SHEEP-DOG TRIALS 



A FEW years ago it was my good fortune to be 

 present at the annual sheep-dog trials which are held 

 at Llanberis, one of the loveliest spots in North 

 Wales, and one which, from the beauty of its lake 

 and mountain scenery, has been not inaptly termed 

 the Chamouni of Wales. Imagine yourself in a 

 mountain valley beyond the village. Behind you 

 the old coach road, on the other side of which lies 

 a sombre, placid lake, from whose shores on the 

 far side abruptly rise the famous slate quarries of 

 Dinorwic, towering high above the water. Down 

 their steep sides incessantly come roiling avalanches 

 of broken slate and rubbish, thrown out in truckloads 

 by the men at work in the quarries. Falling at 

 first with a crash, they come slipping, sliding, 

 scattering down the hill, with a muffled roll like 

 distant thunder, till they fall with a gigantic splash 

 into the lake below, or partly rest in rugged dis- 

 order at the very edge of the water. Year by year 

 in this way tons upon tons of solid matter come 

 tumbling into the lake, whose circumference by this 

 means becomes more and more narrowed, until, 

 if the world last long enough, the day must come 

 when the lake will be filled up, and hill and vale 

 become merged in one vast rugged plateau. 



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