Ascent continued.  Leads down-hill.  Curious.  Sound of dashing waterfall close by. Must see it.  Turn round a corner.  No waterfall at all, only the Electric-Light-generating station!  Noise I heard was the “machinery in motion.” Query—­does an iron shed with chimney pouring out factory smoke, add to charms of wild scenery?

More surprises!  Find an “Automatic Delivery” pillar!  Curious sight on a mountain.  Put a penny in, and you get a small book—­Guide to Snowdonia.  Thanks!  But what I want is a guide to top.  Fog worse than ever.  Believe I’ve missed my way.

Five hours later.—­I had.  Shoes utterly worn out.  Awfully, tired.  Hit on top by mere accident.  Resting in new hotel.  Scrumptious, but dear.  Don’t care!  Electric Light.  What system?  Waiter says “Brush.”  Must be ’air-brush up here, I fancy!  Anyhow no good in a fog.  Shall suggest foghorn to Sir E. WATKIN for thick weather.  Also guides waiting at Crag Terminus.  Bottle of beer.  Divine!  View?  None, and don’t want any.  More beer.  Electric Light better than I thought.  Electricity is life.  Electricity is also beer.  More beer, please!  Waiter asks “if I sleep at top?” Beds only two guineas a night.  Of course I do!  “Then shall he wake me for sunrise?” He’d better not.  Goo’ night!  Sowdn—­mean Snowdn—­great sksess.

* * * * *

HER VIOLETS!

[Illustration]

  She gave them to me when the dance was done,
    Her eyes all lighted with the ecstasy
  Of triumph in the crushing contest won,
    Of all the joy of girlish victory. 
  She gave them to me as we mounted up,
    With all the bold effrontery that dares
  To face the aged ones, who’ve come to sup,
    And sidles off to alcoves on the stairs.

  She gave them to me, but some sprays, I know,
    All dying then, as though life’s task were laid
  To rest within that burning breast of snow;
    And there the last great debt of all were paid. 
  She gave them to me, and my heart did beat,
    As o’er my hope a greater promise came,
  And up the narrow way with steps so fleet
    She went, though I remember’d not her name.

  She gave them to me, and I vow’d that they
    Should lie upon my heart till years had fled,
  Till, passing through life’s narrow, thorny way,
    They’d rest with me when life’s own leaves were dead. 
  And thus I spoke, and then we wrote the deed,
    With fervid seal upon the heart’s own slab—­
  Alas! alas! how memory runs to seed!—­
    I left her Violets in a beastly cab!

* * * * *

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

WATER SUPPLY.—­Yes, we have read about the quantities of poisoned fish floating in the river somewhere near the “intake” of the Water Companies, and agree with you that under such circumstances the pretence of supplying a drinkable fluid is somewhat of a “take-in.”  But surely it is hardly necessary to adopt the extreme step you contemplate, of stationing an expert Thames fisherman at the side of your cistern night and day, in order to catch any fish that may come through the pipes.  The Companies’ filtering system may not be worth much, but it ought to be able to keep out something under the size of a whale.