CHAPTER XVIII.

FFESTINIOG, BALA, LLANDRILLO, &c.

WHEN at the peep of dawn

The traveller bounds, with active spirits light,
O'er the fresh meads, that round his path diffuse
Fragrance, gay hope attunes her fairy voice
Delightful, and the heart responsive beats
To the sweet cadence of her syren song;
Thus light, at early dawn, my footsteps haste
Along the path-way stealing to the vale.

Sotheby.

EARLY the ensuing morning, I set out on a pedestrian excursion to the delightful vale of Ffestiniog, taking the old road, which, on one side, is bounded by a deep ravine, and on the other is overgrown by firs, whose darkening shadow, with the whistling of the autumnal blast from the hollow of the hills, sweeping the falling leaves across my path, communicated a peculiarly gloomy air to the landscape, contrasting strangely with the glowing tints of the dawn, the warbling of birds, and the sounds of rural industry or mirth. A noble sunrise and a brightening sky augured one more of those enviable days I had hitherto enjoyed; yet I had gone but a little way before a heavy mist-half fog, half rain-came driving up the distant valley, and in a few minutes completely enveloped the whole scene as in a cloud. In the hope it would as quickly pass, I took shelter under a hedge, where, however, I found myself in an ant's nest, and not relishing their extreme familiarity, and seeing no prospect of the weather clearing up, I was fain to push forward, feeling, though for the first time, not in the best possible humour with pedestrianism.