would have been of little avail, as, according to the good custom
of North Britain, the inscription had been defaced shortly after
its erection. Our adventurer was therefore compelled, like a
knight-errant of old, to trust to the sagacity of his horse,
which, without any demur, chose the left-hand path, and seemed to
proceed at a somewhat livelier pace than before, affording thereby
a hope that he knew he was drawing near to his quarters for the
evening. This hope, however, was not speedily accomplished, and
Mannering, whose impatience made every furlong seem three, began
to think that Kippletringan was actually retreating before him in
proportion to his advance.

It was now very cloudy, although the stars from time to time shed
a twinkling and uncertain light. Hitherto nothing had broken the
silence around him but the deep cry of the bog-blitter, or bull-
of-the-bog, a large species of bittern, and the sighs of the wind
as it passed along the dreary morass. To these was now joined the
distant roar of the ocean, towards which the traveller seemed to
be fast approaching. This was no circumstance to make his mind
easy. Many of the roads in that country lay along the sea-beach,
and were liable to be flooded by the tides, which rise with great
height, and advance with extreme rapidity. Others were intersected
with creeks and small inlets, which it was only safe to pass at
particular times of the tide. Neither circumstance would have
suited a dark night, a fatigued horse, and a traveller ignorant of
his road. Mannering resolved, therefore, definitively to halt for
the night at the first inhabited place, however poor, he might
chance to reach, unless he could procure a guide to this unlucky
village of Kippletringan.