A WONDER-BOOK
above the clouds. I advise you never to tell another story, unless it be, as at present, from the top of a mountain.’
‘Or from the back of Pegasus,’ replied Eustace, laughing. ‘Don’t you think that I succeeded pretty well in catching that wonderful pony?’
‘It was so like one of your madcap pranks!’ cried Primrose, clapping her hands. ‘I think I see you now on his back, two miles high; and with your head downward! It is well that you have not really an opportunity of trying your horsemanship on any wilder steed than our sober Davy, or Old Hundred.’
‘For my part, I wish I had Pegasus here, at this moment,’ said the student. ‘I would mount him forthwith, and gallop about the country, within a circumference of a few miles, making literary calls on my brother-authors. Dr. Dewey would be within my reach, at the foot of Taconic. In Stockbridge, yonder, is Mr. James, conspicuous to all the world on his mountain-pile of history and romance. Longfellow, I believe, is not yet at the Ox-bow, else the winged horse would neigh at the sight of him. But, here in Lenox, I should find our most truthful novelist, who has made the scenery and life of Berkshire all her own. On the hither side of Pittsfield sits Herman Melville, shaping out the gigantic conception of his “White Whale,” while the gigantic shape of Graylock looms upon him from his study-window. Another bound of my flying steed would bring me to the door of Holmes, whom I mention last, because Pegasus would certainly unseat me, the next minute, and claim the poet as his rider.’
‘Have we not an author for our next neighbour?’ asked
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