and west Virginia on each side of the Blue Mountain Ridge. It was a beautiful, bright, but cold morning in the fresh mountain air. The road was good, and rich masses of beautiful wood bounded its ascent up the mountain. My good negro followed me on foot, pointing out to me Albemarle and Nelson counties, and enjoying with unmistakeable pleasure the grand, beautiful views, in which water merely was wanting.
Arrived at the summit of the Blue Ridge, I beheld rising before me, another similar lofty, blue mountain ridge, in a parallel direction to this,—this was North Mountain Ridge. Between these two mountain ridges stretches itself Virginia Valley, east and west, a vast, fertile landscape, adorned with small, well-built farm-houses, cultivated fields and pasture-land; a quiet, blooming country, from the excellent homes of which one would think that the Lord's Prayer must naturally arise, because all is pastoral, lovely and peaceful; no proud mansions, no poor cottages; the lot of all seems to be alike good, and the house of God alone stands forth pre-eminently in the assembly.
We drove down into the valley, and I reached at noon the celebrated grotto, which is situated in a mountain on the banks of the lively river Schenandoah. Near to it is an hotel for strangers, whom the landlord, a stout, jolly man, conducts to the grotto. I was the only visitor there, and thus had the grotto all to myself. The landlord and Davis attended me with torches, and kindled fires here and there in the grotto.
The grotto is entered by a very small door on the mountain side, and some of its passages are narrow and difficult enough to creep through, but for this the stranger is rewarded by the sight of magnificent rocky halls and astonishing figures. It required about two hours to pass through the most remarkable portions of the grotto. The stalactite figures were similar to those which I had seen in
