On the southern side of this pass near the entrance were neat dwellings for the accommodation of visitors with cool apartments on the ground floor, with large windows, looking towards the precipitous side of the mighty northern hill; within them I observed tables, and books, and young men, probably English collegians, seated at study.
After I had proceeded some way up the pass, down which a small river ran, a woman who was standing on the right-hand side of the way, seemingly on the look-out, begged me in broken English to step aside and look at the fall.
"You mean a waterfall, I suppose ?" said I.
"Yes, sir." "And how do you call it ?" said I.
"The Fall of the Swallow, sir." "And in Welsh ?" said I.
"Rhaiadr y Wennol, sir." "And what is the name of the river ?" said I.
"We call the river the Lygwy, sir." I told the woman I would go, whereupon she conducted me through a gate on the right-hand side and down a path overhung with trees to a rock projecting into the river.

The Fall of the Swallow is not a majestic single fall, but a succession of small ones.

First there are a number of little foaming torrents, bursting through rocks about twenty yards above the promontory on which I stood.

Then come two beautiful rolls of white water, dashing into a pool a little way above the promontory; then there is a swirl of water round its corner into a pool below on its right, black as death, and seemingly of great depth; then a rush through a very narrow outlet into another pool, from which the water clamours away down the glen.

Such is the Rhaiadr y Wennol, or Swallow Fall; called so from the rapidity with which the waters rush and skip along.
On asking the woman on whose property the fall was, she informed me that it was on the property of the Gwedir family.