to me the ideal of a little peasant farm, so neat and comfortable, so well-built, so well-kept, with its garden and fruit-trees. The long-haired husband was out at work in the fields, but the wife, a stout old woman in a costume very like that of a Quakeress, was at home, and looked at me askance with suspicious glances. She had a strong Dutch accent, and could not be drawn into conversation; and when I had had the draught of water for which I asked, and had looked about me both within and without the house, I pursued my journey on that beautiful morning, between the mountain-ridges to the right and to the left, to the little city of Staunton. Here I dined en famille with a very agreeable lawyer, Mr. B., whose conversation interested me much.
There are in Staunton some beautiful public institutions, among which is a large Lunatic Asylum, established on the same principles as those at Bloomingdale and in Philadelphia, and which produces the same results as regards the treatment of the insane. Cure is the rule—when the invalid is brought hither at the commencement of his malady—incurable cases are the exception.
I was very kindly invited to remain at Staunton, but I wished to continue my return, and at sunset I found myself once more on the summit of the Blue Mountains, quiet valleys lying east and west, at my feet; with their quiet little farms in the midst of the golden cornfields—a peaceful region to all appearance, but in which the strife about mine and thine is not the less hotly carried on at times, even to the separation of families.
As twilight came on we stopped at a very pretty and excellent place at the foot of the mountain, where everything was good, and the air so fresh that I was tempted to remain. But Davis and his horses were expensive luxuries, and therefore I drove on to Charlotte's Ville, to which place I had a pleasant journey through the quiet, fertile country.
