6o SUNSHINE AND SPORT IN 



retired to a hot bath and bed directly after supper, 

 leaving open two great windows that I might 

 sleep more soundly bathed in pure, cold mountain 

 air. Next morning I awoke to the glow of sunshine 

 and the song of many birds. The staccato of the 

 whip-poor-will and the more lingering carol of the 

 mocking-bird bade me look out on the lovely lake 

 that stretched its blue and golden mantle round 

 two walls of the inn. Bath and breakfast over, 

 we bowled away in a surrey drawn by a pair of 

 mountain greys that took those turnpike roads as 

 if they trod on air. My companion was Mr John 

 Burrowes, president of the hotel company, and 

 to his intimate knowledge of the district and of 

 wild life in America generally was owing much 

 of the pleasure of the day's outing. 



I have done but very little driving in my time, 

 preferring horseback, or, better still, going on foot 

 with rod or gun. In consequence, I treasure the 

 rare memories of any exceptionally enjoyable jaunt 

 on wheels — of sunset coachino- among: the tors of 

 Dartmoor, of one lovely excursion in the hills 

 that look down on Hobart, of a drive at day- 

 break to a meet of otter hounds somewhere near 

 Beaumaris, in the company of the late squire of 

 Vaynol, with whom I was staying at the time. To 

 these, and a few beside, must now be added the 

 memory of that long day in the surrey, skirting the 

 shores of three lakes dotted with boatloads of busy 

 anglers, broken by the rising of trout, and mirroring 

 the flight of wildfowl, and up the side of a mountain, 

 at the summit of which we lunched in the clouds. 



Mr Burrowes seemed to know every tree in every 

 o-lade. With that curious combination of the artistic 



to 



