His Grace the Duke of Devonshire must have a Shooting-box when he comes into the country for a clay or so—

and naturally there is a ruined Abbey nearby in his beautiful grounds. 'Twas ever thus.

Whilst the farmer has his "quaint" home almost on the read. 'So attractive, my dear," and, of course, he has 110 sewage, no bath, and 110 electric light.

In the towns one lives like this if one is able to afford such luxurious apartments. (90,000 unemployed in Liverpool.)

Otherwise one lives like this— like Mr. Average Imperial Englishman.

If one is an Insurance Company or even a Shipping Company, one can do this so't of thing provided Mexico doesn't repudiate.(300,000 unemployed in Lancashire.)

But as one is Not an Insurance Company one shops with Mrs. Average Englishwoman. It is true that dust and petrol are in the air, but one learns to forget those things with Imperial high-mindedness.

Still, it does pall sometimes, so one goes to the village inn out in a rural district and owned by a powerful company:—naturally.

But to get to the inn one generally passes thru* a "quaint" village such as this. And noticing a castle on the hill, one goes up.

A Ruined Castle.