Browsing named entities in a specific section of The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 6. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier).
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It was about four in the afternoon.
It had rained among the hills about the Notch, and cleared off. The sun, there sombred at that early hour, as towards his setting, was pouring his most glorious light upon the naked peaks, and they casting their mighty shadows far down among the inaccessible woods that darken the hollows that stretch between their bases.
A cloud was creeping up to perch and rest awhile on the highest top of Great Haystack.
Vulgar folks have called it Mount Lafayette, since the visit of that brave old Frenchman in 1825 or 1826.
If they had asked his opinion, he would have told them the names of mountains could n't be altered, and especially names like that, so appropriate, so descriptive, and so picturesque.
A little hard white cloud, that looked like a hundred fleeces of wool rolled into one, was climbing rapidly along up the northwestern ridge, that ascended to the lonely top of Great Haystack.
All the others were bare.
Four or five of them,—