Each
party is convinced that their ascent was the more creditable in point of
speed, and that they enjoyed the more magnificent views. One, however,
claims an advantage which can be more easily gauged; they have haled a
hamper of luncheon with them to the peak, with infinite pains. During
the descent this hamper (but that was after luncheon) slipped from its
carrier's hand, and plunged beyond recovery down the Fox' Walk.
Meanwhile, others are befogged on the broad top of Aran Mowddy, but will
be anxious to explain this evening, that if the view from the summit was
lost in mist, that was more than made amends for by "the enchanting
glimpses caught through the cloudrifts in the descent." The day wears
on, and signs of fatigue appear. Some are wondering what Miss Roberts of
the famous "Lion" at Dolgelley has got for their dinner. Small boys
begin to declare that they could go on at this pace for any time you
like; this is nothing to what they did last year in the Highlands;
something like mountains _there_, you know! The sun is far in the west
when the knot of adventurous reconnoitrers who have gone farthest afield
mount the train at Portmadoc.
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