To Mountain Tarn 



a wild walk. At the end whereof was a sleepy 

 hamlet ; in very deep sleep indeed. This hamlet 

 awoke to the possibilities of the links and claimed 

 its share. There, too, the whins are passing, the 

 bents are tamed or replaced by smoother turf; 

 an olden nesting site is a putting green; its olden 

 birds, so long undisturbed save by the nut- 

 gatherers, are gone. 



The two hamlets have entered into partnerr 

 ship. The outgoing players from the one pass 

 the players from the other, and on returning 

 pass them once again. So they circle round. 

 And this is but the beginning. Whatever wild- 

 ness there is remains to be subdued. 



Elsewhere, in this golfing county, men are 

 equally busy. Dunes, the natural outworks of 

 such a scene, are being softened, and the bents 

 which waved in the sea breeze over the nests are 

 shorn ; until, as far as I can think, only one 

 stretch is left where breeding may be done in 

 peace. Happily, it is great and ample. Thither 

 the ousted birds have directed their flight, and 

 there the olden tenants of many a links must 

 have gathered. 



Even that has been threatened. The eyes of 

 golfing clubs have been upon it. These atten- 

 tions will not cease. It is too tempting to be let 

 alone. Should it be invaded, the last refuge will 

 be indeed gone. The good sense of the pro- 

 prietor, with a little backing from such as care for 



'43 



