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a twist of the mouth : here l halted with a design of getting rest and refreshment. Llanrwst is hardly worth mentioning as a town; but its situation is truly delightful, although here also the curse of inequality has showered its miseries. The principal proprietor of this part of Wales is Lord Gwydir, who is to figure in the coronation as chamberlain, in right of his wife, and will come in for a few towels, if not a wash-hand-basin. He has the character of an easy landlord, and rolls in wealth, while his tenants are, a great many of them, wallowing in poverty. You may think how they live in these stagnant times, when some of them pay as high as four guineas an acre, yearly rent, for meadow land. No wonder that even in this sequestered nook they think and talk of our New World, and, like the Israelites in the desert, look with longing eyes to the land of freedom, the land of individual independence, the land flowing with milk and honey. I cannot express the proud and secret transports of my heart, at hearing, as I have done in every part of England, in the crowded city, the cultivated fields, and sequestered mountains, poor people talking about our country, as a home to which they looked with longing eyes; as a refuge, which if they could only once gain, they would no longer fear the ills of poverty, or the curse of dependance. In vain is it, that hired or disappointed travellers have indulged in every species of wanton and exaggerated misrepresentation ; in vain have they pictured our country, its character and its institutions, in the most uninviting colours; in vain have our newspapers conjured up yellow fevers every summer; in vain has the government tried to allure them to Canada, to the Cape of Good Hope, to Botany Bay. All that has been said of these ; all that has been said of the distresses under which our country is labouring; all that truth, falsehood, and declamation have uttered, has not diminished the poor man's confidence in the advantages held out to the English emigrant. They know, that for the price of one year's rent of an acre of English land, they could purchase to themselves the right and property for ever, in half a dozen acres, quite as good; they know they will hold this land free from poor-rates, tithes, and taxation, except a mere trifle of the last; and above all, they know, that the very miseries of which our mean, unmanly, and unprincipled speculators so loudly complain, would be happiness to them ; vast numbers would emigrate to America had the lower and labouring classes only the means of getting there : as it is, they talk of it as an event familiar to their wishes and imaginations, and feel that sort of anxiety to get thither, which those, who are born and brought up in a happy country, feel to return to it, after a long absence, like mine.

The English writers accuse us of assuming a lofty tone of boasting when we speak of our country; and if we do, are we not justified ? Surely nothing can constitute a more excusable source of national pride than this heartfelt homage, paid by suffering humanity in all parts of Europe. Who would exchange this proud, this unexampled distinction of being the refuge and the hope of the oppressed and poverty-stricken in all parts of the world, that have ever heard of America, for pictures and statues, palaces, kings, and a trumpery coronation ? To reign over the hearts of suffering men, to be the goal of their hopes, the paradise of their waking visions, the fruition of all their wishes, is to be what no other country ever was, or ever deserved to be. In travelling through Europe you hardly ever hear a Frenchman, a German, or a Spaniard, talk of emigrating to any other country but America; not even to England, which it was

once the fashion of their writers to hold up as the palladium of freedom: still less do you hear an Englishman, I mean a labouring Englishman, ever speak of seeking a refuge in any part of Europe. No; if the affections of kindred, the sympathies of patriotism, the ligaments of early habits and youthful associations are to be severed, it is only our country that breaks them; it is there only, that the attractive power of freedom and competence is strong enough to sever the ties of nature itself, and draw men from their native country for ever. If sensible of this pure, blameless, and unexampled distinction, we boast of it among those who affect to despise us, it is a privilege we have a right to make use of; it is the legitimate offspring of an honest pride, founded in the love of a country which is worthy of our love.

I must not forget to mention, that mine host at Llanrwst was one of the most pompously indifferent, inattentive fellows in the world. He never knew any thing about his house, or what was in it, not he; but he was somewhat excusable, being descended in a direct line froin Llewellyn ap something, Prince of Wales; in imitation of whom, he kept open house to all comers, and made them pay double.

LETTER X.

London.

DEAR BROTHER,

From Llanrwst, I made an excursion up the vale of Conway, to where the mountains approach so near each other, that there is just room for the river to pass. All the rest of the valley was completely shut in by the curving hills. This is the neighbourhood of Snowdoun, which is never spoken of except in the extreme of high-wrought superlative. Its “ astonishing height,” 3, 600 feetits abrupt sides and fantastic heads-its " horrible beauties”—and the “incredible velocity of its torrents," which, like most other mountain streains, are apt to run pretty fast down hill, and to tumble when they come to a perpendicular-all these, brother, are described by the picturesque travellers in such terms, that you would suppose every cascade a Niagara, and every hill, a Mont Blanc or a Peak of Teneriffe. The scenery, bowever, in spite of all their exaggerations, which of course must necessarily diminish the effect of the reality, is very striking. The misty mountain tops; the rugged and confused masses of rocks;

the occasional torrents; and the rushing of the river through the pass, together with those ragged and savage features, which, almost every where, accompany the passage of rivers through mountains, all unite to form a scene of glorious variety.

Following a wild track, I came to the ruins of an ancient castle, called Dolwyddellan, which, mounted upon a high steep rock, formed a striking feature of this wild region. Below these ruins, and about a mile distant, is the little village of Dolwyddellan, situated in one of the most sequestered spots in the world. It consists of a few small cottages, inhabited by the simplest race, who speak no other language but the Welsh, and never, ex'cept when broken in upon by a picturesque tourist, see any new faces. They pride themselves, however, (for no people, however insignificant, can live without something to be proud of)- they pride

hemselves upon an old tradition, that Llewellyn was a native of their town. This I learned from my professor of languages, who, I beg you to understand, though I do not mention it, is always at my heels. I found him particularly useful here, as an interpreter, having begun to understand his English lately. I spent the night here among these rural innocents, in a thatched hut; and I do assure you, that never since I left America have I passed one more pleasantly. To the eye, the whole world was centred in this little valley. The breezy stillness of twilight, disturbed only by rural sounds, the most homely of which, such is the charm of association, sounded musically sweet, lulled me into a train of reflections, that centred at last in home. The calling of the cows; the voices of the women and children talking or singing; even the squeaking of the pigs, were all harmonious to the scene and the hour. The moon by and by rose, and hovering along the tops of the mountains, divided the little valley into spots of light and shade, beautifully contrasted, yet harmoniously blending with each other. All was peace, serenity, and confi

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