"When I lose Dudley's company, I am informed--that I can easily enter Scotland by stretching across a wild country in the upper part of Cumberland; and that route I shall follow, to give the Colonel time to pitch his camp ere I reconnoitre his position.--Adieu! Delaserre--I shall hardly find another opportunity of writing till I reach Scotland." CHAPTER XXII. Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, And merrily hent the stile-a: A merry heart goes all the day, A sad one tires in a mile-a. Winter's Tale. LET the reader conceive to himself a clear frosty November morning, the scene an open heath,--having for the background that huge chain of mountains in which Skiddaw and Saddleback are pre-eminent; let him look along that blind road, by which I mean the track so slightly marked by the passengers' footsteps that it can but be traced by a slight shade of verdure from the darker heath around it and, being only visible to the eye when at some distance, ceases to be distinguished while the foot is actually treading it--along this faintly-traced path advances the object of our present narrative. His firm step, his erect and free carriage, have a military air, which corresponds well with his well-proportioned limbs, and stature of six feet high. His dress is so plain and simple that it indicates nothing as to rank--it may be that of a gentleman who travels in this manner for his pleasure, or of an inferior person of whom it is the proper and usual garb. Nothing can be on a more reduced scale than his travelling equipment. A volume of Shakespeare in each pocket, a small bundle with a change of linen slung across his shoulders, an oaken cudgel in his hand, complete our pedestrian's accommodations, and in this equipage we present him to our readers. Brown had parted that morning from his friend Dudley, and began his solitary walk towards Scotland.