A GLIMPSE AT THE -WHITE." 



I'll drop me now the cuneut of my sport 

 To loll awhile in Fashion's giddv court. 



— Alton. 



i 1 AVING for years made an annual pilgrimage to the 

 PnJ White Sulphur Springs — the "Saratoga of the 

 ^ 1 South " ' — it has gradually dawned upon me that 

 few portions of the globe furnish so much material for 

 the pen of the novelist and the pencil of the artist. The 

 scenery is so varied, so romanticall}- beautiful in its 

 wealth of vallej^s teeming with fruitful crops, and luxur- 

 iant foliaofe that holds half hid in its bosom the modest 

 cabin of some former slave, while here and there the 

 roof of the more pretentious home peeks through the 

 green as if to greet the sun and sniff the bracing air. 

 All this and in a frame of rugged mountains enchanting 

 in their wildness, and the picture is complete. 



So much for the artist. 



The novelist will find it a great gathering place of 

 the wealth and ]:)eautv of the South, with daily and 

 nightly scenes of revelry, amusement, fiirting, and love 

 making. He may witness the excitement and seduction 

 of the "green baize table," in a neighborhood rife with 

 stories of the war, which raged in and about the ' ' White 

 during the whole time the direful strife was in progress. 

 The hotel at one time was used as a hospital for the 



