We made up a hot whiskey before retiring to our downy couch. I think the word is "balmy" but Fred says no. The only trouble with the hot whiskey was that it cooled off while we were disrobing and Fred was afraid to drink it until he got into bed, for fear it would make him drunk. If Stewart Edward were here I would send him out in his birthday suit to rustle for birch-bark,- which he says will burn when wet. We didn't have a chance here to prove or disprove his statement, because I don't believe there is a birch tree within a mile of camp.

Fred made up a rhyme about the weather, which runs something like this,--

Oh, Mr. Weatherman!
Since you have out your rain-can,
Everything's as wet as it can be.
If you don't turn off the cock,
We will all be "watered stock."
Up here in the woods so fair and free.

It's all right but the "fair and free",- dark and dank would hit the general situation better,- at least today. After the aforesaid whiskey cocktail and three grains of quinine apiece, we slept like tops until morning.

Distance today,- nit.