a a a All who visit the wilder parts of
Britain must wonder a little at their Joneliness. I spent a day recently on a grouse moor in the West. It belongs, so to say, to the public. Much of it, that is to say, is common ground, qualified by certain Manorial rights, especially the priyilege of Shooting game. Incidentally even close to London, golf clubs have hitherto obtained their powers by hiring from the Lord of the Manor " the shooting rights:" In spite 'of the half-popular ownership, the loveliness of the place and its accessibility, I saw all day no single human being, nor any sign of one. Except for the rather tumbledown grouse butts, ranged in lines just below the ridges of the hills, and burnt patches of heather, you would not even infer the presence of man. As for the butts them- selves, they were chiefly remarkable for the signs of the presence of hawks of various species. It was interesting among the pellets found there to note how large a part of the bird's diet consisted of beetles.
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