life precious to me. My torpid condition of mind, at home,
has simply given place to a perpetual restlessness, produced by the
excitement of my new life. I must now always be doing something--no
matter what, so long as it diverts me from my own thoughts. Inaction is
unendurable; solitude has become horrible to me. While the other members
of the party which has accompanied Sir James on his voyage of inspection
among the lighthouses are content to wait in the harbor of Lerwick for
a favorable change in the weather, I am obstinately bent on leaving
the comfortable shelter of the vessel to explore some inland ruin of
prehistoric times, of which I never heard, and for which I care nothing.
The movement is all I want; the ride will fill the hateful void of
time. I go, in defiance of sound advice offered to me on all sides. The
youngest member of our party catches the infection of my recklessness
(in virtue of his youth) and goes with me. And what has come of it?
We are blinded by mist; we are lost on a moor; and the treacherous
peat-bogs are round us in every direction!

What is to be done?

"Just leave it to the pownies," the guide says.

"Do you mean leave the ponies to find the way?"

"That's it," says the guide. "Drop the bridle, and leave it to the
pownies. See for yourselves. I'm away on _my_ powny."

He drops his bridle on the pommel of his saddle, whistles to his pony,
and disappears in the mist; riding with his hands in his pockets, and
his pipe in his mouth, as composedly as if he were sitting by his own
fireside at home.

We have no choice but to follow his example, or to be left alone on
the moor. The intelligent little animals, relieved from our stupid
supervision, trot off with their noses to the ground, like hounds on the
scent. Where the intersecting tract of bog is wide, they skirt round it.
Where it is narrow enough to be leaped over, they cross it by a jump.
Trot! trot!--away the hardy little creatures go; never stopping, never
hesitating. Our "superior intelligence," perfectly useless in the
emergency, wonders how it will end. Our guide, in front of us, answers
that it will end in the ponies finding their way certainly to the
nearest village or the nearest house. "Let the bridles be," is his one
warning to us. "Come what may of it, let the bridles be!"

It is easy for the guide to let his bridle be--he is accustomed to place
himself in that helpless position under stress of circumstances, and he
k