The sticking-point, were you to press me close, would be the definition
of the word "necessary," for the terms of such definition would have to
be those solely and simply of a man's experience. Comforts, even most
desirable comforts, are not necessities. A dozen times a day trifling
emergencies will seem precisely to call for some little handy
contrivance that would be just the thing, were it in the pack rather
than at home. A disgorger does the business better than a pocket-knife;
a pair of oilskin trousers turns the wet better than does kersey; a
camp-stove will burn merrily in a rain lively enough to drown an open
fire. Yet neither disgorger, nor oilskins, nor camp-stove can be
considered in the light of necessities, for the simple reason that the
conditions of their use occur too infrequently to compensate for the
pains of their carriage. Or, to put it the other way, a few moments'
work with a knife, wet knees occasionally, or an infrequent soggy meal
are not too great a price to pay for unburdened shoulders.

Nor on the other hand must you conclude that because a thing is a mere
luxury in town, it is nothing but that in the woods. Most woodsmen own
some little ridiculous item of outfit without which they could not be
happy. And when a man cannot be happy lacking a thing, that thing
becomes a necessity. I knew one who never stirred without borated
talcum powder; another who must have his mouth-organ; a third who was
miserable without a small bottle of salad dressing; I confess to a pair
of light buckskin gloves. Each man must decide for himself--remembering
always the endurance limit of human shoulders.

A necessity is that which, _by your own experience_, you have
found you cannot do without. As a bit of practical advice, however, the
following system of elimination may be recommended. When you return