Lost on the Mountains.  
Did ever the worthy London merchant, in the course of his life, approach to the verge of the region of despair, it was on that eventful night when he found himself and his family lost among the mountains of Scotland.
 
“It’s dreadful,” said he, sitting down on a cold grey rock, and beginning slowly to realise the utter hopelessness of their condition.
 
“My poor Lucy, don’t be cast down,” (drawing her to his breast), “after all, it will only be a night of wandering. But we must keep moving. We must not venture to lie down in our wet clothes. We must not even rest long at a time, lest a chill should come upon you.”
 
“But I’m quite warm, papa, and only a very little tired. I could walk for miles yet.” She said this cheerily, but she could not help looking anxious. The night was so dark, however, that no one could see her looks.
 
“Do let me go off alone, father,” urged George; “I am as fresh as possible, and could run over the hills until I should fall in with—”
 
“Don’t mention it, George; I feel that our only hope is to keep together. Poor Peter! what will become of that boy?”
 
Mr Sudberry became almost, desperate as he thought of the small clerk. He started up. “Come, we must keep moving. You are not cold, dear? are you sure you are not cold?”
 
“Quite sure, papa; why are you so anxious?”
 
“Because I have a flask of brandy, which I mean to delay using until we break down and cannot get on without it. Whenever you begin to get chilled I must give you brandy. Not till then, however; spirits are hurtful when there is hard toil before you, but when you break down there is no resource left. Rest, food, sleep, would be better; but these we have no chance of getting to-night. Poor Jacky! does he keep warm, George?”
 
“No fear of him,” cried George, with forced gaiety. “He’s all right.”
 
Jack had broken down completely soon after nightfall. Vigorously, manfully had he struggled to keep up; but when his usual hour for going to bed arrived, nature refused to sustain him. He sank to the ground, and then George wrapped him up in his shooting-coat, in which he now lay, sound asleep, like a dirty brown bundle, on his brother’s shoulders.
 
“I’ll tell you what,” said Fred, after they had walked, or rather stumbled, on for some time in silence. “Suppose you all wait here for ten minutes while I run like a greyhound to the nearest height and see if anything is to be seen. Mamma must have alarmed the whole neighbourhood by this time; and if they are looking for us, they will be sure to have lanterns or torches.”
 
“A good idea, my boy. Go, and pause every few minutes to shout, so that we may not lose you. Keep shouting, Fred, and we will wait here and reply.”
 
Fred was off in a moment, and before he had got fifty yards away was floundering knee-deep in a peat-bog. So much for reckless haste, thought he, as he got out of the bog and ran forward with much more caution. Soon those waiting below heard his clear voice far up the heights. A few minutes more, and it rang forth again more faintly. Mr Sudberry remarked that it sounded as if it came from the clouds: he put his hands to his mouth sailor fashion, and replied. Then they listened intently for the next shout. How still it was while they sat there! What a grand, gloomy solitude! They could hear no sound but the beating of their own hearts. Solemn thoughts of the Creator of these mighty hills crept into their minds as they gazed around and endeavoured to pierce the thick darkness. But this was impossible. It was one of those nights in which the darkness was so profound that no object could be seen even indistinctly at the distance of ten yards. Each could see the other’s form like a black marble statue, but no feature could be traced. The mountain peaks and ridges could indeed be seen against the dark sky, like somewhat deeper shadows; but the crags and corries, the scattered rocks and heathery knolls, the peat-bogs and the tarns of the wild scene which these circling peaks enclosed—all were steeped in impenetrable gloom. There seemed something terrible, almost unnatural, in this union of thick darkness with profound silence. Mr Sudberry was startled by the sound of his own voice when he again spoke.
 
“The boy must have gone too far. I cannot hear—”
 
“Hush!”
 
“Hi!” in the far distance, like a faint echo. They all breathed more freely, and Mr Sudberry uttered a powerful response. Presently the shout came nearer—nearer still; and soon Fred rejoined them, with the disheartening information that he had gained the summit of the ridge, and could see nothing whatever!
 
“Well, my children,” said Mr Sudberry, with an assumption of cheerfulness which he was far from feeling, “nothing now remains but to push straight forward as fast as we can. We must come to a road of some sort in the long-run, which will conduct to somewhere or other, no doubt. Come, cheer up; forward! Follow close behind me, Lucy. George, do you take the lead—you are the most active and sharp-sighted among us; and mind the bogs.”
 
“What if we walk right over a precipice!” thought Fred. He had almost said it, but checked himself for fear of alarming the rest unnecessarily. Instead of cautioning George, he quietly glided to the front, and took the lead.
 
Slowly, wearily, and painfully they plodded on, stumbling at times over a rugged and stone-covered surface, sometimes descending a broken slope that grew more and more precipitous until it became dangerous, and then, fearing to go farther—not knowing what lay before—they had to retrace their steps and search for a more gradual descent. Now crossing a level patch that raised their hopes, inclining them to believe that they had reached the bottom of the valley; anon coming suddenly upon a steep ascent that dashed their hopes, and induced them to suppose they had turned in the wrong direction, and were re-ascending instead of descending the mountain. All the time Jacky slept like a top, and George, being a sturdy fellow, carried him without a murmur. Several times Fred tried to make him give up his burden, but George was inexorably obstinate. So they plodded on till nearly midnight.
 
“Is that a house?” said Fred, stopping short, and pointing to a dark object just in front of them. “No, it’s a lake.”
 
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