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Trees of every description hung over our heads, and sloped down a deep declivity to the margin of the Dee, while on the opposite bank the mountain frowned above us. The partial glances we obtained of the vale through the woods, discovered scenes which the artist’s fancy might vainly attempt to equal.

At length we reached the Bridge of Llangollen, whence the river is seen to great advantage, tumbling over its rocky bed, and rushing beneath the dark shelter of the over-hanging trees. The village is small, and contains two respectable hotels, viz., the Hand, at which we stopped by the advice of my companion, and the Royal Hotel.

We were shown into a very good parlour, and after ordering a tea and supper dinner, my friend, somewhat exhausted by the day’s march, flung himself upon a sofa, while I resumed my journal, and soon afterwards retired to my bed-room, where the murmurs of the flowing Dee were distinctly heard beneath the window.

“Here I am, then,” said I, soliloquising, as I pressed the pillow; “here am I, at length, in the Vale of Llangollen; in the village of Llangollen,—a spot which I have so often longed to visit!”