"Come orij follow our voices," they 

 finally called. 



And through the wet grass and tan- 

 gled weeds and dripping bushes the 

 party went, laughing in merry humor, 

 happy in being so close to Mother Na- 

 ture even if her welcome was extended 

 with wet arms. It was a day of glory, 

 though every leaf held a water-drop, and 

 it was enchanting to make a part of it. 



The hill began to slope downward, the 

 bushes grew higher and closer together ; 

 just here a rabbit, frightened by the noisy 

 crowd, scampered through the grass. 

 Parting the bushes we could see a deep 

 ravine with precipitous sides, covered 

 with wet dead leaves, making it necessary 

 to hold on to the undergrowth for sup- 

 port. The cave was out of sight unless 

 one went down a steep way from which 

 the boys had cut the bushes. Great bosks 

 of ferns grew on either side of the bank, 

 and everyone filled their hands full of the 

 feathery green fronds. Down upon the 

 very edge of the ravine one could lean 

 over and see the tall, narrow opening of 

 this cave into which the stream disap- 

 peared. 



Only three girls were brave enough to 

 venture down to the stream, but they 

 claimed to be fully repaid for the trouble. 

 Steps had to be cut in the soft limestone 

 on the opposite bank for them to ascend 

 out of the chasm into which they had de- 

 scended. They returned to us wet and 

 muddy from their scramble up the face of 

 the clifif. 



In one basin of the hills, the surround- 

 ing country is entirely hidden from view, 

 only the hilltops reaching up to the hori- 

 zon, and the clouds coming down to meet 

 them on ever}^ side form a little shut in 

 place of nature's loveliness, filled with 

 sweet smelling plants, reedy grasses 

 brightened by the blooming wild flowers 

 and a young growth of pines and sweet- 

 gum trees. 



But over the skyline the path led 

 through thickets of sumach brilliant with 

 the crimson of its freshly ripened fruit, 

 wound through fields of cotton whose 

 limbs bend with the white fleecy staple, 

 skirted upland pastures royal with the 

 purple of the wild pea blooms. Here it 

 ran down a sloping hillside into the fa- 

 vorite resort of picnicers. The stream 

 runs through a flat bottomland and 



spreads out over the shining sands be- 

 neath the outspreading branches of the 

 trees, lazily resting after some rush of 

 force or leap of a cascade, hoarding its 

 waters for the merry time to come when a 

 downward course will demand more im- 

 petus than now. 



Here is also the Boiling Spring, a 

 basin of pure water at a bend of the 

 stream and containing five miniature 

 artesian wells or boiling springs. Water 

 is one of our common blessings, yet a 

 drop of water has riddles which our pro- 

 foundest science cannot solve. It was 

 pleasure to drink water so sweet and pure 

 that Anacreon would have deserted his 

 cup for its purer inspiration. 



The banks of the stream were so wet 

 and slippery that it was out of the ques- 

 tion to hunt for fossil teeth, ribs, and 

 shells of endless variety which may be 

 gathered in almost any quantity. The 

 friends of science have reason to regret 

 that Sir Charles Lyell, the eminent Eng- 

 lish geologist, who passed when in Geor- 

 gia within three miles of Sandersville, 

 did not visit this old geologic burying- 

 ground. Little is known of these 

 "Medals of Creation," and it is hard to 

 decipher the strange inscriptions on their 

 tombs, or "the interpretation thereof." 



And the springs kept bubbling up — up. 

 It was fascinating to watch them, never 

 pausing, eternally moving ; soft, yielding, 

 yet never over-and-done with movement 

 of nature's exquisite workmanship. We 

 were never tired of looking. The chance 

 would not come to decide that the curios- 

 ity was satisfied, so we might turn and go 

 away. 



We must go home, at last suggested 

 one of the party, and thus admonished, 

 with a desire to still linger, we went up 

 once more to the uplands. 



The August birds, though silent, flitted 

 among the branches of the trees in this 

 woodland retreat — bluejays, mocking- 

 l)irds, swallows, sparrows and numerous 

 others of the feathered tribe. There is 

 much to see along this Limebranch, but 

 outside the faunal world, outside the farm 

 hands going afield to their labor, one 

 seldom meets there a traveler. Persons 

 have resided near the spot for years, and 

 yet have not had the curiosity to visit 

 these Lime-sinks. 



Mary Susan Harris. 



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