CLEAR WATERS 



of protest at the rare intruder harmonise admirably 

 with the quite savage scene. The misshapen finger- 

 lings came out two at a time, but the Httle tarn of 

 the pounders, sheltered from almost every wind, lay 

 glassy and hopeless. This wild domain, by the way, 

 was the property of Cromwell's brother-in-law, the 

 regicide Colonel Jones of Maesygarnedd, whose * smok- 

 ing quarters,' fresh from Charles ii.'s vengeance, Pepys 

 encountered as he was going home to dinner. The 

 ancient Httle manor-house where he lived, * the wildest 

 farmhouse in Wales,' as the guide-books call it, is just 

 below, that is to say, two hours below the lakes, and 

 is still occupied by his descendant. 



But to return to the Elan valley, not a word of 

 tribute has yet been paid to what may fairly be called 

 in a more modern sense its genius loci. No properly 

 constituted angler, I hope, could throw his fly without a 

 thrill over the vanished roof-tree where Shelley spent 

 two long summers, the second of which was that of 

 his honeymoon with the ill-fated Harriet Westbrook. 

 To be precise, there were in this case two country 

 houses submerged, about a mile from each other, both 

 belonging to the owner of the romantic Nantgwillt 

 estate, included in the Birmingham purchase — Nant- 

 gwillt itself, which stood in the fork of the Y, looking 

 right down to where the big lower dam now is, and 

 Cwm Elan a mile or so up its right arm. If standing 

 to-day their respective chimney-tops would, I believe, 

 be just under water. Though not remarkable struc- 

 tures in themselves the situation, surroundings, and 

 outlook of these abodes of an old Welsh stock were 

 exquisite. I can recall nothing of their kind, even in 

 192 



