The settlement of these treeless regions means the successful growth on every farm of at least several hundred trees. Without attempting to be statistical or exact, we might say that an acre of northern Minnesota pine trees makes it possible for a farmer in Dakota or Nebraska to have a house, farm buildings, and fences, with a holding of at least one hundred and sixty acres upon which he will successfully cultivate several acres of forest trees of different kinds. Even if the denuded pine lands of the region south and west of Lake Superior would not readily produce a second growth of dense forest—which, it should be said in passing, they certainly will—their loss would be far more than made good by the universal cultivation of forest trees in the prairie States. It is at least comforting to reflect, when the friends of scientific forestry warn us against the ruthless destruction of standing timber, that thus far at least in our Western history we have simply been cutting down trees in order to put a roof over the head of the man who was invading treeless regions for the purpose of planting and nurturing a hundred times as many trees as had been destroyed for his benefit! There is something almost inspiring in the contemplation of millions of families, all the way from Minnesota to Colorado and Texas, living in the shelter of these new pine houses and transforming the plains into a shaded and fruitful empire.
PIONEER LIFE IN THE SEVENTIES.
SLUICE-GATE.
The enormous expansion of our railway systems will soon have made it quite impossible for any of the younger generation to realize what hardships were attendant upon such limited colonization of treeless prairie regions as preceded the iron rails. In 1876 I spent the summer in a part of Dakota to which a considerable number of hardy but poor farmers had found their way and taken up claims. They could not easily procure wood for houses, no other ordinary building material was accessible, and they were living in half-underground "dugouts," so-called. There was much more pleasure and romance in the pioneer experiences of my own ancestors a hundred years ago, who were living in comfortable log-houses with huge fire places, and shooting abundant supplies of deer and wild turkey in the deep woods of southern Ohio. The pluck and industry of these Dakota pioneers, most of whom were Irish men and Norwegians, won my heartiest sympathy and respect. Poor as they were, they maintained one public institution in common—namely, a school, with its place of public assemblage. The building had no floor but the beaten earth, and, its thick walls were blocks of matted prairie turf, its roof also being of sods supported upon some poles brought from the scanty timber-growth along the margin of a prairie river. To-day these poor pioneers are enjoying their reward. Their valley is traversed by several railroads; prosperous villages have sprung up; their lands are of considerable value; they all live in well-built farm-houses; their shade trees have grown to a height of fifty or sixty feet; a bustling and ambitious city, with fine churches, opera-houses, electric illumination, and the most advanced public educational system, is only a few miles away from them. Such transformations have occurred, not alone in a few spots in Iowa and South Dakota, but are common throughout a region that extends from the British dominions to the Indian Territory, and from the Mississippi River to the Rocky Mountains—a region comprising more than a half-million square miles.
THE GRANARY OF THE WORLD.
BETWEEN THE MILLS.