potato. Then drain off the
water and set the kettle in a hot place with the lid partly off. Take
them out only as they are wanted; lukewarm potatoes are not good, They
will be found about as good as potatoes can be, when cooked in their
jackets. But there is a better way, as thus: Select enough for a mess
of smooth, sound tubers; pare them carefully, taking off as little as
possible, because the best of the potato lies nearest the skin, and
cook as above. When done, pour the water off to the last drop; sprinkle
a spoonful of salt and fine cracker crumbs over them; then shake, roll
and rattle them in the kettle until the outsides are white and floury.
Keep them piping hot until wanted, It is the way to have perfect boiled
potatoes.

Many outers are fond of roast potatoes in camp; and they mostly spoil
them in the roasting, although there is no better place than the
campfire in which to do it. To cook them aright, scoop out a basin-like
depression under the fore-stick, three or four inches deep and large
enough to hold the tubers when laid side by side; fill it with bright,
hardwood coals and keep up a strong heat for half an hour or more.
Next, clean out the hollow, place the potatoes in it and cover them
with hot sand or ashes, topped with a heap of glowing coals, and keep
up all the heat you like. In about twenty minutes commence to try them
with a sharpened hardwood sliver; when this will pass through them they
are done and should be raked out at once. Run the sliver through them
from end to end, to let the steam escape and use immediately, as a
roast potato quickly becomes soggy and bitter. I will add that, in
selecting a supply of potatoes for camp, only the finest and smoothest
should be taken.

A man may be a trout-crank, he may have been looking forward for ten
weary months to the time when he is to strike the much dreamed of
mountain stream, where trout may be taken and eaten without stint.
Occasionally--not often--his dream is realized, For two or three days
he revels in fly-fishing and eating brook trout. Then his enthusiasm
begins to subside. He talks less of his favorite flies and hints that
wading hour after hour in ice-water gives him cramps in the calves of
his legs. Also, he finds that brook trout, eaten for days in
succession, pall on the appetite. He hankers for the flesh-pots of the
restaurant and his soul yearns for the bean-pot of home.

Luckily, some one has brought a sack of white beans, and t