IT was about dusk when I was caught in a mist on the borders of Scotland. I had made my way from Manchester, by Kendal and Penrith, and was on a long stretch across the bleak muirs which separate England from Scotland, as you advance towards the village of Castletown on the Liddle. Not being familiar with the footpath which I was tracing, I fairly lost my way, and had some severe pulls, through mosses and ravines of no ordinary depth and extent. Still, I was young and strong, and not subject to superstitious fears. At last, however, I was enveloped in close and almost palpable darkness, or rather whiteness--for the ground-mist rose, and crawled, and trailed, white, and damp, and still, all around me. I even felt as if it entered my very nostrils, and made a portion of myself. I could scarcely see the two ends of my pack, as they peeped over my shoulders. My faithful dog Neptune, of the Newfoundland breed, went on, however, gaily and caressingly before me; and seemed to say, at every return, "Another effort, master--one pull more--and we shall be alongside of the flesh-pots of Mr. Elliot, laird of Whithaugh." All at once, I came to the brow of a precipice, from which my faithful monitor warned me to retreat; and while in the act of so doing, I thought I heard human voices in the linn beneath. Neptune, too, gave loud note of the discovery; and in an instant was engaged in mortal warfare with a bull-dog of great power and fierceness. Whilst I was endeavouring, with my yard-wand, to separate the combatants, a stout, tall, and somewhat ungainly figure came, with a long horsewhip, to my assistance. The combatants, seeing how matters stood, were content to adopt the growling, instead of the tearing system; and separated, as if by mutual agreement, that matters should not long remain as they were. However, a leash of strong cord, with a neck-band, made fast Neptune's opponent, and rendered it safe for Neptune and me to accept of the stranger's invitation to join their camp.