The slowest part of our journey was the pull up the long mountain road, ascending53 zig-zag, as sailors make way against a head-wind, by tacking54. 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 ascent55, 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 delightful56. I had never scaled a mountain before, and the ferns and heath, the pure boisterous57 air, and above all the magnificent view of the rich country we were leaving behind, now gorgeous and misty58 in sunset tints, stretching in gentle undulations far beneath us, quite enchanted59 me.

 

 

We had just reached the summit when the sun went down. The low grounds at the other side were already lying in cold grey shadow, and I got the man who sat behind to point out as well as he could the site of Bartram–Haugh. But mist was gathering60 over all by this time. The filmy disk of the moon which was to light us on, so soon as twilight61 faded into night, hung high in the air. I tried to see the sable62 mass of wood which he described. But it was vain, and to acquire a clear idea of the place, as of its master, I must only wait that nearer view which an hour or two more would afford me.