MOUNTAINS. 
245 
of admiration, or throws what we have ah'eady seen into a new 
light ; the woods, the farms, the hamlets, ay, whole valleys, great 
hills, broad rivers, objects with which we are already familiar per- 
haps, are ceaselessly assuming novel aspects. Even the minute 
beauties which we note one by one along the ascending pathway, 
the mountain flower, the solitary bird, the rare plant, all contrib- 
ute their share of pleasure ; the very obstacles in the track, the 
ravine, the precipice, the torrent, produce their own impression, 
and add to the exultation with which we reach at length the 
mountain-top, bringing with us a harvest of glowing sensations 
gathered by the way, all forming delightful accessories, to the great- 
er and more exalted prospect awaiting us at the goal. Between 
an isolated view, though fine in its way, and the gradual ascent 
of a commanding height, there lies all the difference we find in the 
enjoyment of a single ode and that which we derive from a great 
poem ; it is the Lycidas of Milton beside the Othello or Lear of 
Shakspeare ; a sonnet of Petrarch compared with the Jerusalem 
of Torquato. So at least we thought this afternoon, as we slowly 
ascended our own modest hills, and remembered the noble mount- 
ains of other lands. 
The country is looking very rich ; the flowery character of sum- 
mer has not yet faded. Buckwheat crops, in white and fragrant 
bloom, are lying on half the farms ; the long leaves of the maize 
are still brilliantly green, and its yellow flowers unblighted ; late 
oat-fields here and there show their own pallid green beside 
recently-cut stubble, which still preserves the golden color of the 
ripe wheat. In severfil meadows of the valley mowers were bus}'', 
hay-cocks stood about the fields, and loaded carts were moving 
about, carrying one back to the labors of midsummer, but these 
