Mr. Aikin ascended it from Dolgelly. Llyn-y-Gader lies about a mile and a half on the high road to Towyn, which having arrived at, we quitted the road, and began our ascent. When we had surmounted the exterior ridge, we descended a little to a deep clear lake, which is kept constantly full by the numerous tributary torrents which fall down the surrounding rocks. Hence we climbed a second and still higher chain, up a steep but not difficult track, over numerous fragments of rock, detached from the higher parts: we now came to a second and more elevated lake, called Llyn y Cae, clear as glass, and overlooked by steep cliffs, in such a manner as to resemble the crater of a volcano, of which a most accurate representation may be seen in Wilson’s excellent View of Cader Idris. A clear, loud, and distinct echo repeats every shout which is made near the lake. The waters of this lake cover an extent of fifty acres, abounding with trout and other fish. We now began our last and most difficult ascent, up the summit of Cader Idris itself. The loose columnar stones lie about in all directions, assuming in many places so regular an appearance, that they might be mistaken for Druidic remains. Some of them stand erect, like Maenhirion, and one is dignified with the title Llêch Idria. Nearer the summit, numerous masses of irregular figures present themselves. Having gained this ascent, a small plain forms the base to two eminences, or rocky heads, of nearly equal height, one lying towards the north, called Tyrran Mawr, the other to the south, called Pen y Gader. We made choice of the latter, which appeared the most elevated, and seated ourselves upon its highest pinnacle to rest, after a laborious ascent of three hours. We were now above all the eminences within a vast expanse, and as the clouds gradually cleared away, caught some grand views of the surrounding country. The huge rocks, which we before looked up to with astonishment, were now far below our feet, and many a small lake appeared in the valleys between them. To the north, Snowdon and its dependencies shut up the scene; on the west, we saw the whole curve of the bay of Cardigan, bounded at a great distance by the Caernarvon mountains, and nearer the sea, dashing its white breakers against the rocky coast of Merioneth. The southern horizon was bounded by Plinlimmon, the bay of Swansea, the Channel peeping through the openings of the Brecon mountains; and on the east, the eye glanced over the lake of Bala, the two Arennig mountains, the two Arrans, and the long chain of the Ferwyn mountains, to the Breddin hills, on the confines of Shropshire. Dimly, in the distant horizon, was beheld the Wrekin, rising alone from the plain of Salop. “In viewing scenes so decidedly magnificent,” says a pictorial writer, “and to which neither the pen nor the pencil of the painter can ever do justice; and the contemplation of which has the power of making ample atonement for having studied mankind,