i go 



THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 



or trudged over the moorland in face of a snow- 

 storm ; our rude health and careless minds relished 

 each alike. 



Like the meres, the Vale of Llangollen was a 

 place that the Gipsy must see; and so, one sunny 

 day, a party of us drove in a waggonette, passing 

 on our way the massive structure of Chirk Castle, 

 and driving through avenues of mighty trees, which 

 cast their shadows upon a forest of bracken, where 

 the deer stood and gazed at us. 



Following the Dee upwards, we entered the 

 narrow gorge which gives entrance to the vale, 

 and has scarce room for the river, the railway, 

 canal, and a couple of roads to squeeze through. 

 On either side the hills rose steep and thickly 

 wooded, and some distance below us the river ran 

 between rocky, tree-covered banks. Before us the 

 village! lay, picturesque and irregular. To the left 

 was the long, steep range of the Berwyns, with 

 the bold Garaint, or Barber's Hill, jutting out ; to 

 the right was the sugarloaf of the "Castle Dinas 

 Bran " hill, and beyond that the white limestone 

 terraces and the purple moorland of the Eglwyseg 

 rocks ; and far in front were the mountains and 

 glens that were the fairyland of our boyhood. 



We had a long summer's day before us, and wo 

 determined, after taking the ladies to the top of 

 Dinas Bran, otherwise Crow Castle, to leave them 

 to their own devices, and visit as many of our old 

 fishing haunts as possible. Passing over the old 



