Being an indifferent walker (from a former dislocation of my ancle,
arising out of a gig accident) I had engaged a horse, while the four
pedestrians set forward, two on each side of my Rosinante. After quitting
the extensive walks of Piercefield, we proceeded toward that part of the
road, where we were to turn off to the right, leading down to Tintern
Abbey. We had been delayed so long at Chepstow, and afterward, by various
enchanting scenes, particularly that from the Wind-cliff, that we were
almost benighted, before we were aware. We recalled all our minute
directions. Every object corresponded. A doubt expressed, at a most
unlucky moment, whether we were to turn to the right, or to the left,
threw ice into some hearts; but at length we all concurred, that it was
to the right, and that this must be the road.

These complicated deliberations, allowed the night rapidly to advance,
but the grand preliminaries being settled, we approached the "road" and
strove to penetrate with our keenest vision into its dark recesses. A
road! this it could not be. It was a gross misnomer! It appeared to our
excited imaginations, a lane, in the tenth scale of consanguinity to a
road; a mere chasm between lofty trees, where the young moon strove in
vain to dart a ray! To go or not to go, that was the question! A new
consultation was determined upon, what proceeding should be adopted in so
painful a dilemma. At length, with an accession of courage springing up
as true courage always does in the moment of extremity, we resolutely
determined to brave all dangers and boldly to enter on the road, lane, or
what it was, where perchance, Cadwallader, or Taliesen, might have
trodden before!

On immerging into the wood, for such it was, extending the whole downward
way to Tintern, we all suddenly found ourselves deprived of sight;