THE FORESTER. 89 

do no permanent harm to the forest—rather the reverse. They certainly 
lower considerably the cost of interplanting. 
We foresters claim—and it is a claim that any one can satisfy himself about 
by taking a walk through the forests—we claim to be using and at the same time 
improving the forests in our charge. 
The forests at Knysna, and along the Amatolas, are managed on this system. 
The larger forests are divided up, and the small forests grouped together into 
a working unit called the “series.” In the Knysna Conservancy there are 
thirteen “series” with an average of about 4,000 acres each. 
One of the “series” in the Knysna Conservancy—that nearest George— 
has been so much overworked in the past that it has been entirely closed for the 
present. So there are now open and being worked at Knysna twelve forest 
‘sections’? or compartments averaging 100 acres each. Each year in each 
“series” a fresh ‘‘section” is opened. It will thus take forty years to work 
through each “series,” and at the end of that time the “sections” first opened 
for working in 1883 will again have mature wood grown up in them. You will 
understand that when a forest section is worked not all the trees are cut down, 
but only those that are mature. Who is to judge what trees are mature? In 
this lies the pith of the whole matter. 
ff you leave the judging to the woodcutter, as in the old days, he will very 
naturally judge those trees mature which suit his own convenience. He will pick 
out the best trees, and leave the worst to grow and form the forest of the future ; 
he will overwork and destroy the accessible forest, and leave mature timber to 
rot in the inaccessible forest. To avoid these evils each forest section, before 
being thrown open to the public, is thoroughly and closely examined by the 
Forest Department. Every tree in the section is inspected, and those which, 
looking at the future of the forest, should now be felled are numbered, measured, 
and entered in a book kept for the purposes. This is a long and tedious business, 
and occupies the conservator and foresters for several months. We are always 
glad when it is over. It is pleasant to walk through a marked section. At about 
every hundred yards (the distance depends on the density of the forest) lines 
termed virées have been cut to guide the workers. As one walks down these 
lines, or along an old slip-path, or occasionally along an elephant-path, the trees 
marked for felling come into view. Each of these doomed trees carries a large 
eross in red paint high on its trunk; at its foot, half-buried in fern and beautiful 
foliage, is a number, also in paint; and below all, probably on a gnarled root, 
is the Government stamp. With a little practice you will be able to see why 
each tree marked for felling has been selected. Here is a hoary old giant of several 
centuries’ growth, His massive limbs were flung out very much as they now are 
when the white man first came to the country; his bole runs up straight and 
cylindrical for forty or fifty feet like the columns in the aisle of a cathedral. No 
one cared to tackle him under the free-selection system, He may be still good 
timber, or he may be a mere rotten shell and too rotten already to work with 
profit. It is easy to see why he has been marked for felling! By his side stands 
a slender stripling. We wonder why this has been marked for felling. Surely 
it will be worth much more in forty years! But it bears the fatal red cross; 
and we look again. There on the other side of the trunk is a black streak; 
higher up a decayed branch. That tree is rotten at the heart. It must be cut 
down to make room for a sound tree. Whatever value it has is in the present. 
In marking the trees for felling in a forest section this is the principle followed : 
Unless there are cultural reasons to the contrary, every tree is marked for the axe that 
will not in forty years increase in value more than its present value put out at interest 
at 4 per cent. 
Not to detain you too long, I must touch very briefly on forest culture, or 
what is termed silviculture. Before a tree is marked for felling one has to look 
on the ground and look around to see what there is to replace it. No forester, 
if he can help it, makes a large gap in the forest. A gap in the forest is a 
dangerous thing: it lets in wind and sun. Wind may blow down the surrounding 
trees ; sun is more to be feared—it deteriorates the forest soil, induces a growth 
of grass and inflammable herbage. A sudden exposure to sun will kill the seed- 
lings of forest-trees. Stinkwood is especially tender in this respect. So you 
see that when a forester plods down the virée lines day after day marking the 
trees that are to be felled next year, he has plenty to think about, plenty to do; 
and when each year’s section of forest has been completely examined the most 
