NO. I.

On the morning of a bright and beautiful day early in July, I resumed

my seat in the mail coach at Lexington, with the prospect of soon

reaching the Virginia Springs. The line having been recently

established was as yet little known, and on this occasion I was the

only passenger. Ample opportunity was afforded for viewing the

charming scenery which surrounds this village; and, certainly, the

world can scarcely present a more lovely landscape than that which lay

before us as we entered upon the turnpike which leads to the Springs.

At the foot of the hill which we were descending, "Woods's Creek" was

stealing along through the shaded retreats and the velvet green which

lines its banks; the adjoining hills were crowned with waving fields,

now ripening for the harvest; the chimnies of the "Mulberry Hill"

residence could just be seen, peering above the groves and the foliage

which throw their charms around its retirement; the ruins of the "Old

Academy"--where Alexander, Baxter, Matthews, Rice, and others of the

first men in the Presbyterian Church were educated,--with its

mouldering, ivy-covered walls, stood in melancholy solitude on the

borders of the neighboring forest. Beyond, was the rolling country in

its variety of scenery; and in the back ground, the House, Jump and

North Mountains marking their clear outline, against the deep azure of

a cloudless sky.

After winding among the hills for a few hours, we came in view of the

long, unbroken range of mountains, over which we were to pass; and

though still some miles from the base, the road could be distinctly

traced, running in straight, and then in zigzag directions along the

precipitous ascent. Soon after, we commenced our slow progress up the

mountain, which might have been tedious had it not been that every

successive moment which increased our elevation, revealed new

beauties. The road itself is one of the curiosities of this region; it

would scarcely seem possible for the ingenuity and energy of man to

construct so safe and so delightful a passage over these rough and

almost perpendicular ridges. At one point you may look from your

carriage window upon the traveller some fifty feet below, parallel

with yourself, and, paradoxical as it may appear, proceeding in the

same direction, although he is bound for the opposite end of the road.

So great are the angles necessary to be made in order to overcome the

obstacles which nature had interposed. The declivity of the turnpike,

however, is now so slight as to admit of travelling at almost any

speed.

On reaching the summit, the view was inexpressibly grand. One of the

loveliest sections of the Valley of Virginia spread its beauties below

us. On one hand the "House Mountain" rose in solitary grandeur above

the surrounding hills, and on the other the dark spurs of the

Alleghany projected out into the more cultivated country. On the

southwest, as far as the eye could reach, mountain after mountain

could be seen. Immediately below and before us, were laid out as a

map, the fertile fields, comfortable farm-houses and county roads of

Rockbridge; the numerous streams reflected in silvery sheets, as they

wound through the broken country and hurried along to pour their

waters into the bosom of the James. Across the "Valley" at the

distance of perhaps twenty miles, the great "Blue Ridge" stretched

away towards the north and south, until it was lost in the deeper

azure of the evening sky, or hid by the dark and heavy clouds which

bear the summer's storm.

We were now upon the boundary which separates the "Valley" from

Western Virginia. After gazing in admiration on the beauties of the

country through which we had just travelled, I turned to enjoy similar

scenes on the opposite side. But nothing except successive piles of

mountains met the view. The deep vales and sun-tinged peaks, seemed to

be still slumbering in their original wildness, and had it not been

for the traces of art exhibited by our turnpike, and the sight of an

iron foundry in the valley below, I should have been almost forced to

the conclusion, that we were disturbing the silence of those forests

which had never before echoed but to the cry of the panther, or the

war-whoop of the wandering Indian.

Having halted a few minutes, the driver "shod" our coach, and rolling

away with the sound of thunder down the mountain, we reached the inn

where the stage stopped for the night, just as the sun was sinking

behind the western hills. Our landlord and his better half were

themselves Dutch, and had raised up a stout rosy-looking family, who

attended to the domestic concerns of the establishment without the aid

of servants. The house was situated on a level lawn between two lofty

ridges of the Alleghany, part of which was neatly enclosed, and

clothed with the richest green. The domicil itself was one story in

height, with a piazza in front; and the peculiar national taste of the

proprietor could be seen in the free use of red and black paint with

which the establishment was ornamented. But the interior presented an

aspect rather more inviting, after the fatigue of the day's ride. The

snow-white table cloth, and the clean and plain, yet delightful fare,

with which the table was bountifully supplied, gave evidence of the

existence of _taste_ in the culinary department, which amply

compensated for the want of it in matters of less substantial

importance. A handsome coach and four had driven up just as we

arrived. After tea the guests assembled in the piazza, and we passed

away in cheerful conversation the hours of a lovely summer's evening,

in this wild valley among the mountains.

