knights who held the manor.

But soon, like the best-meant insti

tutions, falling from its original uses and good purpose, became, on the extinction of the order, the prolific source of the evils it was in

tended to remedy.

Proceeding onward I passed over Pont Arleder, and along the banks of the Conway till I reached the village of Bettws y Coed, seated in a pleasing vale, surrounded by noble mountains, not far from the confluence of the Llugwy and the Conway. The scenery

in this neighbourhood is much varied: in the course of 'a summer's day,' as Yorick says, the hardy pedestrian may view the most charming points of Welsh scenery-her picturesque valleys and majestic mountains-placid lakes and boisterous waterfalls-crumbling towers and castles,-and some extensive works of art.

The Church of Bettws y Coed contains an old monument in memory of Gruffydd, the son of David Gôch, who died in the fourteenth century, and was a son of David, brother of Llewellyn, the last Prince of Wales. There is yet the following mutilated inscription: Hic jacet Gruffydd ap Davyd Gôch, agnus Dei miserere mei.'

Over the river Conway, about half a mile from the village, is an elegant iron bridge, upwards of one hundred feet in span, built by the distinguished engineer, Telford, named Waterloo bridge, having been erected the same year in which that celebrated battle occurred.

Just before the Llugwy joins its streams with the Conway, there is a remarkable bridge called Pont y Pair,* thrown across the former

* A native tourist (Mr. Llwyd) has observed, somewhat humorously, 'on returning to Bettws y Coed, we proceeded slowly to enjoy a continued view of the highest, grandest, and roughest mob of mountains anywhere to be seen; wishing, as it were, to crush Snowdon, which they surround. This view reminded me of the Bay of Biscay in the rage of a tornado. Rosa would have brandished his pencil with extacy on this scene.

In its passage through this village the river Llugwy meets with such obstruction amongst the rocks, that it becomes so shockingly infuriated in the conflict, as to have the appearance of a boiling caldron, from which circumstance, the bridge over it takes the name of Pont y Pair, the Caldron Bridge.'

river in several arches, strongly based upon the solid rocks. These natural piers, high and precipitous, overhang the dashing waters which break over the craggy ledges, on the points of which the bridge is so boldly and curiously constructed. In the wintry or stormy months, the meeting and conflict of this flood of waters displays at once the most fearful and most fantastic images to the eye. The falls and thunder of the torrents are truly awful; nor are the extraordinary contrasts and combinations of the surrounding scenery less in unison with the romantic character of the spot. The steep indented cliffs, grey and worn, fantastically clothed with wood, and the white dwellings dotting the hill-side, exhibit, blended into one, the mingled charm of the terrific and the beautiful.

Near the Holyhead road—which presents so many diversified views of rock and valley, deep woods, and mountain-torrents— midway between Bettws y Coed and Capel Curig, I came to the extraordinary cataract called, from its rapid flow, Rhaiadr y Wenol, or the Fall of the Swallow. It presents the irregular aspect of a hill of rocks springing from the very bed of the river, which produces all the effect of a bold break-water, giving redoubled force to the stream which divides and foams down in wild and airy leaps till it reaches its black and caverned bed. The contrast of its floods of foam with its dark waters below, reflecting the gloomy shadow of the towering cliffs, the huge masses of projecting rock which receive the tumbling stream, flinging it into a thousand varied forms down a chasm of sixty feet,-the sombre woods which skirt the ravine, here and there concealing the torrent, the varied hues of rock, and shrub, and moss, and spots of deep green verdure, give an air of enchantment, as well as wildness and sublimity, to the scene. Threading the recesses of the woods to the summit, I commanded a full view of the entire fall of the precipitous flood.

Before reaching Capel Curig, at a turn of the road, I beheld the singularly picturesque and rural bridge over the Llugwy. The river hurries its tide along its rugged channel on the left of the road towards Holyhead. The aspect presents a remarkable union of