312 THE CAROLINA MOUNTAINS 
crowd the scene, melting as they recede into blue and 
misty shapes. Past the strong headlands of Craggy 
and the Blue Ridge, the mountains towards the 
south subside to rise again in far blue domes and pin- 
nacles. Cultivated valleys, beautiful balds, uprising 
slopes, long curving lines, overlapping summits, — 
it is difficult to disengage individual forms from the 
wonderfully blended whole. And here as elsewhere 
that which most moves the senses is the sweep of the 
near majestic slopes down into the deep blue spaces. 
The cave near the top of the mountain is formed 
by an overhanging ledge, and here it is customary, 
for those wishing to watch the sunrise from the sum- 
mit, to spend the night. And it is worth the effort, 
even if one only sees the mountains emerge from the 
clouds for a moment to be again swallowed up by 
them, for it is seldom that the visitor gets more than 
a glimpse of the whole world at one time, from 
Mitchell's cloud-capped peak. It was in this cave on 
top of Mount Mitchell that one once arrived in a 
pouring rain, after a perilous climb up the eastern 
slope, to find, as sole trace of former visitors, a little 
can partly full of condensed milk, which saved, not 
one's own life, but that of a young squirrel rescued 
on the way up, and who became the hero of many 
pleasant subsequent adventures. 
The Black Mountain Country is very wild, and 
also very beautiful, the ascent of Mount Mitchell 
being but one of many reasons for going there. The 
streams are crystal clear, and everywhere pictur- 
esque houses are hidden away in the coves and val- 
