With reluctance we left this romantic situation; and, according to the directions of our conductress, soon found ourselves in the turnpike-road to Tan-y-bwlch, understanding that Mr. Warner’s route to Pen-street afforded indifferent walking. Stupendous mountains attended us some way; and, to borrow a description from a celebrated author, they “looked like the rude materials of creation, forming the barrier of unwrought space.” The sun was now making a “golden set:” the mountains were thrown together in noble masses, appearing to scale the heavens, to intercept its rays, and emulous to receive the parting tinge of lingering day. We were watching with admiration the mild splendour of its light, fading from the distant landscape, when we perceived the rich vale of Festiniog suddenly open itself to our view: we observed the busy group of haymakers, who had completed their day’s labour, returning to their homes: “While heard from dale to dale, Waking the breeze, resounds the blended voice Of happy labour, love, and social glee.” Pleased with this rustic scene, we caught the cheerful song, which was wafted on the gentle breeze. With pleasure we anticipated a saunter through this vale, early the ensuing morning: for one tint of sober grey had now covered its various-coloured features, and the sun had now gleamed its last light upon the rivulet which winds through the bottom. TAN-Y-BWLCH. The “rich-hair’d youth of morn” had not long left his saffron bed, and the very air was balmy as it freshened into morn, when we hurried from our inn to enjoy the luxuries of the vale of Festiniog, so well celebrated by the pen of Lord Littleton: “With the woman one loves, with the friend of one’s heart, and a good study of books, one may pass an age there, and think it a day. If one has a mind to live long, and renew his youth, let him come and settle at Festiniog.” These are the sentiments of Lord Littleton, in which seemed to be verified the situation of Mr. Oakley, who has selected this spot for his residence. Tan-y-Bwlch hall (for by that name is Mr. Oakley’s seat dignified) is environed by a thick wood, which climbs the steep mountains behind his mansion. We followed the meandering and translucent waters of the river Dwyryd, till we arrived at the village of Maenwrog, situated about the middle of this paradise. Passing through the village we observed a small but neat cottage, which was rendered interesting to the wayfarer, by its neat simplicity. A large old-fashioned chimney-corner, with benches to receive a social party, formed a most enviable retreat from the rude storms of winter, and defied alike the weather and the world:—with what pleasure did I picture “A smiling circle, emulous to please,”