1:30.--No go. Been howling like a hyena for half an hour till I've no voice left, and I'm all over spots of wax with the waving of my candle. Heard nothing but my own voice. Not an echo, or a dog barking, or anything. The mist lifted a bit, but I don't suppose any one could see the candle down at Wastdale. Ugh! ugh! Perhaps there'll be an article in a scientific paper about a curious phenomenon on the top of Scafell Pike. Wish I knew how to warm phenomenons! I've put on the spare shirt over my coat, and stuffed my feet into my knapsack, and wrapped last Friday's _Daily News_ round my body and legs. Oh-h-h! why _did_ I make a beast of myself to those two dear Cambridge fellows? Think of them now, with blankets tucked round their chins, and their noses in the pillow, snoring away; and their coats and bags lying idle about in the room. I do believe if I had their two suits on over my own I might keep warm. Hullo, what's that! Never got such a fright. Thought it was thunder, or an earthquake, or the cairn coming down on the top of me, or something of that sort. Turned out to be the _Daily News_ crackling under my clothes. Everything's so quiet, it startles one to move a foot. I'll give it up--I'll--there goes my last candle! 3:30.--Actually been asleep--at least, I don't know what's been going on the last two hours. That _Daily News_ was rather a tip, after all. I might have been frozen to death without it. Hurrah for the Radicals! Rather crampy all the same about the joints, and must get up and shake myself, or I shall be no good for the rest of the day. Ugh! What a state my mother would be in if she heard that cough! I'm certain I hadn't caught it before I went to sleep. Just been up to the top and had a look round. Mist is nearly all away, and there are some streaks in the sky that look like the beginning of morning. May hold out, after all. Never know what you can do till you try. I'll just put on my _Daily News_ again and wait here another half- hour, and then try out again. Wish it was daylight. Mustn't go to sleep again if I can help it, as I might catch cold. 4:30.--Hurrah! Just seen the sun rise! No end of a fine show. Long bit of poetry about it in the guide-book, cribbed from Wordsworth or somebody. Can't say the page, as I tore out the leaf last night to put inside my boot, to help to keep my toes warm. Never expected to see the sun rise from the highest spot in England. Awful good score for me, though--very few do it, I fancy. Think of those lazy Cambridge fellows curled up in bed and missing it all; just the way with these fellows, all show off. The sun's warm already, and I've left off my _Daily News_ and spare shirt, and I'm just going to take the paper out of my boots; that is, if I can ever get down to my toes--but I'm so jolly stiff. Never mind, I've done it, and--bother that cough, it's made me break the point of my pencil.