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Irving, Washington, 1783-1859

"Tales of a Traveller"

They had
gradually turned an angle of the road that shut them out of sight. The
little army was again in motion, and made a very picturesque appearance
as it wound along at the bottom of the rocks; the morning sunshine
beaming upon the weapons of soldiery.
The Englishman lolled back in his carriage, vexed with himself at what
had passed, and consequently out of humor with all the world. As this,
however, is no uncommon case with gentlemen who travel for their
pleasure, it is hardly worthy of remark.
They had wound up from the coast among the hills, and came to a part of
the road that admitted of some prospect ahead.
"I see nothing of the lady's carriage, sir," said John, leaning over
from the coach box.
"Hang the lady's carriage!" said the Englishman, crustily; "don't
plague me about the lady's carriage; must I be continually pestered
with strangers?"
John said not another word, for he understood his master's mood. The
road grew more wild and lonely; they were slowly proceeding in a foot
pace up a hill; the dragoons were some distance ahead, and had just
reached the summit of the hill, when they uttered an exclamation, or
rather shout, and galloped forward. The Englishman was aroused from his
sulky revery. He stretched his head from the carriage, which had
attained the brow of the hill. Before him extended a long hollow
defile, commanded on one side by rugged, precipitous heights, covered
with bushes and scanty forest trees.


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