A WALK TO FISCHBACHAU. 43 



a very foolish thing. For years I nattered myself with 

 the belief of possessing in a superlative degree the organ 

 of locality j and it is only after having more than once 

 missed my way in the forest and on the mountain, and 

 discovered my reckoning to be almost always wrong, 

 that this crotchet of mine has been given up, and the 

 acknowledgment forced from me that there is as much 

 chance of my going astray in this physical world, as in 

 the one where we are apt to take our passions for guide- 

 posts. Once, when lagging behind my companions, I 

 lost my way on the mountains j and after having tra- 

 versed a space which no one would have credited but for 

 my description of some peculiar features of a remote spot 

 reached while thus wandering, I was at length fortunate 

 enough to see afar off an old human being, who, on my 

 forcing him to go with me, put me on the right track. 

 Had I not found that poor weather-beaten creature just 

 then, my bones would now be lying up' amongst those 

 heights. 



In the mountains all is on so large a scale, the stranger 

 is constantly deceiving himself as to distance. A trifling 

 change of position, too, makes everything look quite 

 different. In descending from an eminence the forms 

 selected as landmarks are at once lost sight of; on get- 

 ting nearer to the foot of the mountains the seemingly 

 narrow valley opens into breadth : hill, mound, dell, all 

 unperceived till now, start into sight ; you become con- 

 fused by a multitude of objects not calculated on before, 

 and, having already perhaps deviated from the straight 

 line to evade a precipice or to cross a torrent, are wholly 

 at a loss what direction to take. You look back to 

 reconnoitre the ground and find your starting-point. 

 But it is not to be found ; all is changed ; other forms 

 are seen up against the sky ; no single feature that was 



