er in which he had removed the difficulty
in question, and informed him that I was determined to follow his advice.
He hurried away, and presently returned with his nephew, to whom I
offered half-a-crown provided he would show me all about Pen Caer Gyby.
He accepted my offer with evident satisfaction, and we lost no time in
setting out upon our expedition.

We had to pass over a great deal of broken ground, sometimes ascending,
sometimes descending, before we found ourselves upon the side of what may
actually be called the headland. Shaping our course westward we came to
the vicinity of a lighthouse standing on the verge of a precipice, the
foot of which was washed by the sea.

Leaving the lighthouse on our right we followed a steep winding path
which at last brought us to the top of the pen or summit, rising,
according to the judgment which I formed, about six hundred feet from the
surface of the sea. Here was a level spot some twenty yards across, in
the middle of which stood a heap of stones or cairn. I asked the lad
whether this cairn bore a name, and received for answer that it was
generally called Bar-cluder y Cawr Glas, words which seem to signify the
top heap of the Grey Giant.

"Some king, giant, or man of old renown lies buried beneath this cairn,"
said I. "Whoever he may be, I trust he will excuse me for mounting it,
seeing that I do so with no disrespectful spirit." I then mounted the
cairn, exclaiming:--

"Who lies 'neath the cairn on the headland hoar,
His hand yet holding his broad claymore,
Is it Beli, the son of Benlli Gawr?"

There stood I on the cairn of the Grey Giant, looking around me. The
prospect, on every side, was noble: the blue interminable sea to the west
and north; the whole stretch of Mona to the east; and far away to the
south the mountainous region of Eryri, comprising some of the most
romantic hills in the world. In some respects this Pen Santaidd, this
holy headland, reminded me of Finisterrae, the Gallegan promontory which
I had ascended some seventeen years before, whilst engaged in battling
the Pope with the sword of the gospel in his favourite territory. Both
are bold, bluff headlands looking to the west, both have huge rocks in
their vicinity, rising from the bosom of the brine. For a time, as I
stood on the cairn, I almost imagined myself on the Gallegan hill; much
the same scenery presented itself as there, and a sun equally fierce
struck upon my head