Clouds too! And a mist upon the hollow! Not a dull fog that hides
it, but a light airy gauzelike mist, which in our eyes of modest
admiration gives a new charm to the beauties it is spread before.
Yoho! Why now we travel like the moon herself. Hiding this minute
in a grove of trees; next minute in a patch of vapor; emerging
now upon our clear broad course; withdrawing now, but always
dashing on, our journey is a counterpart of hers. Yoho! A match
against the moon!
The beauty of the night is hardly felt, when Day comes leaping
up. Yoho! Two stages, and the country roads are almost changed to
a continuous street. Yoho, past market gardens, rows of houses,
villas, crescents, terraces, and squares; past wagons, coaches,
carts; past early workmen, late stragglers, and sober carriers of
loads; past brick and mortar in its every shape; and in among the
rattling pavements, where a jaunty seat upon a coach is not so
easy to preserve! Yoho, down countless turnings, and through
countless mazy ways, until an old innyard is gained, and Tom
Pinch, getting down, quite stunned and giddy, is in London!
--Adapted from "Martin Chuzzlewit.
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