about the campfire, wet the corner of your handkerchief and rub
it off, not forgetting to apply the varnish at once, wherever you have
cleaned it off. Last summer I carried a cake of soap and a towel in my
knapsack through the North Woods for a seven weeks' tour and never used
either a single time. When I had established a good glaze on the skin,
it was too valuable to be sacrificed for any weak whim connected with
soap and water. When I struck a woodland hotel, I found soap and towels
plenty enough. I found the mixture gave one's face the ruddy tanned
look supposed to be indicative of health and hard muscle. A thorough
ablution in the public wash basin reduced the color, but left the skin
very soft and smooth; in fact, as a lotion for the skin it is
excellent. It is a soothing and healing application for poisonous bites
already received.

I have given some space to the insect question, but no more than it
deserves or requires. The venomous little wretches are quite important
enough to spoil many a well planned trip to the woods and it is best to
beat them from the start. You will find that immunity from insects and
a comfortable camp are the two first and most indispensable requisites
of an outing in the woods.

And just here I will briefly tell how a young friend of mine went to
the woods, some twenty-five years ago. He was a bank clerk and a good
fellow withal, with a leaning toward camp-life.

For months, whenever we met, he would introduce his favorite topics,
fishing, camping out, etc. At last in the hottest of the hot months,
the time came. He put in an appearance with a fighting cut on his hair,
a little stiff straw hat and a soft skin, bleached by long confinement
in a close office. I thought he looked a little tender; but he was
sanguine. He could rough it, could sleep on the bare ground with the
root of a tree for a pillow; as for mosquitoes and punkies, he never
minded them.

We went in a party of five--two old hunters and three youngsters, the
latter all enthusiasm and pluck--at first. Toward the last end of a
heavy eight-mile tramp, they grew silent and slapped and scratched
nervously. Arriving at the camping spot, they worked fairly well, but
were evidently weakening a little. By the time we were ready to turn in
they were reduced pretty well to silence and suffering--especially the
bank clerk, Jean L. The punkies were eager for his tender skin and they
were rank poison to him. He muffled his head in