The Forest. Stewart Edward White

The Forest - Stewart Edward White


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       Stewart Edward White

      The Forest

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4064066229559

       I.

       THE CALLING.

       II.

       THE SCIENCE OF GOING LIGHT.

       III.

       THE JUMPING-OFF PLACE.

       IV.

       ON MAKING CAMP.

       V.

       ON LYING AWAKE AT NIGHT.

       VI.

       THE 'LUNGE.

       VII.

       ON OPEN-WATER CANOE TRAVELLING.

       VIII.

       THE STRANDED STRANGERS.

       IX.

       ON FLIES.

       X.

       CLOCHE.

       XI.

       THE HABITANTS.

       XII.

       THE RIVER.

       XIII.

       THE HILLS.

       XIV.

       ON WALKING THROUGH THE WOODS.

       XV.

       ON WOODS INDIANS.

       XVI.

       ON WOODS INDIANS (continued) .

       XVII.

       THE CATCHING OF A CERTAIN FISH.

       XVIII.

       MAN WHO WALKS BY MOONLIGHT.

       XIX.

       APOLOGIA.

       SUGGESTIONS FOR OUTFIT.

       THE END.

       Table of Contents

       Table of Contents

      "The Red Gods make their medicine again."

      Some time in February, when the snow and sleet have shut out from the wearied mind even the memory of spring, the man of the woods generally receives his first inspiration. He may catch it from some companion's chance remark, a glance at the map, a vague recollection of a dim past conversation, or it may flash on him from the mere pronouncement of a name. The first faint thrill of discovery leaves him cool, but gradually, with the increasing enthusiasm of cogitation, the idea gains body, until finally it has grown to plan fit for discussion.

      Of these many quickening potencies of inspiration, the mere name of a place seems to strike deepest at the heart of romance. Colour, mystery, the vastnesses of unexplored space are there, symbolized compactly for the aliment of imagination. It lures the fancy as a fly lures the trout. Mattágami, Peace River, Kánanaw, the House of the Touchwood Hills, Rupert's House, the Land of Little Sticks, Flying Post, Conjuror's House--how the syllables roll from the tongue, what pictures rise in instant response to their suggestion! The journey of a thousand miles seems not too great a price to pay for the sight of a place called the Hills of Silence, for acquaintance with the people who dwell there, perhaps for a glimpse of the saga-spirit that so named its environment. On the other hand, one would feel but little desire to visit Muggin's Corners, even though at their crossing one were assured of the deepest flavour of the Far North.

      The first response to the red god's summons is almost invariably the production of a fly-book and the complete rearrangement of all its contents. The next is a resumption of practice with the little pistol. The third, and last, is pencil and paper, and lists of grub and duffel, and estimates of routes and expenses, and correspondence with men who spell queerly, bear down heavily with blunt


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