CHAPTER VI 



SEFARI LIFE 



HOWEVER reluctant you may be to leave your com- 

 fortable camp bed, it is well to force yourself to 

 rigorously maintain the habit of early rising. 



The first hours of the morning are far the best of the 

 day, are indeed an unmixed delight. 



If you are on the plain, all the world shines with a sil- 

 very glitter as the first level sunbeams fall on the dew. 

 The tough-jointed stem of the grass carries a heavy and 

 bushy head; when you press through, it may reach to your 

 waist, or even to the shoulders, and every several head will 

 seem to carry, for your special discomfiture, not less than 

 a cup full of icy water. 



Take the plunge, if you are afoot, as quickly as you may. 

 No clothing devised by man will keep you dry for ten 

 minutes. But there are compensations. In two hours' 

 time you will be dry and warm again. Meanwhile, if you 

 have eyes in your head, and will but look before you, you 

 will see, spread for your delight, such a play of sunshine 

 on the steamy vapours, such a wonderland of silvery crys- 

 tal, with miniature, iridescent rainbows everywhere peep- 

 ing in and out of it, as no man ever looked on, out of Africa. 



The plunge is cold, but it is a plunge into a veritable 

 silvery sea; and yet "silvery" fails to convey any idea of 

 the clearness and radiance of its beauty. 



If the sun is still low in the heavens at your back, the 

 grass wears a shining halo round the long-thrown shadow of 

 your head and shoulders as you move along. You might 

 fee a mighty Gulliver, striding, waist high, above the forests 



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