AT NATURAL BRIDGE 213 



Having gone under the arch (and looked 

 in vain for Washington's initials on the 

 wall), the visitor to Natural Bridge finds 

 himself following up the brook — a lively 

 stream — between lofty precipitous cliffs, 

 that turn to steep wooded slopes as he pro- 

 ceeds. If he is like me, he pursues the path 

 to the end, stopping here and there, — at 

 the saltpetre cave, at Hemlock Island, and 

 at Lost River, if nowhere else, — till he 

 comes to the end at the falls, a distance of a 

 mile, more or less. That is my way always. 

 I must go straight through the place once ; 

 then, the edge of my curiosity dulled, I am 

 in a condition to see and enjoy. 



The ravine is a botanist's paradise : that, 

 I should say, must be the first thought of 

 every appreciative tourist. The elevation 

 (fifteen hundred feet), the latitude, and the 

 limestone rocks work together to that end. 

 In a stay of a week I could see, of course, 

 but one set of flowers ; and in my preoc- 

 cupation I passed many herbs and shrubs, 

 mostly out of bloom, the names of which 

 I neither knew nor attempted to discover. 

 One of the things that struck my admira- 

 tion on the instant was the beauty of the 



