and tumbling rocks from the tops of projecting cliffs is the spice of life in the engineering enterprises which a camp full of male North Americans are sure to set afoot—such as enlarging the entrance of a cave, constructing a graded trail to the next spring, to the next wagon-road, or to a favorite lookout point.
Enterprises of that sort involve a good deal of grubbing and chopping, but a suit of Turner Khaki makes work pleasant. The despotism of fashion is not recognized in mountain camps. A pair of linen trousers, a hunting shirt, and loose necktie suffice for a hygienic summer-dress. In the afternoon remove the necktie and roll up the sleeves. It can do no harm to imbibe fresh air by all available means and let the cutaneous lungs share in the luxury. Nor is there any excuse for the widespread fallacy that it is dangerous, even in the most sultry nights, to remove the bed-blankets. Kick them into the farthest corner if they become too warm, and sleep in your shirt and drawers, or under a linen bed-sheet. Half-naked lazzaroni sleep the year round on the stone terrace of the Museo Borbonico, and outlive the asthmatic burghers in their sweat-box dormitories.
