442 WILD FLOWEBS OF 



I had got, it matters not how, to Maentwrog, Meri- 

 onethshire, within the confines of that lovely vale 

 adorned by the graceful windings of the Dwyryd, of 

 which Lord LTTTLETON once said, that with the 

 woman one loves, the friend of one's heart, and a good 

 library of books, one might spend an age in it, and 

 think it only a day. Anxious to explore the beau- 

 ties around, I first started for the two waterfalls 

 formed by the little river Yeleuryd, one of which is 

 called Rliaidyr-du, or the Black Cataract. Scrambling 

 down with some difficulty amidst entangling under- 

 wood, I reached the stony bed of the river, gloomy 

 even at noon with the masses of dense umbrage 

 around. It was a burning day, and seated on a mossy 

 rock below the fall in this cool recess, I listened to 

 the hoarse splash of the waters, ever and anon raving 

 with fresh repercussion, and gazed on the flowers 

 around with a feeling of delighted ecstacy. The tran- 

 quil repose of such moments often recurs to the 

 memory amidst the vexations or vacuities of after life, 

 and again presents a healing balm to the perturbed 

 spirits such are the advantages the votary of nature 

 derives from his pure and vivifying contemplations. 

 "Where bogs skirt the banks of the mountain streams 

 as they do here and in many parts of North Wales, 

 the spicy scent arising from great quantities of the 

 Bog Myrtle (Myrica gale) growing together gives a 

 peculiar and exciting fragrance to the air. 



Returning over the wooded bank of the stream, 

 and dashing quickly along a very narrow path that 

 led to a precipitous ledge of rock from whence ano- 

 ther waterfall sprang foaming into view, I came into 

 rough collision with a luckless sketcher, who was 



