I have never been familiar with mountain scenery.
Wales has shewn me all I ever saw, and the region of the Alleghany Alps in no way resembles it.

It is a world of mountains rising around you in every direction, and in every form; savage, vast, and wild; yet almost at every step, some lovely spot meets your eye, green, bright and blooming, as the most cherished nook belonging to some noble Flora in our own beautiful land.

It is a ride of ninety miles through kalmies, rhododendrons, azalias, vines and roses; sheltered from every blast that blows by vast masses of various coloured rocks, on which "Tall pines and cedars wave their dark green crests." While in every direction you have a background of blue mountain tops, that play at bo-peep with you in the clouds.
After descending the last ridge we reached Haggerstown, a small neat place, between a town and a village; and here by the piety of the Presbyterian coach-masters, we were doomed to pass an entire day, and two nights, "as the accommodation line must not run on the sabbath." I must, however, mention, that this day of enforced rest was _not_ Sunday.

Saturday evening we had taken in at Cumberland a portly passenger, whom we soon discovered to be one of the proprietors of the coach.

He asked us, with great politeness, if we should wish to travel on the sabbath, or to delay our journey.
We answered that we would rather proceed; "The coach, then, shall go on tomorrow," replied the liberal coach-master, with the greatest courtesy; and accordingly we travelled all Sunday, and arrived at Haggerstown on Sunday night.