Mountain, we descend to M'Connels'-town,[1] which now presents itself in bird's-eye view before us, here the soil is calcareous, but still, to all appearance, destitute of organic remains. Deep and narrow valleys, steep hills every where presenting shale devoid of impressions, though often so far bituminous as to blaze, abound, but no coal is to be met with nearer than the valley of the Juniata, where organic impressions also commence. Within the great valley of the {13} North Mountain, are several other lower and interrupted ranges. The chain also called the North Mountain, proceeding much to the east in its southern course, presents in that direction acuminated peaks, and appears interrupted as towards Staunton in Virginia. From this summit we are distinctly enabled to mark the direction of the South Mountain, so low where we crossed it as to afford an almost imperceptible ascent.
What still remained of the old road,[2] appeared here as bad as can well be imagined; a mere Indian trace, without any choice of level, over rocky ledges and gullies, threatening at every instant the destruction of the carriages which ventured over it.
8th.] After travelling about 28 miles, I arrived, in the evening, at the very pleasant and romantically situated town of Bedford,[10] hemmed in by a cove of mountains to the south and west, near whose declivity issue the chalybeate springs, occasionally the resort of the sick and convalescent. Very little of the road over which I came to-day was yet turnpike, and as bad as may naturally be
