only things there are quarries and the seaside. I do not know why some names produce a magical effect on me; I had to have a look at Llandudno and I was profoundly depressed; firstly, it is pronounced otherwise, and then it is only a pile of hotels, rocks and sand, just like any other seaside resort of this island. So I crept down to Carnarvon, the chief town of the Welsh; it is so far away that the people in the post office there know nothing about our country, and at seven o’clock no evening meal is to be had there. I do not know why I spent two whole days in such a place. There is a very old castle of the princes of Wales there; I should have drawn it, but I could not get it on to the paper; so I drew at least one tower of it, where an autonomous parliament of jackdaws was just sitting. Never have I seen and heard so many jackdaws; I tell you, you really must go to Carnarvon.
Wales is the land of mountains, Lloyd George, trout, excursionists, jackdaws, slate, castles, rain, bards and a Celtic language.
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