186 
on a very high point of land. On your right comes up the She¬ 
nandoah, having ranged along the foot of the mountain an hun¬ 
dred miles to seek a vent. On your left approaches the Potomac, 
in quest of a passage also. In the moment of their junction they 
rush together against the mountain, rend it asunder, and pass off 
to the sea. The first glance of this scene hurries our senses 
into the opinion, that this earth has been created in time, that the 
mountains were formed first, that the rivers began to flow after¬ 
wards, that in this place particularly they have been dammed 
up by the Blue Ridge of mountains, and have formed an ocean 
which filled the whole valley ; that continuing to rise they have 
at length broken over at this spot, and have torn the mountain 
down from its summit to its base. The piles of rock qn each 
hand, but particularly on the Shenandoah, the evident marks of 
their disrupture and avulsion from their beds, by the most pow¬ 
erful agents of nature, corroborate the impression. But the dis¬ 
tant finishing which nature has given to the picture, is of a very 
different character. It is a true contrast to the foreground. It 
is as placid and delightful, as that is wild and tremendous. For 
the mountain being cloven asunder, she presents to your eye, 
through the cleft, a small catch of smooth blue horizon, at an 
infinite distance in the plain country, inviting you, as it were, 
from the riot and tumult roaring around, to pass through the 
breach and participate of the calm follow. Here the eye ulti¬ 
mately composes itself; and that way too the road happens actu¬ 
ally to lead. You cross the Potomac above the junction, pass 
along its side through the base of the mountain for three miles, 
its terrible precipices hanging in fragments over you; and within 
about twenty miles reach Fredericktown, and the fine country 
round that. This scene is worth a voyage across the Atlantic. 
Yet here, as in the neighbourhood of the Natural Bridge, are 
people who have passed their lives within half a dozen miles, and 
have never been to survey these monuments of a war between 
rivers and mountains, which must have shaken the earth itself to 
its centre. 5 ’ 
The morning after my arrival at Harper’s Ferry, I visited Mr. 
Stubbersfield, director of the gun manufactory, to whom I was 
recommended by the secretary of war, and he showed me the 
establishments under his orders. The workshops are in seven 
large stone buildings, of which the interior partitions, with regret 
be it spoken, are of wood. The buildings stand in rows, four at 
the foot of the mountain, and opposite to them, three on the bank 
of the Potomac. At the entrance of the street which they form, 
is Mr. Stubbersfield’s office, from which he can overlook the 
entrances of all the buildings. The machines are moved by 
water-wheels. All the buildings are two stories high ; in the 
