spoilt and robbed of all beauty, with here and there unsightly heaps
of rubbish and refuse, only delude themselves and other people by
calling themselves garden cities. Too often there is no attempt at
beauty. Cheapness and speedy construction are all that their makers
strive for.

These growing cities, ever increasing, ever enclosing fresh victims in
their hideous maw, work other ills. They require much food, and they
need water. Water must be found and conveyed to them. This has been no
easy task for many corporations. For many years the city of Liverpool
drew its supply from Rivington, a range of hills near Bolton-le-Moors,
where there were lakes and where they could construct others. Little
harm was done there; but the city grew and the supply was
insufficient. Other sources had to be found and tapped. They found one
in Wales. Their eyes fell on the Lake Vyrnwy, and believed that they
found what they sought. But that, too, could not supply the millions
of gallons that Liverpool needed. They found that the whole vale of
Llanwddyn must be embraced. A gigantic dam must be made at the lower
end of the valley, and the whole vale converted into one great lake.
But there were villages in the vale, rural homes and habitations,
churches and chapels, and over five hundred people who lived therein
and must be turned out. And now the whole valley is a lake. Homes and
churches lie beneath the waves, and the graves of the "women that
sleep," of the rude forefathers of the hamlet, of bairns and dear
ones are overwhelmed by the pitiless waters. It is all very
deplorable.

And now it seems that the same thing must take place again: but this
time it is an English valley that is concerned, and the people are the
country folk of North Hampshire. There is a beautiful valley not far