With the aid of all these officials, and in spite of many obstacles offered by an army of lesser servants, called “writers” and “boys,” who hid, or lost, documents of vital importance with the easy unconcern of a slavey in lodgings, we made rapid progress. Once, when I complained that the progress was not sufficiently rapid, I was taught a valuable lesson: “you must remember that in a Government office it doesn’t do to make mistakes: it is better to go slow than to go wrong.” Difficult cases arose at times, and these were referred to the higher officers; on one or two occasions the direction of the Vice-President was taken, and general rules were made. But, as a rule, it was straightforward filling up of forms; Form A, if the parish supply was complete; Form B, if there was a deficiency; and so on. When the cases were settled, a notice was sent to the local officials, and publication in local newspapers and on church doors was required. By the terms of the Act objection might be made within a month after the publication of the notice, and, as popular feeling had run high during our enquiries, I looked forward to a general rising in North Wales. But in due course I received an informal communication from Whitehall: the month was up, and from all that “infected area” not an objection had been received. I replied that this must not be taken as evidence of acquiescence: it was July; the people were getting in their hay and plundering the early tourist; when they were at liberty, they would fight. “Pooh, pooh,” said the Office, “they have lost their chance.” A little disappointed, as a schoolboy might be, that there was to be no fight, I went to Switzerland; returning in September, I found _one letter_ awaiting me. It alleged that my proposal to unite the parish of Llanon with the parish of Llanof was the most monstrous outrage on common sense within the experience of the writer. Secondly, the writer would be glad to know why I had not kept my appointment to meet him and a neighbour on August 20. It gave me some satisfaction to reply that the meeting to which he referred was fixed for August, 1871, and that, as we were now in 1872, he and his neighbour were a year late. No explanation was tendered by the complainant. I suspected that the local Mrs. Mailsetter had intercepted the 1871 invitations, probably at the instigation of some local politician, and had warmed them up a year later. Was Llanon wedded to Llanof? “Jeanie’s mairit weel eneuch,” said the Scottish matron; “to be sure she canna abide her mon, but there’s aye a something.” The subsequent proceedings interested me no more. Except for occasional requests for information, I had no further concern with the district, and though I have paid very many visits to the beautiful country in these thirty-five years, it has always been as a tourist. FOOTNOTES: [10] A kindly critic points out that the line is merely an exact translation from Lucan’s _Pharsalia_, II. 657--