They soon reached the highest point in their toilsome progress to the
summit, and Frances seated herself on a rock to rest and to admire.
Immediately at her feet lay a deep dell, but little altered by
cultivation, and dark with the gloom of a November sunset. Another hill
rose opposite to the place where she sat, at no great distance, along
whose rugged sides nothing was to be seen but shapeless rocks, and oaks
whose stunted growth showed a meager soil.
To be seen in their perfection, the Highlands must be passed immediately
after the fall of the leaf. The scene is then the finest, for neither
the scanty foliage which the summer lends the trees, nor the snows of
winter, are present to conceal the minutest objects from the eye.
Chilling solitude is the characteristic of the scenery; nor is the mind
at liberty, as in March, to look forward to a renewed vegetation that is
soon to check, without improving, the view.
The day had been cloudy and cool, and thin fleecy clouds hung around the
horizon, often promising to disperse, but as frequently disappointing
Frances in the hope of catching a parting beam from the setting sun. At
length a solitary gleam struck on the base of the mountain on which she
was gazing, and moved gracefully up its side, until reaching the summit,
it stood for a minute, forming a crown of glory to the somber pile.
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