Original Size
All this we did not like; and yet nothing could well be finer than the plunge of the river, with roar and foam, over the vast mass of rocks, slanting in rugged, picturesque confusion from the summit to the foot of the fall, and breaking the stream in its descent into numberless cascades and tiny rapids. The picture is one of marvellous diversity, and when the river is swollen by rain the rush and roar are tremendous.
Our day’s journey was nearly over, and another hours walk, or a little mure, brought us to that “paradise of painters,” the Royal Oak at Bettws y-Coed. Happily there was room for us, though the inn seemed crowded by artists—many of them men of world-wide reputation—who come again and again to this fair valley, always to find something new in form or colour, light or shade. The next day was spent in rambling about the neighbourhood; and almost everywhere we found artists at work with easel and umbrella. Pont-y-pair was to us as an old friend, so often had we seen its semblance in exhibition-rooms and books of “landscape scenery.” Few subjects, indeed, could be more adapted to the painter.