SONNET.

Bard of the Fleece! whose skilful genius made
That work a living landscape fair and bright;
Nor hallowed less by musical delight
Than those soft scenes through which thy childhood strayed,
Those southern tracts of Cambria, deep embayed, &c. &c.

In the above is one whole line from the ‘Fleece,’ and two other expressions.  When you read the ‘Fleece’ you will recognise them.  I remain, my dear Lady Beaumont,

Your sincere friend,
W. WORDSWORTH.[38]

[38] Memoirs, vol. i. pp. 363-6.

EXCURSION IN NORTH WALES.

Letter to Sir George H. Beaumont.

Hindwell, Radnor, Sept. 20. 1824.  MY DEAR SIR GEORGE,

After a three weeks’ ramble in North Wales, Mrs. Wordsworth, Dora, and myself are set down quietly here for three weeks more.  The weather has been delightful, and everything to our wishes.  On a beautiful day we took the steam-packet at Liverpool, passed the mouth of the Dee, coasted the extremity of the Vale of Clwyd, sailed close under Great Orm’s Head, had a noble prospect of Penmaenmawr, and having almost touched upon Puffin’s Island, we reached Bangor Ferry, a little after six in the afternoon.  We admired the stupendous preparations for the bridge over the Menai; and breakfasted next morning at Carnarvon.  We employed several hours in exploring the interior of the noble castle, and looking at it from different points of view in the neighbourhood.  At half-past four we departed for Llanberris, having fine views as we looked back of C. Castle, the sea, and Anglesey.  A little before sunset we came in sight of Llanberris Lake, Snowdon, and all the craggy hills and mountains surrounding it; the foreground a beautiful contrast to this grandeur and desolation—­a green sloping hollow, furnishing a shelter for one of the most beautiful collections of lowly Welsh cottages, with thatched roofs, overgrown with plants, anywhere to be met with:  the hamlet is called Cum-y-glo.  And here we took boat, while the solemn lights of evening were receding towards the tops of the mountains.  As we advanced, Dolbardin Castle came in view, and Snowdon opened upon our admiration.  It was almost dark when we reached the quiet and comfortable inn at Llanberris.

* * * * *

There being no carriage-road, we undertook to walk by the Pass of Llanberris, eight miles, to Capel Cerig; this proved fatiguing, but it was the only oppressive exertion we made during the course of our tour.  We arrived at Capel Cerig in time for a glance at the Snowdonian range, from the garden of the inn, in connection with the lake (or rather pool) reflecting the crimson clouds of evening.  The outline of Snowdon is perhaps seen nowhere to more advantage than from this place.  Next morning, five miles down a beautiful valley to the banks of the Conway, which stream we