CHAP. xni. ANOTHER JOURNEY TO FRESWICK. 179 



own words, which are not only full of life but of 

 eloquence. They are taken from his letter to Hugh 

 Miller, dated the 13th November 1848 : 



" The nights are much longer now, and of course the 

 days are much shortened. I knew that I could not 

 discern a piece of shell from a piece of stone before 

 eight o'clock; and I did not wish to stand shivering 

 there waiting for the sun. 



" ' Up, sluggards ! up ! ' 



" At half-past two o'clock I got my parritch ready, 

 gulped it down, and sallied forth. 



"It is a cold damp morning. Black clouds are 

 wheeling and circling along the sky. The moon is 

 somewhere above, but I see it not. Her light is shorn. 

 But, for the little light she sheds, I am thankful. It is a 

 long, long, lonely road to Freswick ; but though alone I 

 have no fears. 



" ' Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; 

 Thou'rt to Heaven and Science dear ! ' 



" I am not sure, not exactly sure, whether the deduc- 

 tions of scientific men are always such as to merit the 

 approbation of Heaven. Man at best is but an erring, 

 groping, half-blind animal. His reason is often at fault. 

 But hark ! the sleepless one gives warning. One, two, 

 three o'clock, and now across the bridge, and now along 

 the road, encompassed on either side with cultivated 

 fields, once stubborn blue boulder clay, and even yet, 

 after hundreds of years of dibbling and dibbling, drilling 

 and digging, it is still a rough soil. 



