136 ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 



the sources of which we conjectured ourselves at the 

 summit of no inconsiderable hill. There, however, 

 the mist was thick, rapid, and impenetrable, and a 

 cold rain slanted athwart us, in large, ugly drops. 

 Somewhat breathless with our upward ascent, we 

 planted ourselves upon a tuft of thick heather, and, 

 as the phrase goes, took our morning from the flask 

 of mountain dew and its accompanying quaich 

 which, as a matter of course, we carried along with 

 us. One plaid it was under which both of us, for 

 the space of several minutes, were sheltered; but 

 soon again we started along the level moss, with a 

 strong, quick step, anxious to make the best of our 

 time, and gain without delay the wished-for stream. 

 But, wanting a compass, we had to struggle through 

 a cursed obliterating fog; and although at the first 

 instinctive of our course, we soon began to lose 

 all knowledge of where we were. Track there was 

 none among the chaos of moss-hags round about us. 

 A solitary heath-cock whirred up in our van, and 

 took its own path through the humid air, but we 

 had no wings to follow the phantom bird; and the 

 one-eyed pointer which accompanied us returned 

 shivering to our feet, in marvel that the game had not 

 dropped dead before her, out of sheer courtesy to her 

 splendid abilities. And now a ragged sheep, seeming 

 huge as a lion, started up at our side it dived forward 

 into the cloud, and vanished as if evaporated. But 

 on we held, as our fancies directed us, having at 

 whiles a dim, indistinct memory of some knoll or 



