MIST ON THE MOUNTAIN. 317 



these mountains of the game; indeed all along the 

 boundary we are forced to destroy it." 



On such a day as this it is impossible to calculate 

 with any certainty upon a favourable change in the 

 weather. The appearances around vary from one 

 moment to another. Suddenly the mists come trail- 

 ing by, and bits of floating cloud, smoke-like and va- 

 poury ; and in a second all is shut out from your sight. 

 A damp, cold, dull clogginess, like thickened air, 

 hangs before your face ; you feel it sticking to you ; 

 and to see your comrade beyond two paces' distance 

 is impossible. Even then he looms towering through 

 the fog, an indistinct spectral shape. Every landmark 

 has disappeared ; there is not one single thing for the 

 eye to seize and hold by, and this soon produces a 

 disquieting sensation. All stability seems gone, and 

 your nature is not used to this. Then you discover 

 that the eye, as well as the footstep, needs firm ground 

 to move over ; it must have something to lay hold of, 

 and it peers around with a straining intensity into the 

 sluggish, thick vacuity, but finds nothing. 



It soon began to rain, and so heavily that we re- 

 solved to descend. On our slippery way down we 

 found here and there the genuine Iceland moss. At 

 last we reached a hollow, where the hut of a wood- 

 cutter was standing, and, rude as it was, it proved a 

 welcome shelter. We were all wet to the skin. The 

 younger forester took off his joppe, and wrung the 

 water from his shirt-sleeves : he complained of being 

 cold ; however I did not feel so, and lying down on 



