I then tried to ascend the hill again, for there was no other way to get off it; but soon sank down utterly exhausted.  When able to get up again, and look about me, it was completely dark.  I saw, far below me, a light, that looked about as big as a pin’s head, that I knew to be from the inn at Rowardennan, but heard no sound except the rush of the waterfall, and the sighing of the night wind.

For the first few minutes after I perceived I had come to my night’s lodging, such as it was, the circumstance looked appalling.  I was very lightly clad, my feet and dress were very wet, I had only a little shawl to throw round me, and the cold autumn wind had already come, and the night mist was to fall on me, all fevered and exhausted as I was.  I thought I should not live through the night, or, if I did, I must be an invalid henceforward.  I could not even keep myself warm by walking, for, now it was dark, it would be too dangerous to stir.  My only chance, however, lay in motion, and my only help in myself; and so convinced was I of this, that I did keep in motion the whole of that long night, imprisoned as I was on such a little perch of that great mountain.

For about two hours, I saw the stars, and very cheery and companionable they looked; but then the mist fell, and I saw nothing more, except such apparitions as visited Ossian, on the hill-side, when he went out by night, and struck the bosky shield, and called to him the spirits of the heroes, and the white-armed maids, with their blue eyes of grief.  To me, too, came those visionary shapes.  Floating slowly and gracefully, their white robes would unfurl from the great body of mist in which they had been engaged, and come upon me with a kiss pervasively cold as that of death.  Then the moon rose.  I could not see her, but her silver light filled the mist.  Now I knew it was two o’clock, and that, having weathered out so 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, 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