IF Thoreau had lived in this day and gen­eration, it is safe to say that he never would have written as he did, half a century or more ago, that he had met but one or two persons in his life who had "a genius," as he termed it, for walking. According to his notion "it requires a direct dispensation from Heaven to become a walker." There is a thought that ought to enable any dusty hiker to hold up his head and look haughty whenever a big touring car goes tearing past him on the road. It would almost seem to bring the Sun­day tramper within the pale, too. The fact of the matter is that Thoreau sowed a good many fertile thoughts of this nature that fell upon fallow ground. This one has been slowly germinating and steadily reproducing its kind in all these years, until to-day even the Concord hermit would doubtless be pleased to bestow an approving smile upon the moun­taineering and walking clubs, with member­ships running into the thousands, that are found from coast to coast. Even the Federal Government officers who have charge of our National Parks and National Forests find that the most appreciative visitors to those domains are not the automobile-borne tour­ists, but the pedestrians.

Thoreau's native New England is more and more coming to be regarded as one of the tramper's choicest fields. Where else in the country can there be found so many miles of attractive trails adapted to his purposes, or leading through a more varied landscape? True, that scenery may not be of the vast and awe-inspiring nature of the Grand Canyon, or the Yosemite, or of Mount Rainier, or of many of the other of our great Western play­grounds, but when attractive landscapes were being apportioned on this continent New Eng­land was not by any means ignored. Although none of the greatest of the monumental fea­tures were allotted here, the region did fall heir to much that was beautiful and inspir­ing, even if of a less spectacular nature. It would be difficult to find, the country over, such variety of ocean shore, of lake and river, of verdurous rolling upland, of upstanding mountain ranges.

Thoreau looked forward to a day when "possibly . . . fences shall be multiplied, and man-traps and other engines invented to confine men to the public road, and walking over the surface of God's earth shall be con­strued to mean trespassing on some gentle­man's grounds." He gloried in the fact that in his day "the landscape is not owned, and the walker enjoys comparative freedom." To a considerable extent his prophecy has been fulfilled, but may we not believe that his "possibly" denoted that he foresaw the like­lihood that Yankee democracy would one day find a remedy? Already the public im­portance of New England's scenery has been recognized  —  in spots  —  by her people, and reservations have been created at public ex­pense for the purpose of guarding unique features in the interest of the community. The native beauty of New England's land­scape, however, is not confined to spots, and its attractiveness will become more and more apparent as the improved roads stretch out, opening regions little visited to-day.

Even our highest courts have admitted that scenic beauty has a recognizable value which must be protected in the public inter­est. It was the Supreme Court of Massachu­setts that decided that a Berkshire trout-brook is of value to the public because of the rest, recreation, and enjoyment which it is capable of affording to those who visit it, and on that ground has upheld the constitution­ality of a law which prohibits the discharge of polluting material into such streams. A similar attitude was taken by a United States district judge in Colorado, who enjoined a power company from destroying a canyon waterfall which forms the chief scenic feature on the outskirts of the town of Cascade.

Such decisions are calculated to give pause to those who have contended that only the commercial development of our natural re­sources could be considered under the head of conservation in the interest of the public. The country has been coming to this grad­ually during the past fifty years, and one of the earliest public acts recognizing the in­trinsic value of scenery as a public asset was the creation of the Yellowstone National Park by Congressional enactment in 1872. The principle was also recognized by the historic White House Conference of Governors, and later it was expressed, more definitely even, in the official declaration of the National Conservation Commission, that "public lands more valuable for conserving . . . natural beauties or wonders than for agriculture should be held for the use of the people."

Switzerland long ago saw the wisdom of capitalizing her scenery. The millions of dollars that have been spent there yearly by those who sought refreshment amidst those scenes, attest to the business success of the idea. Canada, too, was prompt to appreciate this point, her Government cooperating in the opening-up of her superb mountain regions, so that their charms should be accessible to the traveler.

But it is not every one who can travel afar to see the glories of the Alps, of the Canadian Rockies, or of our own superb National Parks and Monuments. The beauties of the simple Berkshire trout-stream are important as conservators of the health and happiness of scores of the present generation, and of thousands of those who are to follow) and who shall say that these beauties are less sublime or less potent in inspiration and life-giving qualities than the much-advertised, and perhaps more spectacular, scenes of far-off states and foreign lands?

Under the economic arrangements of the present it is impossible to put a park fence around all creation, no matter how lovely it may be. There is a thought abroad in New England, though, that such reservations as we have might in a sense be linked together to form a sort of system that will extend even from Long Island Sound to the Quebec border, and from the Adirondacks to New Brunswick.

In this the aim is to devise means for a more complete opening-up of the scenery, particularly of the hill and mountain coun­try, through the development of a system of trunk trails, to be built and maintained as a coordinated enterprise, and linking up the great National Forest in the White Moun­tains, the State wild parks, State forests, and certain quasi-public forests and reservations maintained by educational and other institu­tions. Not all of these public properties are located among the highlands to be sure, but many of the largest areas are directly tribu­tary to the plan for a comprehensive system of through trails following the main moun­tain ridges, and crossing the wilder sections. It is along the ridges in particular where, in all probability, many more publicly owned forests will be established as the years go on, for it is essentially a feature of any plan to conserve our stream resources that their forested headwaters should be given ample protection against denudation.

As protectors of our streams, and as sources of future timber supplies, these public forests are of undoubted importance. That they are also destined to play an increasingly large part in the recreational life of the commu­nity there can be no question. Who will challenge the belief that this fostering of the public health and morals is of 4, less eco­nomic consequence than those more material phases first alluded to? Nor can there be any danger but that bringing the public into closer contact with its own forest property in this way will arouse a more intelligent interest in forestry in all its branches. Forest authorities everywhere seem to think that this is so, and they quite universally regard the recreational use of these properties as one of their most important functions.

Naturally it is our high country that at­tracts the summer tramper, and the White Mountains of New Hampshire, because of the facilities afforded to all comers in the shape of trails, rest-houses, and camps, supplied largely through the public-spirited activity of the Appalachian Mountain Club, and va­rious local improvement organizations, not to mention those handy adjuncts called hotels, which everywhere abound, has for a long time been the best-known and favorite rambling-ground. To Thoreau the "mountain houses," as he termed the local resort hotels of his day, were anathema, as from his point of view in 1858 they "render traveling there­abouts unpleasant." Doubtless to him such conveniences detracted from the primitive wildness that he craved in undiluted doses. Quite recently the Green Mountains of Ver­mont have come to bid for attention as a promising tramping section. When it comes to be generally known that there are possi­bilities in that line there, another splendid field will be afforded the pedestrian. The Long Trail. along the sky-line of the Green Moun­tain chain from the Massachusetts line to the Canadian border, as laid out by the Green Mountain Club, will offer three hundred miles and more of highland ways, nearly half of which are already open. The rest will come in time, making a walking route that will in all respects be as enjoyable as the long-celebrated path system of Germany's Black Forest.

Everywhere throughout New England mountain hamlets are found local clubs devoted to the development of their surround­ing heights as trampers' havens. It would not be surprising if another decade saw the realization of the hope for the New England system of through trails. While there will be few whose zeal, even though Heaven-in­spired, as Thoreau said, will lead them to attempt the complete round, the system will not supply more than enough trail to accom­modate the steadily increasing army of those who delight in the toting of the pack-bag. And so the spirit of Thoreau literally goes marching on.

A sunset from the crags of Mt. Monroe