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There are great moors behind and on each hand of me; there are waves of mountains far beyond that deep valley at my feet.

The population here must be thin, and I see no passengers on these roads: they stretch out east, west, north, and south-white, broad, lonely; they are all cut in the moor, and the heather grows deep and wild to their very verge.

Yet a chance traveller might pass by; and I wish no eye to see me now: strangers would wonder what I am doing, lingering here at the sign-post, evidently objectless and lost.

I might be questioned: I could give no answer but what would sound incredible and excite suspicion.

Not a tie holds me to human society at this moment-not a charm or hope calls me where my fellow-creatures are-none that saw me would have a kind thought or a good wish for me.

I have no relative but the universal mother, Nature: I will seek her breast and ask repose.

I struck straight into the heath; I held on to a hollow I saw deeply furrowing the brown moorside; I waded knee-deep in its dark growth; I turned with its turnings, and finding a moss-blackened granite crag in a hidden angle, I sat down under it.

High banks of moor were about me; the crag protected my head: the sky was over that.

Some time passed before I felt tranquil even here: I had a vague dread that wild cattle might be near, or that some sportsman or poacher might discover me.

If a gust of wind swept the waste, I looked up, fearing it was the rush of a bull; if a plover whistled, I imagined it a man.

Finding my apprehensions unfounded, however, and calmed by the deep silence that reigned as evening declined at nightfall, I took confidence.

As yet I had not thought; I had only listened, watched, dreaded; now I regained the faculty of reflection.

What was I to do? Where to go? Oh, intolerable questions, when I could do nothing and go nowhere!-when a long way must yet be measured by my weary, trembling limbs before I could reach human habitation-when cold charity must be entreated before I could get a lodging: reluctant sympathy importuned, almost certain repulse incurred, before my tale could be listened to, or one of my wants relieved!

I touched the heath: it was dry, and yet warm with the heat of the summer day.

I looked at the sky; it was pure: a kindly star twinkled just above the chasm ridge.

The dew fell, but with propitious softness; no breeze whispered.

Nature seemed to me benign and good; I thought she loved me, outcast as I was; and I, who from man could anticipate only mistrust, rejection, insult, clung to her with filial fondness.

To-night, at least, I would be her guest, as I was her child: my mother would lodge me without money and without price.

I had one morsel of bread yet: the remnant of a roll I had bought in a town we passed through at noon with a stray penny-my last coin.

I saw ripe bilberries gleaming here and there, like jet beads in the heath: I gathered a handful and ate them with the bread.

My hunger, sharp before, was, if not satisfied, appeased by this hermit's meal.

I said my evening prayers at its conclusion, and then chose my couch.

Beside the crag the heath was very deep: when I lay down my feet were buried in it; rising high on each side, it left only a narrow space for the night-air to invade.

I folded my shawl double, and spread it over me for a coverlet; a low, mossy swell was my pillow.

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