Welsh Journals

possibly be dealt with by three members all selected from one County, which, in its entirety, is only about one-tenth of the whole, and is considerably smaller, in fact, than Carmarthen County ? The Agricultural Counties have a very real grievance. The Rural District Councils of Wales will have to administer the Rating and Valuation Act over nine-tenths of the area, but no one from their hundreds of members has been found worthy at headquarters to assist in promoting uniformity." If this lack of uniformity in representation is typical of the way in which the rating affairs of Wales are viewed from Whitehall, we fear that the Act is not likely to be a popular measure in the Principality. One of the most difficult problems which has to be dealt with under the Act will be the apportionment of values between farm houses, farm buildings, and the land on every agricul- tural holding. It would be just as reasonable to expect a Vale of Llangollen farmer or an Aber- Y Llyn. By Eluned Temple. IT LIES hidden away somewhere among the hills. A little tarn it is. and longer than wide. A lad might easily row across it in a very few minutes-passing out of sun- light into shadow. There is no season of the year when it is not beautiful. Scarcely a day when its repose is disturbed by the intrusion of mankind. The sounds that echo round its mar- gin are the sounds of thunderclap, of the winds and running water. In the rainy season-and when is it not rainy ? a visitor may well ask- the song of splashing waterfalls and merry, swift flowing streams fills the quiet valley. Waters gush from steep hillsides, tumbling into the depth below. When winter snows melt in the warmth of a spring noon, cataracts of creamy- white froth plunge from boulder to boulder down the gullies. They swash over the soft, grassy slopes where they spread themselves at ease, flowing more gently, and sliding into the swollen tarn. On a fine summer day only a faint, musical murmur is audible. Only thin waving lines are visible-white, thread-like lines of water trickling down between the rocks. On the hillside nestles an old, white- washed farm. No other habitation is in sight. The way to y llyn is up a narrow, winding lane- a cart-track. No motors pass that way. The lane is fringed with grass and flowery hedges. There is a gate on the right opening into a field. A red cart crawls leisurely upwards. As you pass throug-h the gate you enter enchanted ground. The cart rumbles on. When the ystwyth fisherman to advise as to the rateable value of a Rhondda colliery, a dock at Swansea, or a tramway at Cardiff, as to look to gentlemen from those places to advise as to sheep farms on Cadair Idris, small holdings in the Severn Valley, and pasturage in the Vale of Clwyd. The rating of woodlands, tithes and sporting rights are additional problems which confront the rural administrators, and they will view with misgiving the initial appearance of town official- ism in these affairs of rural life. This is another instance which supports the justice of the criticism of over-centralisation in administration. The Civil Service in Whitehall is, in the main, recruited from the ranks of Londoners, who have little conception of con- ditions outside London, and none at all of conditions outside towns. It requires very little imagination to appreciate the influence which permanent officials can exercise directly or indirectly in legislation, and-what is perhaps even more important-in matters of departmental administration. sound of wheels crunching against stones is heard no more you enter not simply enchanted ground, but enchanted silence. The field slopes steeply down to the water. It is bounded on one side by a high, stone wall. Behind the wall a thicket of trees, also sloping downwards. Halfway down the field lies a hean of grey rocks. Out of the rocks a solitary thorn tree growing. Gnarled and twisted, it wrestles with nature for a foothold. Among the stones are cunningly shaped resting places. Easy, moss-cushioned seats, with high protecting slabs forming com- fortable backs to lean against. Sitting there under the thorn-tree roof, feet swinging in space and with the ever-changing face of the tarn below, it is like waiting in Nature's theatre for the play to begin. The glory of each new day is revealed with the rising of the cloud-curtain It is early spring. The snow disappears. Almost before it is quite gone a flower timidly ventures forth. Another follows, and another. Like infants at play they group themselves in sheltered corners. Very soon the emerald green is thickly patterned over, white and gold. By the margin of the tarn, tossing gaily, are the dancing daffodils." Follows an April shower and the curtain is rung down. It is summer. Hot, hot days. Deep, cloud- less blue. Swathes of cut grass drying in the sun. The sound of oars comes clearly from the tarn, creaking, splashing, as the craft moves slowly to and fro. The boat, with its rower, moves as one with its reflection. Even the birds are silent. The atmosphere vibrant with heat. A day of tempest. The storm-king rides forth. The thorn-tree, tossing wildly, lends support to clinging arms. The hills shout.