230 HAPPY HUNTING-GROUNDS 



size of the bag appeals to me less and less, and I become 

 more and more convinced that the best and truest 

 sport is that in which you seek out and get wild game 

 for yourself, with no other companion than some old 

 and tried four-footed friend. If there are any who 

 agree with me in this, and have time and opportunity 

 for a holiday at Christmas, I can recommend Scotland, 

 preferably one of the countless islands, great and small, 

 which constitute the archipelago of the Hebrides. 

 You may answer that the days are short. Well, 

 anticipate Mr. Willett and the Daylight Bill, and 

 make an early breakfast and start, and you will be 

 ready enough for an arm-chair and a pipe by the time 

 the sun sets, if you have worked your hardest through 

 fir plantations and birch scrub, and over rock, heather, 

 and bog. Perhaps it may rain that I cannot deny 

 but it will do you no manner of harm if you keep 

 going while you are out, and change into a dry suit 

 and slippers when you get home. If you have any 

 more excuses to urge, I will argue with you no longer. 

 Stick to your covert-side crawling with hand-reared 

 pheasants, your stove-warmed tent for lunch, your 

 three hot courses, and your champagne ; but I doubt 

 if your pleasure will equal that of the impecunious 

 sportsman who is spending a brief holiday in some 

 distant and, perhaps, not very commodious inn, round 

 which he has acquired the right of roaming over quite 

 a large tract of country for a sum which does not 

 constitute too heavy a drain upon his scanty means. 

 The bays and inlets will be full of wild ducks, widgeon 

 and pochard ; the golden plover will be feeding on the 

 links ; you will be pretty sure of getting some snipe 

 and woodcock, and possibly, if you are on an island 



