shrieking prosperity; and the late burgeoning of my earthy affections was rudely nipped. Nevertheless, we had soon quitted the ghastly modern township with its ill-dressed and ill-favoured inhabitants, and started to descend by a long gentle declivity to a broad bottom, for we were crossing the lofty watershed between two important Welsh rivers. We finally reached a wide valley cleft by a noble stream that was now a deep silent volume of water overhung by woods of oak and larch, and now a series of broad gushing shallows whose leaping waves broke merrily over opposing snags and rocks. At intervals we passed prosperous farms, old-fashioned country houses that seemed haunts of ancient peace, and stretches of rich pasture that were contiguous with the river's meanderings. Out of this delectable valley we ascended a sharp rise and, avoiding a moderate-sized country town, at length we reached an exposed hill-top which afforded us the prospect of the estuary of the river we had so lately left behind. Some two miles farther ahead our goal was attained, after traversing a tract of sand dunes whose desiccated soil gave sustenance to clumps of glaucous sea-holly and prickly bushes of the sand-rose that at this season bore large sorbs of burnished purple. The hotel itself, a gaunt, rambling, recently erected structure, was perched on the rim of a precipitous range of cliffs. It was certainly a blot upon the landscape; but its interior promised solid comfort, whilst the hearty welcome of the landlord, bereft of his usual tale of summer boarders, made plenteous reparation for the lack of such luxury as we had bidden adieu to in London.