spensably necessary for the preservation of the water supply and for
rendering possible its useful distribution throughout the proper
seasons. In addition, however, to the economic use of the wilderness by
preserving it for such purposes where it is unsuited for agricultural
uses, it is wise here and there to keep selected portions of it--of
course only those portions unfit for settlement--in a state of nature,
not merely for the sake of preserving the forests and the water, but for
the sake of preserving all its beauties and wonders unspoiled by greedy
and shortsighted vandalism. These beauties and wonders include animate
as well as inanimate objects. The wild creatures of the wilderness add
to it by their presence a charm which it can acquire in no other way. On
every ground it is well for our nation to preserve, not only for the
sake of this generation, but above all for the sake of those who come
after us, representatives of the stately and beautiful haunters of the
wilds which were once found throughout our great forests, over the vast
lonely plains, and on the high mountain ranges, but which are now on the
point of vanishing save where they are protected in natural breeding
grounds and nurseries. The work of preservation must be carried on in
such a way as to make it evident that we are working in the interest of
the people as a whole, not in the interest of any particular class; and
that the people benefited beyond all others are those who dwell nearest
to the regions in which the reserves are placed. The movement for the
preservation by the nation of sections of the wilderness as national
playgrounds is essentially a democratic movement in the interest of all
our people.

[Illustration: "OOM JOHN."]

On April 8, 1903, John Burroughs and I reached the Yellowstone Park and
were met by Major John Pitcher of the Regular Army, the Superintendent
of the Park. The Major and I forthwith took horses; he telling me that
he could show me a good deal of game while riding up to his house at the
Mammoth Hot Springs. Hardly had we left the little town of Gardiner and
gotten within the limits of the Park before we saw prong-buck. There
was a band of at least a hundred feeding some distance from the road. We
rode leisurely toward them. They were tame compared to their kindred in
unprotected places; that is, it was easy to ride within fair rifle range
of them; but they were not familiar in the sense that we afterwords
found the