ry teeming with poisonous insects, ticks, fever-bearing
mosquitoes; in a country where vegetation is unusually well armed with
thorns, spines and hooks, mostly poisonous; in a country where, oftener
than in any other a man is called upon to get down on his hands and
knees and crawl a few assorted abrading miles, it would seem an obvious
necessity to protect one's bare skin as much as possible. The only
reason given for these astonishing garments is that they are cooler and
freer to walk in. That I can believe. But they allow ticks and other
insects to crawl up, mosquitoes to bite, thorns to tear, and assorted
troubles to enter. And I can vouch by experience that ordinary breeches
are not uncomfortably hot or tight. Indeed, one does not get especially
hot in the legs anyway. I noticed that none of the old-time hunters like
Cuninghame or Judd wore shorts. The real reason is not that they are
cool, but that they are picturesque. Common belief to the contrary, your
average practical, matter-of-fact Englishman loves to dress up. I knew
one engaged in farming-picturesque farming-in our own West, who used
to appear at afternoon tea in a clean suit of blue overalls! It is a
harmless amusement. Our own youths do it, also, substituting chaps for
shorts, perhaps. I am not criticising the spirit in them; but merely
trying to keep mistaken shorts off you.

For leg gear I found that nothing could beat our American combination of
high-laced boots and heavy knit socks. Leather leggings are noisy, and
the rolled puttees hot and binding. Have your boots ten or twelve inches
high, with a flap to buckle over the tie of the laces, with soles of the
mercury-impregnated leather called "elk hide," and with small Hungarian
hobs. Your tent boy will grease these every day with "dubbin," of
which you want a good supply. It is not my intention to offer free
advertisements generally, but I wore one pair of boots all the time I
was in Africa, through wet, heat, and long, long walking. They were
in good condition when I gave them away finally, and had not started a
stitch. They were made by that excellent craftsman, A. A. Cutter, of
Eau Claire, Wis., and he deserves and is entirely welcome to this puff.
Needless to remark, I have received no especial favours from Mr. Cutter.

Six pairs of woollen socks, knit by hand, if possible-will be enough.
For evening, when you come in, I know nothing better than a pair of very
high moosehide moccasins. They shou