The morning of the fifth of November looked rather threatening. As,
however, it did not rain, I determined to set off for Plynlimmon, and,
returning at night to the inn, resume my journey to the south on the
following day. On looking into a pocket almanac I found it was Sunday.
This very much disconcerted me, and I thought at first of giving up my
expedition. Eventually, however, I determined to go, for I reflected
that I should be doing no harm, and that I might acknowledge the
sacredness of the day by attending morning service at the little Church
of England chapel which lay in my way.

The mountain of Plynlimmon to which I was bound is the third in Wales for
altitude, being only inferior to Snowdon and Cadair Idris. Its proper
name is Pum, or Pump, Lumon, signifying the five points, because towards
the upper part it is divided into five hills or points. Plynlimmon is a
celebrated hill on many accounts. It has been the scene of many
remarkable events. In the tenth century a dreadful battle was fought on
one of its spurs between the Danes and the Welsh, in which the former
sustained a bloody overthrow; and in 1401 a conflict took place in one of
its valleys between the Welsh, under Glendower, and the Flemings, of
Pembrokeshire, who, exasperated at having their homesteads plundered and
burned by the chieftain who was the mortal enemy of their race, assembled
in considerable numbers and drove Glendower and his forces before them to
Plynlimmon, where, the Welshmen standing at bay, a contest ensued, in
which, though eventually worsted, the Flemings were at one time all but
victorious. What, however, has more than anything else contributed to
the celebrity of the hill is the circumstance of its giving birth to
three rivers, the first of which, the Severn, is the principal stream in
Britain; the second, the Wye, the most lovely river, probably, which the
world can boast of; and the third, the Rheidol, entitled to high honour
from its boldness and impetuosity, and the remarkable banks between which
it flows in its very short course, for there are scarcely twenty miles
between the ffynnon or source of the Rheidol and the aber or place where
it disembogues itself into the sea.

* * * * *

'Good are the horses of the Moslems,' said my old friend; 'where will you
find such? They will descend rocky mountains at full speed and neither
trip nor fall; but you must be cautious with the horses of the Moslems,
and treat them