THE WATERS OF CADER IDRIS 



house, that they too had practically nothing be- 

 tween them. And when my friend's son, staggering 

 under the weight of his father's catch, laid it out upon 

 the bridge for inspection, the major would have been 

 more than human if he had not felt something of an 

 inward twinge at the contrast, and on his own water 

 too. But being, as I am sure he was, very much of 

 a sportsman and a gentleman, he had nothing but 

 hearty congratulations on the sport his water had 

 provided for a comparative stranger. 



Now, at the mouth of the Dysynni, where a mile or 

 so north of Towyn it runs under the Cambrian rail- 

 road bridge into the sea, there used at certain con- 

 ditions of the tide to be very good bass-fishing. One 

 summer an impulsive Irish friend of mine joined our 

 party for a time — a young man of great originaHty, a 

 fine horseman, and something of a poet, but of so 

 mercurial a temperament and such impetuous habit 

 that he seldom came into a room without chipping 

 a piece of furniture or knocking something off the 

 mantelpiece. But, as there was practically no furni- 

 ture in the Towyn furnished apartments, and nothing 

 on the mantelpiece but photographs of deceased 

 dissenting ministers with leonine manes and Newgate 

 fringes, we thought it safe to ask him down, as we were 

 much attached to him. Though otherwise an ex- 

 tremely personable young man, he had a close, tightly 

 curled crop of the reddest hair I have ever to my 

 knowledge seen. And I don't think this description 

 can be much too strong. For I once introduced him, 

 suddenly as it so happened, and without warning, 

 to a plain American of the homespun type on tour. 



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