We had been warned not to linger when on the mountain, and after the lapse of a few moments we again toiled on. At intervals the vapour rolled back, and gave us glimpses of hills, and valleys, and woods, and streams, far below us; but it was like the production of a fairy-wand, for while we yet looked upon them they were lost: another heavy fold of mist rose from the chasm, and again all was chaos. At length the chibouk was lighted. We stood upon the Grave of the Giant; upon the highest point of Mount Olympus—beside the roofless hut, built for the shelter of the storm-overtaken traveller, and so ingeniously sunk beneath the surface as to form a well, in which such a shower of rain as commonly falls in the neighbourhood of the mountain, would go nigh to drown the hapless wanderer who might trust to the treacherous asylum. Behind us all was vapour: before us stretched away the mountain-chain across which we had travelled: while far, far in the distance, and almost blent with the horizon, we distinguished the blue Lake of Apollonia. While we yet looked, we saw the mists gathering about our own path; curling up from the swampy patches between the hills; rolling along the rocky channel of the torrents: draping the broad branches of the dark firs; clinging to the mountain sides—we had no time to lose. We were not travellers on a highway; we had neither finger-posts nor landmarks—all is so nearly alike in the wilderness: one pile of cold gray rock looms out from amid the mists shaped so like its neighbour; one rushing torrent brawls over its stony bed so like another: one stretch of forest darkens the mountain side with a gloom so similar to that which shadows the opposite height, that we thought it well to avoid the gathering of the vapours, if we did not wish to sleep in the desart. To return by the way that we had ascended was out of the question; for we had walked upwards of a league along the summit of the mountain, after having gained the height. The other face of the rock presented a much shorter road, but, as it was extremely dangerous, we held a council to decide on which we should venture—the fatigue and loss of time, or the possibility of accident. We were already travel-worn and foot-sore, but not caring to confess even to each other that it was the exertion from which we shrank, we both talked very sagely of the danger of delay, with the mists gathering so rapidly about us; and decided, as a matter of prudence, on descending the precipice. I have already mentioned the mountain-ridge that projected over the gulph, and whose jagged and storm-riven outline bore testimony to the ravages of time and tempest; while the huge fragments of fallen rock which heaved up their dark masses from among the accumulated snows beneath, broke the smooth surface, and betrayed the depth of the precipice.