I have said you would have to go straight on, but what I said was quite untrue, and it is wonderful how many little falsehoods slip out of the innocent and unconscious pen, either in the haste of writing--which is very pardonable--or for the sake of a little graceful turn, a neat expression, or a pretty figure, which is not so small a fault. I do not believe there were ever ten sentences written by poet, historian, or romance-writer, in ancient or modern times, that had not some lie in them, direct or implied. I stand self-convicted. It is not true that you would have to go straightforward, for if you did you would walk into a pond, and moreover, might never chance to get out again; for what between rushes and reeds, and weeds and water-lilies, to say nothing of sundry deep holes at the bottom, there is every risk that you would get your feet entangled, and plunge headforemost into a place where you could neither swim or disengage yourself. No, the path does not go straightforward. Of all man's circuitous ways, and every one who knows the human heart, is well aware that it is too fond of crooked paths ever to pursue a straightforward course in any thing--of all man's circuitous ways, I say, there never was one more serpentine or meandering than that which leads from the high-road upon the moor. First it turns round that pond I have mentioned, then it glides about the base of a little hill, then it forces its way in a slanting direction, through a bank of sand, then it turns aside from a deep pit, then it respectfully passes at a little distance from a tumulus, where sleep the ashes of the forgotten brave; and even when it gets upon the flat green turf, it twists about like a great snake, giving sad indications of man's vagabond fancies that lead him hither and thither, without rhyme or reason, wherever he may be going, and whatever may be the object before him. But after all, why should he not be thus led? why should be not follow these fancies? Life's but a walk over a moor, and the wild-flowers that grow upon our path are too few not to gather them when they come within sight, even though it cost us a step or two aside. It's all in the day's journey, and we shall get home at last.