Good Mary Quince, like myself, had quite dried her tears by this time, and
we were both highly interested, and I a little nervous, too, about our
arrival and reception at Bartram. Some time, of course, was lost in this
pleasant little parlour, before we found ourselves once more pursuing our
way.
The slowest part of our journey was the pull up the long mountain road,
ascending zig-zag, as sailors make way against a head-wind, by tacking. I
forget the name of the pretty little group of houses--it did not amount
to a village--buried in trees, where we got our _four_ horses and two
postilions, for the work was severe. I can only designate it as the place
where Mary Quince and I had our tea, very comfortably, and bought some
gingerbread, very curious to look upon, but quite uneatable.
The greater portion of the ascent, when we were fairly upon the mountain,
was accomplished at a walk, and at some particularly steep points we had to
get out and go on foot. But this to me was quite delightful. I had never
scaled a mountain before, and the ferns and heath, the pure boisterous air,
and above all the magnificent view of the rich country we were leaving
behind, now gorgeous and misty in sunset tints, stretching in gentle
undulations far beneath us, quite enchanted me.
Pages:
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331