“The resemblance to the sea was perfect,” says Sylvia, eagerly. “You cannot imagine any thing more delusive! The waves caught the light on their crests, just as ocean-waves do. All below us—all over Asheville and the distant mountains—there was nothing to be seen but this boundless, rippling expanse, aglow with tints so roseate and so radiant that we could only stand and gaze in breathless wonder. The effect lasted—I cannot tell how long—but for some time.” “At least half an hour,” says Mr. Dupont. “Then the sun rose over the hills behind us, and his rays fell horizontally over the shifting sea of vapor. For a minute it was like a vasty deep of molten gold, heaving and tossing at our feet. Then it began to dissolve, and peaks tinged with the same beautiful tints appeared here and there like islands.” “Pisgah first!” says Sylvia. “You should have seen how superbly the great crest came up out of the mist which still clung around the lower heights. Then gradually the other mountain-tops appeared, and we saw islands and continents, diversified by seas and lakes—all bathed in the most delicious colors!” “I’ll tell you what it was like,” says Charley, speaking for the first time. “It was as if the world was being newly created, and we saw the water divided from the land.” “And every thing was so fresh!” cries Sylvia. “The earth seemed, as Charley says, new-made. I don’t think I have ever known an hour of purer delight than that which we spent on Beaucatcher—odious name!” “Mount Sylvia,” says Victor Dupont, with a smile. “Well, Mount Sylvia, then. Even after our sea was dried up, the mist of early morning still wrapped in soft haze the far heavenly heights of the glorious prospect. Asheville remained submerged to the last, but, when finally we saw its green hills and scattered houses emerge, we turned our horses’ heads and, piloted by Charley, descended—Mount Sylvia at the back. The road led us down through a shaded gorge of the hills to the valley of the Swannanoa. Oh, if I could—if I only _could_ tell you of all the beautiful things we saw! We rave over evening scenes—over the long shadows and westering light—yet how pathetic it is compared with the joyousness of early morning! The effects of light and shade are somewhat similar, but the spirit is so different. If you could have seen the rocks this morning blushing in the sun, the mosses and lichens gemmed with dew and hung with fairy-like cobwebs, the ineffable freshness of the whole landscape—as if Nature had washed her face—and then the river, when we reached it—ah!” “Total bankruptcy in the matter of adjectives!” says Eric, aside. “I have been anticipating it for some time. What a fortunate thing that Miss Dupont’s appetite is so excellent, else she would probably take up the strain and chant for us the beauties of the Swannanoa!”