The Argosy — page 228: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Among the Welsh. 211 are cultivated slopes, and patches of green where cattle are grazing, and fields planted with grain. Houses nestle amidst the trees on the hill sides, almost hidden from sight. Bettws itself is almost unquiet with the sounds of nature. ‘The river runs a rapid and somewhat noisy course, especially when it becomes shallow and lays bare its rocky bed. ‘Trees, overhanging the water, for ever whisper and sway and rustle in the wind. ‘The air seems filled with sound. But it is pleasant and soothing, very distinct from the hum and rush and roar of cities, which fill you with unrest, and make you feel nothing so strongly and so certainly as that there will come a day when we shall put off this mortality and find rest unto our souls. What a laying down of the burden; what a folding of the hands ; what a long-drawn sigh will loose the silver cord. The village of Bettws-y-Coed consists, chiefly, of one winding street ; so winding that you can only see a few houses at a glance, and the place, in consequence, looks even less important than a village. ‘This is, perhaps, an advantage. ‘The road curves, and the houses are built under the very shadow of the hills, and often, in winter, must see little sunshine. Yet, said the landlord of the hotel, it was warm, and roses bloom all the year round. Damp, also, it ‘certainly must be in wet weather, when, to the other sounds of nature, is added the monotonous and melancholy drip, drop from the trees, from which there is no escape. The post office, a sort of “all-at-once” shop, dealt in many things; but the manner of the young woman who served was so unpleasant that one entered only under compulsion, and left with despatch. In Wales, almost more than any other place or country I know, one meets with the: two extremes: a rough, rude manner, very ignorant and forbidding, or a politeness and civility that raises its possessors above the ordinary level of their kind. Perhaps, at Bettws-y-Coed the relaxing air affected the post office damsel—for the air is certainly relaxing, and to some temperaments must be trying. Or possibly she was overworked—a state of things quite as trying to the nerves and temper as a warm, soft atmosphere. Nevertheless, it is an excellent spot for a sojourn of some days, and may be made a starting point for many excursions. In summer four or five coaches start every day for different parts of the neighbour- hood, and by their aid all its beauties may best be seen. There is capital fishing in the streams, and an artist might almost take up his abode here and, at the end of a long life, scarcely have exhausted his subjects. One of my first impressions, indeed, of Bettws-y-Coed was a camp stool, an artist, and the inevitable white umbrella, the sum-total apparently disporting itself in the very middle of the river. But on nearer approach the artist proved to have chosen a less watery resting- place, and on the edge of the bank was carefully transferring to his ‘canvas the reflection of some graceful trees bending over the clear CORnNIClOOKS (CO)