BLOWING ROCK 351 
which Tryon Mountain is the other arm, has the 
most dramatic outlook of any village in the moun- 
tains. Directly in front of it is an enormous bowl 
filled with a thousand tree-clad hills and ridges that 
become higher and wilder towards the encircling 
wall of the Blue Ridge, the conspicuous bare stone 
summits of Hawk's Bill and Table Rock Mountains 
rising sharp as dragon's teeth above the rest, while 
the sheer and shining face of the terrible Lost Cove 
cliffs, dropping into some unexplored ravine, come 
to view on a clear day. Far away, beyond this wild 
bowlful of mountains, one sometimes sees a faintly 
outlined dome, Tryon Mountain, under which on 
the other side one likes to remember lies Traumfest, 
Fortress of Dreams. 
Off to the left from Blowing Rock, seen between 
near green knobs, the shoreless sea of the lowlands 
reaches away to lave the edge of the sky. And look- 
ing to the right, there lies the calm and noble form of 
the Grandfather Mountain, its rocky top drawn in a 
series of curves against the western sky. Long spurs 
sweep down like buttresses to hold it. Trees clothe 
it as with a garment to where the black rock sur- 
mounts them. 
The view from Blowing Rock changes continually. 
The atmospheric sea that incloses mountain and 
valley melts the solid rocks into a thousand enchant- 
ing pictures. Those wild shapes in the great basin 
which at one time look so near, so hard, and so terri- 
ble, at another time recede and soften, their dark col- 
ors transmuted into the tender blue of the Blue 
