This is the reason why in fording the northern rivers,
no fishes are seen, as in England, wandering in the water.
Of the hills many may be called with Homer's Ida 'abundant in
springs', but few can deserve the epithet which he bestows upon
Pelion by 'waving their leaves.' They exhibit very little variety;
being almost wholly covered with dark heath, and even that seems to
be checked in its growth. What is not heath is nakedness, a little
diversified by now and then a stream rushing down the steep. An
eye accustomed to flowery pastures and waving harvests is
astonished and repelled by this wide extent of hopeless sterility.
The appearance is that of matter incapable of form or usefulness,
dismissed by nature from her care and disinherited of her favours,
left in its original elemental state, or quickened only with one
sullen power of useless vegetation.
It will very readily occur, that this uniformity of barrenness can
afford very little amusement to the traveller; that it is easy to
sit at home and conceive rocks and heath, and waterfalls; and that
these journeys are useless labours, which neither impregnate the
imagination, nor enlarge the understanding. It is true that of far
the greater part of things, we must content ourselves with such
knowledge as description may exhibit, or analogy supply; but it is
true likewise, that these ideas are always incomplete, and that at
least, till we have compared them with realities, we do not know
them to be just. As we see more, we become possessed of more
certainties, and consequently gain more principles of reasoning,
and found a wider basis of analogy.
Regions mountainous and wild, thinly inhabited, and little
cultivated, make a great part of the earth, and he that has never
seen them, must live unacquainted with much of the face of nature,
and with one of the great scenes of human existence.
As the day advanced towards noon, we entered a narrow valley not
very flowery, but sufficiently verdant. Our guides told us, that
the horses could not travel all day without rest or meat, and
intreated us to stop here, because no grass would be found in any
other place. The request was reasonable and the argument cogent.
We therefore willingly dismounted and diverted ourselves as the
place gave us opportunity.
I sat down on a bank, such as a writer of Romance might have
delighted to feign. I had indeed no trees to whisper over my head,
but a clear rivulet streamed at my feet. The day was calm, the air
soft, and all was rudeness, silence, and solitude. Before me, and
on either side, were high hills, which by hindering the eye from
ranging, forced the mind to find entertainment for itself. Whether
I spent the hour well I know not; for here I first conceived the
thought of this narration.
