod and gun we come back to the 
camp fire and the bit of shelter in the 
open places. 
The camp’s the thing to shame the 
palace of a king. But as this good sal- 
esman will tell you, the horrors of leak- 
ing walls, burnt biscuit, sleepless nights, 
and smoking torches are not of this day. 
We are not to be a wearer of skins, an 
eater of raw meat, but rather a primeval 
graduate, a far-wiser savage. 
Ah ! a confession of interest ! The 
salesman awakens a long dormant brain 
cell, clogged and unused since the days 
our forefathers chased each other 
through the branches of the tall trees. 
So far so good. “Oh, ye, of little faith,” 
we will pass beneath your nostrils the 
sweet smell of the green meadows, to 
your ears the music of a little brook that 
runs from rocks to roses with rapid 
change, your eye, ah yes, much shall 
you see denied your shackled brother of 
the walled in town. You shall see the 
dawn push aside the black curtain of 
night and come to you through the tangle 
of stars, you shall see the lark, fresh 
from his dew bath in the daisy meadows, 
make love to his lady in the spring. 
But where, oh yes, my salesman, 
where? Why, there is a spot so near 
you where you can pitch a tent and draw 
about you a wilderness that almost from 
the salesroom window we can hear the 
brook and the soft sighing of a thousand 
leaves. Its yours, the place, go find it, 
get out in the open, get close to the bone 
where it is sweetest. 
Men go to Africa to chase the giraffe. 
How long could a man find enjoyment in 
the chase of this long-necked antelope? 
You can go to your Africa with your 
house on your back, and your two legs 
to carry you. And w-hen you arrive and 
pitch your tent a more interesting pas- 
time than gathering giraffes awaits you 
in every nook and corner of your wilder- 
ness. 
If you pitch your tent in a corner of 
an old New England farm, fenced in by 
a jazzing, rambling old rail fence, night 
will come and pull down a black curtain 
that will shut out from you the garish, 
side hill country mansion with its ornate 
cornice and its glittering shingle roof. 
You won’t see the ribbon of Macadum 
road, swarming with chattering mon- 
sters on rubber wheels. 
The old stars that blazed w-hen the 
skids were kicked out from under the 
world at its launching, will twinkle at 
you, and just beyond the flickering camp 
fire blaze, is a land of wolves and feath- 
ered warriors whose blood red eyes gleam 
through the night and where the war 
whoop seems ever possible. 
B ut to get back to our salesman. 
You have come in to see him. The 
doctor has w-isely recommended a 
change of air and scenery. You feel a 
great desire to get away from the 
cramped up life you are leading, to for- 
sake the familiar haunts of your dailj 
grind, where in the walls and the floors 
and in the very bed you sleep on, are 
ground the worries, disappointments and 
sorrows of the past few years. 
What can the salesman do for you? 
Why, he can show you a tent, a bed, 
blankets, everything up to a fry pan, but 
best of all he can put you into a bit of 
paradise w-here you will really live. 
Forest and Stream believes it is up to 
the salesman to give the buyer more than 
the bare service of selling. A tent in a 
canvas bag at so much per, is not to the 
prospective camper much of a proposi- 
tion, but the salesman who sells that 
same tent as if it stood in a grove of 
white birches, puts the sweet green grass 
at its door and tells you of the wood’s 
people waiting for you, has made a new 
man of you. Men take to this camping 
(continued on page 300 ) 
