"Is it an
affectionate greeting?" inquired I. "Yes," said he, "I should like to
share it"; whereby I concluded that there was a kiss exchanged.
The highest point of our journey was at Windsor, where we could see
leagues around over the mountain, a terribly hare, bleak spot, fit for
nothing but sheep, and without shelter of woods. We rattled downward
into a warmer region, beholding as we went the sun shining on portions of
the landscape, miles ahead of us, while we were yet in chillness and
gloom. It is probable that during a part of the stage the mists around
us looked like sky clouds to those in the lower regions. Think of
driving a stage-coach through the clouds! Seasonably in the forenoon we
arrived at Pittsfield.
Pittsfield is a large village, quite shut in by mountain walls, generally
extending like a rampart on all sides of it, but with insulated great
hills rising here and there in the outline. The area of the town is
level; its houses are handsome, mostly wooden and white; but some are of
brick, painted deep red, the bricks being not of a healthy, natural
color.
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