84 SHOOTING THE GROUSE 



or leapt a stream, and to whom heather and rock, 

 bracken and pine are as unknown as the Ovis Poll 

 to an Islington butcher. 



Bound as you are for the land where these gifts 

 of Nature, added to the charms of stag, salmon, and 

 grouse, await you in plenty, the contrast between your 

 happy state of mind and the cheerless, airless lives of 

 these people is brought vividly before you, and you 

 must give a glance of sincere pity to the groups of pallid 

 faces whiter and thinner, it seems to you, than usual 

 huddled together in dark doorways, or peering 

 hungrily from cellar gratings. 



But you and I were not ' born to set it right '- 

 here is the great railway station looming dark but 

 welcome through the fog, the narrow shave of an 

 upset as you drive in at the tall narrow gates, the line 

 of flashing lamps and eager porters, and as you leap 

 *o the ground and hand your minor baggage to the 

 old man with a face like a winter apple, and well- 

 worn patches of grey on the familiar green corduroy, 

 the squalor of the Dials passes from your mind, and 

 cheerfully you set your face towards the North. 



Tickets are taken, luggage stowed, dogs bundled 

 in, rod, gun, rifle, and cartridge cases carefully seen 

 to, book selected, sleeping berth inspected, and ere 

 you have quite finished the final instructions to 



