"You talk of Plynlimmon Mawr, or the great Plynlymmon," said I;
"where are the small ones?"
"Yonder they are," said the guide, pointing to two hills towards
the north; "one is Plynlimmon Canol, and the other Plynlimmon Bach
- the middle and the small Plynlimmon."
"Pumlummon," said I, "means five summits. You have pointed out
only three; now, where are the other two?"
"Those two hills which we have just passed make up the five.
However, I will tell your worship that there is a sixth summit.
Don't you see that small hill connected with the big Pumlummon, on
the right?"
"I see it very clearly," said I.
"Well, your worship, that's called Bryn y Llo - the Hill of the
Calf, or the Calf Plynlimmon, which makes the sixth summit."
"Very good," said I, "and perfectly satisfactory. Now let us
ascend the Big Pumlummon."
In about a quarter of an hour we reached the summit of the hill,
where stood a large carn or heap of stones. I got upon the top and
looked around me.
A mountainous wilderness extended on every side, a waste of russet
coloured hills, with here and there a black, craggy summit. No
signs of life or cultivation were to be discovered, and the eye
might search in vain for a grove or even a single tree.
