A "Strictly Preserved" Mountain.-" Small Holdings" on the Moors. -Half a Yard of Shooting.-Waiting for a Chance Shot.Trespassers Beware.-The Village of Hayfield.-A Preliminary Stroll.-Evening Talk.-Mad Jack and his Advice.-The Road to "t' Scout."-The River Sett.-A Warning to Strangers.Old Pits Plantation.-The Heron Rock.-View of the Scout.Character of the Scenery.-Mill Hill and Hollinhead.-Moss and Boulders.-The Mermaid's Pool.-" Go back, Go back!"The Green Oases.-Peat Trenches and Gullies.-The Kinder Fall.-Redbrook.-Joseph Rocks.-The Old Smithy.-A Shooting Cabin.-The Three Knolls.-Stoneyford.-Birds and Trees. -The Cattle Salesman and the Drover -A Story of Prison Life. What was done to the Cobbler.-T' Feesh-pond and t' Kara-wan.-A Lesson for Jo.-Voices of the Night.

My next visit to the "Scout" was made in the early summer of the present year (1880), from Hayfield, a village which has the advantage of standing almost in

the centre of the wildest scenery in Derbyshire. The first discovery which my inquiries brought to light was that the Kinderscout is regarded as strictly private property, and that it is divided up among numerous holders, almost all of whom are at loggerheads with each other and with the public. The mountain-for one may so speak of it, seeing that it is close upon 2000 feet in height is one vast moor, intersected with long, broad gulches, and abounding in deep holes, patches of wet moss, and pools of dark water. There are said to be certain public rights of foot-way, but they do not appear to lead to the best points, and even in regard to these there are constant disputes. Moreover, they are hard to find amidst a labyrinth of heath and ferns, and it is not unusual for the gamekeepers to turn strangers back even when they are upon the paths which are supposed to be fairly open to all. The owners of the moor are jealous to the last degree of their rights, and quarrel over the few birds which by some accident are still left as though the cause of empires were at stake. This arises from the foolish way in which the district has been parcelled out among a number of small holders, in patches not much larger than a table-cloth. is actually under two acres in chance of getting a shot is on the days when his neighbours are out shooting, and the grouse are driven over his field. Then he stands waiting for a chance, and if he can manage to bring a bird down on his little patch, he has had a fine day's sport, but if the bird

One man's allotment extent, and his only

bag.

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drops outside his boundary he goes home with an empty "But sometimes," as a keeper informed me, you may stand there all day without getting a shot." On an average during the season there are about three guns out to each bird, and in one case a gentleman who pays £50 a-year for his bit of moor only got two birds all last season— -£25 each, and I hope he did not think it too much. When I heard all this, it brought to my mind a line which I had once read in a sort of burlesque almanack" August 12th. Lobster shooting begins on the Peak of Derbyshire." If the Kinderscout is ravaged many years longer as it now is, the "noble sportsmen of the district will have as much chance of shooting lobsters there as of finding grouse.

The stranger in these parts would naturally pay very little heed to local troubles and bickerings if he did not speedily find that they materially interfered with his freedom. If you go to the right you are liable to be warned off; if to the left, to be threatened with an action for trespass. You get permission from three or four different holders, and find that there is still another who bars the way. While mentioning these facts, however, I am bound to add that personally I experienced no inconvenience whatever. The gentlemen of the district not only placed their information at my disposal in the most obliging manner, although I was entirely unknown to them, but gave me permission to go where I pleased. Here, as everywhere else, the stranger will meet with all civility if he begins by himself showing it to others. But people who insist on

going everywhere without so much as a “by your leave,” and who delight in fussing and flourishing about, and butting their conceited heads against local prejudices, ought not to go to the Kinderscout; and indeed it is a pity that they do not stay at home altogether.

There is an inn at Hayfield, the "Royal," at which the visitor may make himself comfortable during his explorations. The landlord has the power to give him permission to go over the mountain as far as Kinder Fall, which is all that most people care to see. The village lies in a hollow amid lofty hills, and there are several print and other works in the neighbourhood, so that there is always plenty of smoke in proportion to the number of houses. At night there are no lights in the streets after March, but that is of not much consequence, for there is nothing whatever to see. By daylight, however, if the visitor does not find anything to interest him, it will be because he has no taste and no eyes. On the evening of my visit, in the early part of May, 1880, I took a short stroll by way of getting a general glimpse of the country. I made for the first hilly road I could see, and a fine specimen of an old Derbyshire road it turned out to be, running between black stone walls, all in holes, and with masses of rock occasionally stretching all across it. This is the old road to Chapel-en-le-Frith, and it comes out upon the new road at about a mile-and-ahalf from the village, near to a farm known as "Peepo'-day." At that farm, just before the road begins to descend, there is a grand view of wild and rugged

hills in all directions; the stranger will not need to go any further to perceive that he is in the heart of the most picturesque scenery in the county.

A little snow had fallen that afternoon, and it was very cold when I got back to the inn, and therefore I went into the kitchen, where there was a good fire. Some labourers and workmen were there, one of whom informed me that he was Mad Jack. This interested me to hear, for I have in my time met with many people who were mad, but none of them seemed to know it. The men round the fire began giving me their opinions as to the best way of seeing "t' Scout."

"Tak' me wi' thee," said Mad Jack; "I'll riddle thee through better an anybody here."

"He canna do it," said another; "Jack is a toobthoomper, and doesna knaw how to walk."

“A tub-thumper ?" I repeated, in some perplexity.

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Ay, Mister-what you call a cooper."

"I tell thee," continued Jack, "I'll show thee a gainer road than e'er a man in Hayfield, and if thou go'st thyself, thou'lt see nowt. There be trenches oop there wheer you and a thousand men could be buried— ay, that there be. I tell thee no lees."

"What sort of trenches?"

"Why, made by digging peak (peat)." I never heard, however, except from Jack, that peat was dug on the moors, and assuredly the trenches he spoke of were not caused by that process.

"Coom, Mister," continued Jack, "I'd like to walk with thee.