We reached _Covington_, a village on Jackson's river, to breakfast the

next morning, and by ten o'clock had arrived at Callaghens, a

comfortable country tavern, where we intersected the line from

Staunton. On the arrival of that stage, I changed conveyances, and

with it the light and rapid travelling of the former coach, for the

slow and heavy motion of one loaded down with passengers and baggage.

I found as my new companions, a very agreeable gentleman from

Philadelphia, with his wife and son, an intelligent young South

American, a huge and awkward Mississippian, an _incog._ gentleman with

a good countenance and a white hat of the first magnitude, a youth of

about seventeen, whose emaciated countenance, hectic flush and

distressing cough, told that consumption had marked him as its victim,

together with one or two others not peculiarly interesting. We were

now but fifteen miles from the White Sulphur; and the impatience of

our passengers seemed to increase almost in the duplicate ratio as the

distance diminished. Every few moments the interrogatory, "How far are

we now?" was heard from some one of the company. At length the number

of handsome vehicles, persons on horseback and on foot, which were

passing and repassing us, shewed that we were in the vicinity of the

Springs. In a few moments the enclosure came in view, and immediately

after we drove up in front of the hotel at the White Sulphur. Groups

of gentlemen were collected about the lawn and in the long piazza of

the hotel. All eyes were eagerly turned towards our coach, and many

came crowding round, in hopes of espying the face of an acquaintance

among the new arrivals. The first physiognomy which greeted our vision

was that of the manager of the establishment, who has no very enviable

notoriety among the visitors. According to his usual system, he had

our baggage deposited for the remainder of the day at the foot of the

tree where we landed, whilst we were left to wander about the

premises, without even a domicil in which to change our dusty

travelling garb for one more in unison with our personal comfort, and

the general appearance of those who were to constitute our temporary

associates.

There is something in the first view of the White Sulphur, very

prepossessing and almost enchanting. After rolling along among the

mountains and dense forests, the wild and uncultivated scenery is at

once exchanged for the neatness and elegance of refined society, and

the bustle and parade of the fashionable world. Almost every state in

the Union, and some of the nations of Europe may find their

representatives at the White Sulphur, during the months of July and

August. The last season was honored with an uncommon assemblage of

interesting personages. We had Messrs. Clay and Poindexter of the

United States Senate; McDuffie and others from the House of

Representatives; Commodores Chauncey, Biddle and Rogers of the Navy;

Judges Carr, Brooke and Cabell of the Court of Appeals; Col.

Aspinwall, American Consul at London; the Hon. Mr. Sergeant of

Philadelphia, and a host of dignitaries of somewhat lower

degree,--also from the religious community, Rev. Doctors Johns and

Keith of the Episcopal Church, and Rev. Messrs. Chester, Styles, (of

Georgia) and others of the Presbyterian. Mr. Clay was just recovering

from an injury he had received from the upsetting of the stage, but he

moved about with the lightness and activity of a boy of 15. Indeed we

almost thought that he descended from his dignity by his frivolous and

careless air. He was affable and accessible to all. Mr. McDuffie, on

the contrary, with his hard and forbidding countenance, was morose and

distant, and the very reverse of the orator of Kentucky. Perhaps,

however, due allowance should be made in favor of the former, on

account of the infirm state of his health.

But the White Sulphur itself must not pass unnoticed. Its charms are

worthy of being celebrated. The buildings, which are situated on a

gradual acclivity, are arranged in the form of a hollow square.

Adjoining the Kanawha turnpike, which passes the springs and parallel

with it, are two large white hotels. One of these contains the dining

and drawing rooms, and in the other there is a spacious saloon for

music, dancing, &c. This is also used on the Sabbath as a chapel. In a

line with these, and running in each direction, is a row of cottages

one story in height, for the use of visitors. With this at the eastern

extremity unites a continued range of beautiful white cottages, with

venitians and long piazzas, forming another side of the quadrangle. At

the distance of several hundred paces from the hotels, and parallel

with them on the hill side, is the third range, which is built

entirely of brick and extends for several hundred yards, until its

lower termination is concealed amongst the trees which form a thick

grove on the brow of the hill. On the western extremity of the area

are the bathing houses, and above all, that which constitutes the

great attraction--the spring. The reservoir in which the spring rises,

is an octagon of about five feet in diameter, from which a constant

and copious stream flows off, supplying the bathing houses. A few

steps lead up from this reservoir, to a platform some twenty-five feet

in diameter, furnished with seats and surrounded by a neat railing.

