revived, and is walking, alert and civil; and his fishy eyes brightened
with pleasure on hearing of his friend, Mr. Lovell. Fine old waiter, a
match in age and civility for the master; and a fine old dog, Twig, a
match for both, and as saucy as Foster; for Mrs. Twig would not eat
toast, unless buttered, forsooth!

Then on to Mrs. Worthington: excellent, motherly woman, the Mrs.
Brinkley of the slate quarries. Her first question about you and William
won my heart: she seemed so to have seen into you with that penetration
of the heart, which is full as quick as that of the head, if there be
any difference. She furnished us each with a pair of Devonshire clogs,
that fitted each as if made for us; and as young Mr. Worthington was
disappointed by a sore throat of the pleasure of accompanying us, he
gave us a note to Mr. Williams at the Quarries; and good, dear Mrs.
Williams, in her white gown and worked borders, trampoozed with us
through the splish splash to all the yards, and with her master of the
works showed us the saw-mills, and the mill for grinding flint, and for
the china works.

Waiving the description of all this, I will not tell you of the quarries
and the glaciers of slates, because I wish Harriet to write her own
fresh account of her first impressions. I feel that she was even more
pleased than I expected; and I rejoice that this first sight, which I
had promised myself the pleasure of showing her, is secure.

This day's drive through Wales has been charming: a few showers, but
always at the best time for us. I have at different times of my life
seen Wales at all seasons of the year, and after all I prefer the autumn
view of it. The withering red brown fern is a great addition of beauty
on the white and gray rocks, and often so resembles the tint of autumn