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Updated: May 1, 2025
There is nothing prettier in a quiet way than this Swiss borderland, reached after a long stretch of dreary country; here we have grace without severity, beauty without gloom, pastoral hills and dales alive with the tinkling of cattle-bells, and pleasingly diversified with villages scattered here and there; a church spire rising above the broad-roofed, white-washed chalets on every side, undulating green pastures, in some places shut in by pine-clad ridges, in others by smiling green hills.
It was not unlike an oblong platter, and was absolutely treeless, except that opposite us a bold, pine-clad point jutted out from the western mountain-range about three miles, like a headland into the sea. The whole valley was verdant with thick grass. The two boys, sitting on their ponies a few yards in advance of the company line, were in raptures over the prospect.
Once in the bush pursuit is hopeless, as the undergrowth is so dense that it is impossible to follow by sight. We left Jinotega at seven in the morning, passed over the pine-clad ranges again, and at one o'clock came in sight of the town of Matagalpa. At the river a mill was at work grinding wheat. I went into the shed that covered it and found it to be simple and ingenious.
From this commanding point of view Mont Blanc is visible in all his majesty vast, boundless, solemn, incomprehensible with his Aiguilles de Tour, d'Argentiere, Verte, du Dru, de Charmoz, du Midi, etcetera, around him; his white head in the clouds, his glacial drapery rolling into the vale of Chamouni, his rocks and his pine-clad slopes toned down by distance into fine shadows.
The tracks led them parallel to the general direction of the river, cutting across from point to point of the willows on the outside of each bend. On the horizon ahead was the pine-clad ridge that bounded the lower end of the lake. Jack-Knife Mountain rose over it. The sea of grass was dazzling in the sunlight. Half an hour's swift walking gave them no glimpse ahead of their quarry.
It does one good to hear an American discourse on America, his panegyric generally concluding with the words, "We're the greatest people on the face of the earth." At dusk, after steaming during the whole day along the low green coast of Nova Scotia, we were just outside the heads of Halifax harbour, and the setting sun was bathing the low, pine-clad hills of America in floods of purple light.
We were driving northward, and to the south and back of us were the great somber, pine-clad Uintah Mountains, while ahead and on every side were the bare buttes, looking like old men of the mountains, so old they had lost all their hair, beard, and teeth. December 28, 1909. Our Thanksgiving affair was the most enjoyable happening I can remember for a long time.
The road first crossed the Zemu and the spur beyond, and then ascended the west bank of the Lachen, a furious torrent for five or six miles, during which it descends 1000 feet, in a chasm from which rise lofty black pine-clad crags, topped by snowy mountains, 14,000 to 16,000 feet high.
We only travelled sixteen miles, and encamped close to a pretty little pine-clad hill, on the north bank of the creek, where some rocks traversed the bed, and we easily obtained a good supply of water. The grass and herbage being magnificent, the horses were in a fine way to enjoy themselves. This spot is one of the most charming that even imagination could paint.
The long wagon had been filled up with board seats, and when Miss Cordelia came back over the bridge the boards were crowded with factory children pale-faced little creatures whose eyes were aglow with pleasure at this unexpected outing. Miss Cordelia drove straight out to the big pine-clad hills of Deepdale, six miles from Pottstown.
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