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T is indeed—to use the words of Henry James—"an all too placid railway journey" from London down to South Wales, and when bound for the Swansea Valley, not very long ago, in company with a party of cheery spirits, I must confess to feeling in despair, after leaving the old cathedral city of Hereford in the rear, of ever reaching the promised goal, as the train crept with an exasperating slowness past one deserted country station after another. Great was the general relief when at length the cry of "Penwyllt" was to be heard, and on descending from our railway carriage to find a cosy landau waiting to convey our party to Craig-y-nos Castle, the far-famed mountain home of Adelina Patti, a beautiful residence and estate situated on a cleft of the huge Night rock (from which it derives its name), standing high above the sparkling waters of the Tawe and surrounded by scenery of rare loveliness. Tired and travel-worn as we were, we could but congratulate ourselves, as the panorama now opened before us, on making acquaintance with a comparatively unexplored country, a green vision of towering hills and fresh bright valleys musical with the chime of running streams, and as yet primitive and unpervaded by the omnipresent tourist.

On reaching the courtyard of the castle, the wide gates were thrown open to admit us into a flowery garden, and now the house itself, tall and stately, stood before us. The door was unlatched by a pleasant-looking German "intendant," William Heck, Madame Patti's right hand and domestic adviser, who, after conducting us through the warmly carpeted hall, led the way to the drawing-room to await the down-coming of the fair châtelaine herself. Needless to say that the welcome of Adelina Patti to her guests is always a hearty one. The diva puts her heart into all she does, whether it be singing, dancing, playing, or attending to the wants of the poor who throng at her gates.