down the
vale in the direction of Llan Rhyadr. To the north-east, between the
hog-backed hill and another strange-looking mountain, is a wild glen,
from which comes a brook to swell the waters discharged by the Rhyadr.
The south-west side of the vale is steep, and from a cleft of a hill in
that quarter a slender stream rushing impetuously joins the brook of the
Rhyadr, like the rill of the northern glen. The principal object of the
whole is of course the Rhyadr. What shall I liken it to? I scarcely
know, unless to an immense skein of silk agitated and disturbed by
tempestuous blasts, or to the long tail of a grey courser at furious
speed. Through the profusion of long silvery threads or hairs, or what
looked such, I could here and there see the black sides of the crag down
which the Rhyadr precipitated itself with something between a boom and a
roar.

After sitting on the verge of the hollow for a considerable time I got
up, and directed my course towards the house in front of the grove. I
turned down the path which brought me to the brook which runs from the
northern glen into the waters discharged by the Rhyadr, and crossing it
by stepping-stones, found myself on the lowest spur of the hog-backed
hill. A steep path led towards the house. As I drew near two handsome
dogs came rushing to welcome the stranger. Coming to a door on the
northern side of the house I tapped, and a handsome girl of about
thirteen making her appearance, I inquired in English the nearest way the
waterfall; she smiled, and in her native language said that she had no
Saxon. On my telling her in Welsh that I was come to see the Pistyll she
smiled again, and said that I was welcome, then taking me round the
house, she pointed to a path and bade me follow it. I followed the path
which led downward to a tiny bridge of planks, a little way below the
fall. I advanced to the middle of the bridge, then turning to the west,
looked at the wonderful object before me.

There are many remarkable cataracts in Britain and the neighbouring
isles, even the little Celtic Isle of Man has its remarkable waterfall;
but this Rhyadr, the grand cataract of North Wales, far exceeds them all
in altitude and beauty, though it is inferior to several of them in the
volume of its flood. I never saw water falling so gracefully, so much
like thin beautiful threads, as here. Yet even this cataract has its
blemish. What beautiful object has not something which more