lxxxiv LIFE OF 



as wide as the Schuylkill, and winds away between prodigious per- 

 pendicular cliffs of solid limestone. In this deep and romantic 

 valley, the sound of the boat horns from several Kentucky arks, 

 which were at that instant passing, produced a most charming 

 effect. The river, I was told, had already fallen fifteen feet, but 

 was still high. I observed great numbers of uncommon plants and 

 flowers growing among the cliffs, and a few solitary bank swallows 

 were skimming along the surface. Reascending from this, and 

 travelling for a few miles, I again descended a vast depth to another 

 stream called Dick's River, engulfed among the same perpendicular 

 masses of rock. Though it was nearly dark, I found some curious 

 petrifactions, and some beautiful specimens of mother-of-pearl on 

 the shore. The roaring of a mill dam, and the rattling of the mill, 

 prevented the ferryman from hearing me till it was quite night, and 

 I passed the rest of the road in the dark, over a rocky country 

 abounding with springs, to Danville. This place stands on a slight 

 eminence, and contains about eighty houses, chiefly log and frame 

 buildings, disposed in two parallel streets crossed by several others. 

 It has two rope works and a woollen manufactory, also nine shops 

 and three taverns. I observed a great many sheep feeding about 

 here, amidst fields of excellent pasture ; it is, however, but a dull 

 place. A Roman Catholic chapel has been erected here at the expense 

 of one or two individuals. The shopkeepers trade from the mouth 

 of Dick's River, down to New Orleans, with the common produc- 

 tions of the country, — flour, hemp, tobacco, pork, corn, and whisky. 

 I was now one hundred and eighty miles from Nashville, and, as I 

 was informed, not a town or village on the whole route. Every 

 day, however, was producing wonders on the woods, by the progress 

 of vegetation. The blossoms of the sassafras, dogweed, and red bud, 

 contrasted with the deep green of the poplar and buckeye, enriched 

 the scenery on every side, while the voices of the feathered tribes, 

 many of which were to me new and unknown, were continually 

 engaging me in the pursuit. Emerging from the deep solitude of 

 the forest, the rich green of the grain fields, the farm-house, and 

 cabins embosomed amidst orchards of glowing purple and white, 

 gave the sweetest relief to the eye. Not far from the foot of a high 

 mountain, called Mulder's Hill, I overtook one of those family cara- 

 vans, so common in this country, moving to the westward ; the 



