THE WATERS OF CADER IDRIS 



sanctuaries are vulgarised, the mystery of sequestered 

 places has vanished, or is vanishing. And then the 

 charm of finding them, and knowing them, and sharing 

 the knowledge with a few kindred souls, has gone too, 

 together with many other things of a quieter world, 

 which could not be had without a little enterprise and 

 a little trouble, and were surely the sweeter for it. 



There were the colonels, too, under which term I must 

 include majors and captains, in the old days. There 

 was nearly always one at every quiet fishing-inn, very 

 often a rather thirsty soul, and sometimes, it must be 

 admitted, a bit of a nuisance. For I have not, of 

 course, in mind the active warrior on short leave, nor 

 even the retired one of recent and abstemious days. 

 But an earlier generation, who had worn side-whiskers 

 as subalterns and pushed the bottle briskly at mess, 

 seems to have been prolific in half-pay bachelors who 

 drifted in their later days almost instinctively towards 

 the fishing-inn, and made it practically their summer 

 residence. Almost inevitably, too, they came to fill 

 what might be called the chair in the ever-shifting 

 company, and sometimes filled it a trifle autocratically. 

 It was not good for their health, in spite of the counter- 

 acting advantages of the outdoor life, which gave them 

 no doubt a longer innings. No human wight with 

 convivially sociable tastes could keep pace with relays 

 of old-timers who could afford to be cheerful and let 

 themselves go a little for two or three idle weeks of a 

 busy year. So the colonels, I am afraid, went under 

 sooner or later. Sometimes the descent to Avernus 

 became painfully obvious, and when they began to 

 remain over the winter it was always the beginning 



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