defined by the bright rays of the declining sun. The landscape grew more lovely, and the farms began to look well. By turning into a by-road, my course to St. Asaph was much shortened, and made easier of travel, for the scenery was fine, and in the absence of a companion, the main object of interest to the pedestrian is the landscape, and the more lovely it is, the more cheerful is the road. When within a few miles of the last-named town, I encountered several huntsmen with a pack of hounds, in all about sixty. The men were mounted upon swift-looking steeds, and each one wore a red coat and buckskin short-clothes, and carried a horn at his side. They were going to a rendezvous in the interior of the country, in the vicinity of which fox-hunts annually take place in the autumn. Both the dogs and the men trotted along with an easy, careless motion, as if they were made for no other purposes than self-indulgence and enjoyment.

St. Asaph is one of the cleanest of the Welsh towns, and, although small and secluded, it is both pretty and important in some respects, inasmuch as it is the seat of a bishopric, and contains a cathedral and episcopal palace. The Clwyd and Elwy, two inconsiderable streams, flow near it, and in the vicinity are coal-pits and furnaces; but the town fortunately does not receive the benefit of the black smoke of the manufactories and mines. While at the place, I inquired of a young female the name of the river which is nearest the town, and as we were both standing on a bridge which spans the stream, I naturally enough supposed she would be able to tell me; but not she; her knowledge did not extend so far, and after looking at me for a while, apparently surprised that a person should ask such a question, she replied that she did not know any other name for it than the river, that being the only one she ever heard. Such instances of ignorance among the people are frequent, and it seldom happens that persons of even mature years among the laboring classes are able to impart the slightest information to strangers respecting the country around them, and the very places in which they were born. The Welsh in this particular resemble their English neighbors, and do not appear to consider it of consequence whether they inform themselves respecting local affairs or not, and transactions and events at a distance are altogether unknown to them.

The cathedral of St. Asaph is small but neat, and in the usual cruciform shape of minsters and sacred colleges. The east window is elegantly adorned with some modern stained glass, and the choir is richly decorated and profusely ornamented, while the aisles of the nave contain some fine monuments and excellent statuary in white marble. The building is on a hill, and there is a large open space around it which adds to its appearance, and exhibits its proportions to the best advantage.

Tired of a twenty miles' walk, I made my way to an inn, and was politely ushered into a pleasant little parlor where a blue-eyed servant-girl awaited my orders. I sat down by the fire while she prepared the table for my repast, and it was a welcome treat to meet with such a cheerful and vivacious girl. People may abuse the domestic females of English hotels, but they do not deserve the many ill things that are said of them, and it is from them alone that the weary traveller receives the kindest treatment when he enters an inn. Your every want is anticipated, and their modesty and gentle behavior make them angels of welcome to the lonely and toil-worn wanderer. The little sprightly Welsh lass was not an exception to the class to which she belongs, and her unassumed kindness and assiduity were consoling and well-timed. She soon spread the clean white cloth and prepared the cheerful meal. I paid her some compliments, but she warded off the flattery with adroitness, and kept up a strain of entertaining humor that made her company agreeable. "Evil be to him who evil thinketh," is the motto of the Knight of the Garter, and it is only the evil in heart who will entertain opinions derogatory to the ministering angels of the village or way-side hostelrie. How pleasant, how polite, how attentive and friendly they are!

"Will you make the tea, sir," said my little maiden, with one of the sweetest voices in the world, "or shall I?"

"Why you, by all means, for all I can do is to drink it;" and she asked again, "Will you have it all black, or shall it be mixed?" "Mixed, if you please;" and she took each canister alternately in her taper fingers, and poured out as much as she thought would be sufficient, at the same time asking me to say whether the quantity was too great or too little. It was soon arranged, and the boiling water poured upon it, and when the tea was drawn, she filled my cup, while I sat watching her pretty face, and in the contemplation of it forgot my meal.

She pretended not to notice my rudeness, but said, in a half persuasive, half rebuking tone, "Are you unwell, sir? or do you think the tea too strong?"

"It's not the tea," said I, "that's too strong, nor am I ill, but, but-"

"But what, sir?" she inquired, with a look of perplexity, hardly knowing how to finish the sentence.

"I was thinking that the tea would taste better, if you were to take that chair and favor me with your company," said I, rising, and waving her to a seat at the side of the table, in doing which I awkwardly enough upset the Chinese beverage over the cloth, and cut a ridiculous figure in the bargain.

