that of the Vale of Cluyd.—I am not at at all surprised that poetry took its rise in this part of Britain; the ancient Druids could not be at a loss for poetic images—every object they saw must have inspired them, and exceeded, both in beauty, and wildness, whatever sportive fancy could have invented, or creative genius drawn forth from the store-house of imagination.
I think that even I seem to be possessed with a kind of poetic rapture, while I describe these charming scenes; but I will not anticipate the pleasure that I hope you will yourself receive from them, next summer; tho' I already forestall the much higher delight I shall feel, on seeing my dear Fanny at South-field.

Sir William has been in great spirits ever since we have been here; and highly pleased at a very trifling mark of my obedience:—he proposed riding out, the morning after we came; and though there was a high wind, and a drizzling rain, I made not the least objection to mounting one of the little Welsh palfreys, and clambering up the hills, at his request—our fellow travellers, Lord Lucan and Colonel Walter, accompanied us.
I have described the former to you—the latter is remarkably handsome, but with a peculiar expression in his countenance, which is not the result of his features, but seems to arise from the predominancy of a particular passion in his mind—in short it is that sort of expression,

which has made you and me dislike so many handsome men.
The Colonel is to be our neighbour in the country; he is now going to Ireland, to take possession of his estate, and a seat in parliament for a borough he never saw—I am no politician, or I should animadvert a little upon this subject. This self-same Colonel has just tapped at my door, to tell me that the wind veers a little, and that Sir William desires I will hold myself in readiness to embark. I obey! adieu, my Fanny.
LOUISA BARTON.
P.S. I forgot to tell you, that Lord Lucan was at Paris when we were there, last year—he has made me smile, two or

three times, by his pathetic manner of lamenting his not knowing me then. I tell him that he may date his acquaintance from what aera he pleases, as our living together in an inn has brought on a greater intimacy, in four days, than almost as many years could have effected, in the usual course of meeting at Operas, Routes, &c. But he sighs out a rueful, O que non! and