OK, THE "»VORLD HAS CHANGED. 23 



Passing through Cashier's Valley is a turnpike road, built 

 before the war, by Colonel Wm. Sloan, to the North Carohna 

 line, and from thence by Colonel Wra. Thomas, across the 

 Blue Ridge, and on down the Tuckaseege. Cashier's is com 

 paratively level, and the tourist could imagine he w^as in a 

 champaign country, but for those huge domes that stand like 

 grim sentinels encircling the valley, and upon every hand an 

 eye of taste could select the most charming spots for resi- 

 dences. Years ago, when hunting game, and fishing for the 

 speckled trout from their silvery beds, we would conjure up in 

 our minds vision pictures of enchanting grounds and imposing 

 edifices, consequent upon the advent of railroads; and 

 now, since the development of the Richmond and Danville Rail- 

 road — the great Piedmont line — our youthful fancies have in 

 part been realized, for a few miles away the thriving town of 

 Highlands has sprung into existence, on one of the most ele- 

 vated plateaus of the Blue Ridge — is a charming place, and is 

 becoming a place of resort in the summer months. 



The visitor, in ascending this mountain region, notices the 

 wonderful change in the atmosphere, its bracing effect on the 

 system, the feeling of freshness and delight experienced in 

 this altitude. The effect on the appetite is remarkable ; first 

 keen, ttien ravenous. We can never forget our first visit to 

 Cashier's Valley, our relish for old Aunt Sally McKinney's 

 "yaller-legged" chickens, fried so brown, and floating in the 

 golden melted butter, snow-white smothered cabbage, mealy 

 Irish potatoes, cracking wide open as they were lifted from the 

 kettle, buckwheat cakes and mountain honey, nor shall we try 

 to erase from our memory old Mr. Mac's mountain dew that 

 sat out on the water-shelf before and after and between meals. 

 To describe this romantic region would require the pen of 