"Never mind," said she, with the most provoking coolness possible. "I'll put another one on the table; it won't take me long;" and she commenced removing the articles to an adjoining sideboard. I interposed, and laid my hand softly on her arm to induce her to desist, and assured her that the mishap did not disturb me, and hoped there was no harm done.

"O, not the least, if you are not annoyed by the accident;" but the provoking little fairy paid no attention to my invitation, and, after reflection, I came to the conclusion that it would look oddly enough if the landlord should happen to come in and interrupt our social meal.

She filled my cup again, and being satisfied that I could make myself comfortable, she went to the door, and as she was going out said, "If you want anything else, sir, please ring the bell, and I will immediately wait upon you;" and with a face all smiles, and a sly look at the stained cloth, she vanished.

"Confound thee, pretty maiden," mused I, as, with eyes fixed upon the door through which she had disappeared, I fell into a train of thought, instead of eating my food, "you have destroyed my appetite, caused me to upset my tea, been indifferent to my invitation to dine, and now go away laughing at my mishap; but never mind, you are a pretty girl, and that fact is a consolation even if you were not so agreeable and friendly."

I finished the meal and rang the bell, at the sound of which she tripped lightly into the room, and stood looking at me quietly, until I asked her to remove the cloth and bring my bill. She soon performed her task, and then I put a shilling in her hand, and requested her to secure me a seat on the stage to Rhyl, alongside the driver. She looked at me, and asked whether the money was to pay the fare. "O, no, that's for you;" and, as I still had her hand in mine, I felt the warm blood in it as it gushed from her heart, and knew that the blush that sent it so wildly to the extremities was one of modesty and sinless innocence. "Go," said I, "secure the seat, while I prepare for the journey." The stage was ready; she came to the door, and as I mounted to my elevated station, she nodded good-by, and bade me the sweetest possible adieu!

The day was fast merging into night as the coach whirled out of the old town of St. Asaph, and the cool breeze of an autumnal evening made a warm overcoat comfortable.

Our company was like my tea, mixed, and some of them conversed in the Welsh language, while the uninitiated quietly listened to the strange tongue. Hedges and groves of trees flew past, and as the miles fled by, the company became sociable, and such as could speak English kept up a conversation which lasted during the journey. We passed the ancient and strongly built castle of Rhuddlyn, near the village of that name, on the east bank of the Clwyd, one of those fortresses which Edward the First built to keep his unwilling Welsh subjects in awe. The main portion is in tolerable preservation, and the bold, tall towers at the angles look as formidable as they must have done when the troops of the conqueror of Wales found shelter and protection within them. We entered the town in the haze of evening, and were shown the house in which Edward held his parliaments during his residence in the principality; but neither the village nor the particular building alluded to impressed us favorably with the cleanliness of the place, for any quantity of dirt was visible, and none of the houses appeared fit for a white man to live in. We pursued our course to Rhyl, a modern town on the sea-coast, mainly important as a resort during the summer for sea-bathers and fashionable idlers. I rested in it all night, and proceeded by rail in the morning to Conway, a town within fifteen miles of Bangor, and famous at the present time for its tubular and suspension-bridges, and the remains of its castle and walls erected in the days of Edward the First, and I may add with propriety its squalid and filthy appearance. The city walls are in ruins, but the immense towers which rise from them, and the gateways are in tolerable preservation. The castle stands on a rock washed by the river, and the two bridges cross the stream immediately at its side. The twenty-four massive towers of the walls remain almost entire, and they, with those of the strongly-built castle, give the town, when seen from a distance, the aspect of a strongly fortified and picturesque city; but a nearer acquaintance with the place dispels the romantic, and the visitor is glad to get away from one of the dirtiest, muddiest, and most wretched-looking collections of miserable houses in Wales. The inhabitants appear to be engaged in fishing and coasting, and their aspect is one of wretchedness and indifference to personal cleanliness. The adjacent land is hilly, stony, and rather unproductive; and as the people are not remarkable for thrift and industry, there is not that amount of labor bestowed upon the cultivation of indifferent soil that one sees in England.

Bangor, although an old city, is indebted for its increase and present importance more to the modern than the ancient day. Perched in between the high eastern bank of the Menai Straits, and a range of hills which run seaward from the Cambrian Alps, it rests as quietly in the secluded valley as if it were out of the world of Great Britain. The streets are narrow and crooked, and the side-walks are paved with rounded pebbles, which make it next to impossible for the pedestrian to perambulate its avenues without pain to his feet, particularly if he is blessed with those fashionable modern appendages-corns. The cathedral is a large cruciform building, externally much decayed, but, like all Gothic