pon them.

Not a trace of a native was visible, and the whole valley, nestled
among the high ridges on every side, had probably never before echoed
to the voice of civilized man, or the soil pressed by his foot, for
ages on ages--at least, by any race now known. Perhaps, too, thousands
of years ago a race knew of its existence, when the world was young, if
that time ever was. For the world is always young to the young, but
when old age comes on, it becomes hoary to his heart also. The heart of
every man is his world. When it is young, joyous, and happy, the world
is seen through the emotions that hold his soul in rosy meshes, and it
is thus tinged to his sight with youth, love, hope, and a joy that
fills the heart with a fulness and ecstasy of happiness that leaves
nothing further to be desired. Let the rosy meshes fall, and hoary age,
or the long list of hours of a misspent life, hold up another scene, in
which despair contends with the waning hours, and sombre clouds obscure
the future! Then the world is always old, always sad, hard, and cold;
and man learns too late that the beauty and gracefulness of age can be
only with the heart that is still young, though it has seen long
years--and that, to enjoy life to the latest hour, the heart must still
be kept green.

As enchanting as this valley was, they dared not spend a day in it
longer than was necessary, and with reluctance they left it to launch
forth, they knew not where. Crossing over the ridge, they came to a
high table land, broad, and over which a fresh pure air constantly
circulated. This was lightly timbered, and they feared another desert
was before them. They were, however, relieved from this fear by coming
to a high range of hills, which, on crossing, they found a succession
of ridges, the first ridge having hid the summits of the others; as
they crossed one after another, they became more and more entangled
among them, and continued for two days wandering among shady dells, and
over rocky, craggy precipices, until they sat down at night exhausted,
with their flesh torn by the thorns and stones over which they had made
their way. For the last two days, they had been unable to ride, the
ground being so broken that they found it quite as much as their beasts
were able to do, to make their way along unburthened, and now they were
lame, their hoofs being much bruised, and the flesh around the hoofs
swollen. Selecting a narrow defile, the best spot for a camp