“A fortnight ago to-morrow sixteen of us entrained at Euston and detrained the following morning at Perth. We had promised ourselves the pleasure of hiking through the romantic Highlands of Scotland as far as Inverness-shire and thence westward by way of Fort William through Glencoe and on to the bonny bonny banks of Loch Lomond, expecting to entrain again at Glasgow to-morrow night, returning refreshed in mind and body after our fortnight’s holiday to our work in London. To our delight—and will my Scottish friends in the audience forgive me if I add to our surprise?—we detrained early in the morning at Perth under a sky of cloudless azure. I shall not take up your time by dwelling on the beauties and absorbing interest of our route, on Birnam wood familiar to students of Macbeth or on the gorge of Killiecrankie where the romantic Dundee met his end. Let it suffice to say that on the night of Wednesday, August 11th, we pitched our camp on the northerly banks of lovely Loch Hoo. Lovely, do I say? Yes, lovely indeed save for one object which defiled the beauty of the scene. That object was a blatant freshly-painted notice-board inscribed with the words with which so many of you are so painfully familiar. No camping. (Loud cries of ‘shame.’) Shame indeed! Shame upon the man who erects such a notice-board and thereby proclaims to the world his anti-social bent and his anti-democratic bias! You who have been privileged to wander carefree adown the pleasaunces of Ouse Park, have your eyes been revolted by such a notice-board? (Loud cries of ‘No.’) Where over the many broad acres owned by your revered President will you find such a notice-board? (Cries of ‘Nowhere.’) Nowhere indeed! And why? Because Lord Buntingdon regards his ownership of some eleven thousand acres in Bedfordshire less as ownership than as a sacred trust. (Loud cheers, during which the owner himself pondered gratefully on the absence of reporters.) You will not be surprised to hear that we paid no attention to the forbidding notice-board, and you will signify your approval in the usual manner when I tell you that we actually pitched our camp right round this preposterous scarecrow. (Applause and laughter.) We had no jugs of wine, but we had jugs of water filled from a babbling stream close at hand. We had loaves of bread, but we had cheese also. And in some cases thou wast—or shall I say wert?—beside me in the wilderness. No matter. For all of us wilderness was Paradise enow. And to add the last touch to our enjoyment we had with us our Little Songster, which under the expert eye of our friend Tom Camidge discoursed sweet music until the whole party, pleasantly tired by the long day’s hike in halcyon weather, expressed itself ready for sleep.