Llangollen to the north of me, and a deep valley abounding with
woods and rocks to the south.

Following the road to the south, which gradually descended, I soon
came to a place where a road diverged from the straight one to the
left. As the left-hand road appeared to lead down a romantic
valley I followed it. The scenery was beautiful - steep hills on
each side. On the right was a deep ravine, down which ran a brook;
the hill beyond it was covered towards the top with a wood,
apparently of oak, between which and the ravine were small green
fields. Both sides of the ravine were fringed with trees, chiefly
ash. I descended the road which was zigzag and steep, and at last
arrived at the bottom of the valley, where there was a small
hamlet. On the further side of the valley to the east was a steep
hill on which were a few houses - at the foot of the hill was a
brook crossed by an antique bridge of a single arch. I directed my
course to the bridge, and after looking over the parapet for a
minute or two upon the water below, which was shallow and noisy,
ascended a road which led up the hill: a few scattered houses were
on each side. I soon reached the top of the hill, where were some
more houses, those which I had seen from the valley below. I was
in a Welsh mountain village, which put me much in mind of the
villages which I had strolled through of old in Castile and La
Mancha; there were the same silence and desolation here as yonder
away - the houses were built of the same material, namely stone. I
should perhaps have fancied myself for a moment in a Castilian or
Manchegan mountain pueblicito, but for the abundance of trees which
met my eye on every side.

In walking up this mountain village I saw no one, and heard no