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on his map, he finds three; and perhaps the one he relies on
may have disappeared under recent accidents, or have lapsed
into swamp. He finds himself on the edge of a precipice, and
does not know how far to go back. He finds the bog deepen,
and thinks he can scarcely be in the right road. He finds a
landslip, which compels him to make a wider circuit, and
meantime it is growing dusk. Worst of all, a fog may come on
at any moment; and there is an end of all security to one
who does not know the little wayside-marks which guide the
shepherd in such a case. Tales are current throughout the
region of the deaths of natives, even in the summer months,
through fog, wet, fatigue, or fall,- the native having a
better chance than a stranger, ten times over. And why
should the risk be run? It cannot be to save the fee, in the
case of a journey of pleasure. The guide is worth more than
his pay for the information he has to give,- to say nothing
of the comfort of his carrying the knapsack,- as many
knapsacks as there are walkers. If solitude be desired, the
meditative gentleman will soon find that anxiety about the
way, and an internal conflict with apprehensiveness are sad
spoilers of the pleasures of solitude. Better have a real
substantial, comfortable, supporting shepherd by his side,
giving his mind liberty for contemplation and enjoyment of
the scene, than the spectres of the mountain perplexing him
on all sides, and marring his ease. But enough. Travellers
who know what mountain climbing is, among loose stones,
shaking bog, and slippery rushes or grass, with the
alternative of a hot sun or a strong wind, and perpetual
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