semicircular shape, with a sea-front of five miles, and a depth
inland of from two to three miles. This plain, a dead level stretch of
peat, of which part is coming under cultivation, while part is still
marsh, is surrounded by a ring of hills, which rise in successive well-
defined ranges of increasing height, till they culminate in the summits
of Cader Idris on one side and Plinlimmon on the other.

The River Dovey, which cleaves the circle of mountains, flows in a broad
estuary along the base of the northward hills, under which, at the mouths
of the estuary, lies the little port of Aberdovey. At the other end of
the arc formed by the coastline, close under the slopes of the promontory
which closes the plain at its north-west corner, stands the village of
Borth, three-quarters of a mile of straggling dwellings, which vary in
scale and character from the primitive mud-cabin of the squatter to the
stately hotel which formed the headquarters of the school. The little
town is irregular even to quaintness, without being picturesque. Its
houses are not grouped according to size and character, but dropped as it
were anyhow, in chance collocations, tall and low, thatched and slated
together. Two or three gigantesque meeting-houses, featureless and
sombre, domineer over the roofs around them. One or two others of a less
puritan design, and not out of character with the church on a knoll a
furlong off, compensate their severer rivals. The shape of the village
is determined by the narrow ridge of terra firma, the mere heaping of the
tides, between the quaking marsh and the encroaching sea. The nidus of
the present settlement is the tiny hamlet of Old Borth, perched on a spur
of the promontory, and well out of reach of flood tides. We are not sure
that the mother may not outlive her colony, unless substantial measures
are taken to guard against another 30th of January. Near Old Borth,
through a gap in the hills, comes the River Lery, a trout-stream known to
our anglers, thanks again to Sir Pryse who owns it. It races bubbling
round the furze-clad knoll, whose Welsh name is translated Otter's
Island, on which stands the church, and then is silenced in a blank
straight-cut channel, which conveys it through the marsh into the estuary
at Ynyslas. Up the gorge of the Lery runs the railway, which carried us
so often past the massive church and steep pine-grown graveyard of
Langfihangel-geneur-glyn, and across the broad meado