much of the night, I might the rest; and the hours
hardly seemed long to me more.

It may give an idea of the extent of the mountain to say that, though
I called every now and then with all my force, in case by chance some
aid might be near, and though no less than twenty men with their dogs
were looking for me, I never heard a sound except the rush of the
waterfall and the sighing of the night-wind, and once or twice the
startling of the grouse in the heather. It was sublime indeed,--a
never-to-be-forgotten presentation of stern, serene realities.

At last came the signs of day, the gradual clearing and breaking up;
some faint sounds, from I know not what. The little flies, too, arose
from their bed amid the purple heather, and bit me; truly they were
very welcome to do so. But what was my disappointment to find the mist
so thick, that I could see neither lake nor inn, nor anything to guide
me. I had to go by guess, and, as it happened, my Yankee method served
me well. I ascended the hill, crossed the torrent in the waterfall,
first drinking some of the water, which was as good at that time as
ambrosia. I crossed in that place because the waterfall made steps,
as it were, to the next hill; to be sure they were covered with water,
but I was already entirely wet with the mist, so that it did not
matter. I then kept on scrambling, as it happened, in the right
direction, till, about seven, some of the shepherds found me. The
moment they came, all my feverish strength departed, though, if
unaided, I dare say it would have kept me up during the day; and they
carried me home, where my arrival relieved my friends of distress
far greater than I had undergone, for I had had my grand solitude, my
Ossianic visions, and the pleasure of sustaining myself while they
had only doubt amounting to anguish and a fruitless search through the
night.

Entirely contrary to my expectations, I only suffered for this a few
days, and was able to take a parting look at my prison, as I went
down the lake, with feelings of complacency. It was a majestic-looking
hill, that Tongue, with the deep ravines on either side, and the
richest robe of heather I have seen anywhere.

Mr. S. gave all the men who were looking for me a dinner in the barn,
and he and Mrs. S. ministered to them, and they talked of Burns,
really the national writer, and known by them, apparently, as none
other is, and of hair-breadth escapes by flood and fell. Afterwards
they we