THE COMPLETE CHANGE 131 



to be triumphantly eaten on a stone in mid-stream. 

 It is a wonder if our angler does not so far imitate 

 the bird as to take a plunge himself before carrying 

 home the breakfast. 



We are content to acquiesce openly in the home 

 criticisms of camp cooking, founded, of course, on 

 nothing more substantial than a sense of feminine 

 difficulty in learning the art of man's inferiority on 

 that side. Cooking, however, is one of the most con- 

 servative of sciences, and the fact is that the camp 

 pot has yielded to unreverent hands some notable 

 secrets. A collection of all the vegetables of the 

 season sliced and braised in that accommodating 

 utensil, the camp kettle, furnishes a most profitable 

 meal. Camp omelettes frequently excel the best 

 products of Piccadilly, and the superior quality of 

 camp pancakes makes us wonder whether there is 

 not some special virtue in tossing them in the open air. 

 Then, with our simple apparatus, we can arrange to 

 perfection what our friends at home will not attempt 

 the self-cooked meal. All the while we are absent 

 in the mountains on a tramp or climb that takes from 

 breakfast to supper time, well-instructed fire and 

 water gently exchange caloric, and the meal is ready 

 as we drop in camp, the last ounce of walking power 

 gone from us. 



These are sordid details. We eat in town and we 

 eat on wild holiday, but there the resemblance ends. 

 We feel like souls newly escaped from the chrysalis, 

 when the eternal night air sweeps across the brow 

 and the myriad stars look down on the hill they have 

 seen built up, wiped down, dipped mile-deep in the sea 

 and raised again for the last hundred million years. 