The whole is protected by a beautiful temple, composed of lofty white

pillars surmounted by a dome. From the interior of this dome is

suspended a chandelier, by which the temple is lighted up in the

evenings. A lawn of the richest green, tastefully laid out with

gravelled walks, and shaded by an abundance of oaks and locusts,

extends over the area of the quadrangle. At the distance of a few feet

from the cottages is a light railing, along which, as also along the

walks, are lamp-posts, from which the area is brilliantly illuminated

in the evening.

We know of no scene more romantic and picturesque than that presented

to a spectator from one of the cottages on the hill, after the lamps

have been lighted for the night. The floods of light, streaming among

the trees, and from every window; the throngs of the gay and

fashionable, crowding the walks for the evening's promenade, and the

thrilling melody of the rich music from a fine German band, throws

quite a fairy-like influence around this pleasant retreat among the

mountains.

On the Sabbath, the saloon usually occupied as a dancing room, was

consecrated to more hallowed purposes. At the call of the bell, a

large and very respectable congregation assembled, and listened to a

solemn and eloquent discourse from the Rev. Doct. Johns of Baltimore.

It seemed peculiarly appropriate, that while resorting to these waters

for healing the diseases of the body, we should also have recourse to

the wells of salvation which have been opened in the house of David

for the diseases of the soul. The grace and elegance with which the

speaker on this occasion presented the truths connected with his

office, was calculated to render them interesting, as well as to

convey a sense of their importance even to the most indifferent.

It would be perhaps superfluous to speak of the healing efficacy of

this celebrated spring; its renovating effects are annually exhibited,

and have been for years. It has been, however, a matter of regret,

that so little has been certainly known, as to the peculiar properties

of this as well as the other mineral springs of Virginia, and of their

application to different diseases. It is a lamentable fact that

invalids, by resorting to one of the springs which was not at all

suited to their case, have only aggravated their diseases, and hurried

themselves more rapidly to the grave. No impression is perhaps more

common and none more erroneous, than that if the use of a particular

spring is efficacious in one complaint, it will be equally beneficial

in others, no matter how different their nature, and that at all

events if no good is gained, no positive injury is received. The very

opposite of this is the fact. Unless there is a clear understanding of

the pathology of the disease, and of the properties of the water, as

well as the adaptation of its constituents to remove the malady in

view, we are for the most part groping in the dark, and playing at

best but a hazardous game. The want of a mineral water suited to the

case of invalids, need however deter no one from visiting the Virginia

Springs. Providence has supplied in this region a variety sufficient

to answer the necessities of almost any case. The only difficulty is,

to ascertain which of these watering places is adapted to the

particular disease.

Doctors Bell and Horner have given to the public the results of some

investigations in reference to these waters, but the former had never

visited the springs, and the latter only for a few weeks of one

season, without either proper apparatus to perfect a complete

analysis, or sufficient opportunity for witnessing their practical

effects. The consequence is, that both of these gentlemen, though

eminent in their professions, have given their authority to statements

which are in many respects erroneous. Difficulties from this source

however will soon be remedied. Professor Rogers of William and Mary

College, a gentleman eminently qualified for the purpose, visited the

springs last summer with complete analyzing apparatus, and it is to be

hoped that the cause of humanity will speedily realize the benefit of

his valuable investigations. Dr. Tindall, who has made the White

Sulphur his place of residence for several seasons, has devoted his

attention to ascertaining the practical effects of the waters, and

intended issuing a volume on the subject before the commencement of

the next summer.

The efficacy of the White Sulphur is principally confined to

affections of the liver, and derangements of the sanguiferous and

biliary systems. Where there is any tendency to pulmonary disease, the

use of this water should by all means be avoided. Its exciting effects

are exceedingly prejudicial to such constitutions. A continued use of

the water will occasion a rapid progress of the disease. Individuals

of a consumptive habit have been known to hasten their end by a

residence at the White Sulphur. One case at least has come within my

own observation.

We cannot leave the White Sulphur without a deep feeling of regret,

that the proprietors of this otherwise attractive and delightful

place, should make so little provision for the comfort of visitors.

The buildings, though extensive, are not at all sufficient to

accommodate the numbers which now resort thither. During the last

summer almost every house for miles on the roads leading to the

springs, was thronged with persons who had been turned off at the

hotel. Many of those who could obtain the privilege of remaining upon

the ground, received exceedingly unpleasant accommodations. The table

too, which assumes a prodigious importance after a week's residence

and use of the water, is by no means such as should be afforded at

such an establishment. Every visitor will recollect his dining-room

experience at the White Sulphur. But one of the most unpleasant

features of the whole, is found in the person of the manager, who,

although naturally possessed of an amiable and accommodating

disposition, we must say, in our opinion, is not qualified for the

situation. It is much to be lamented, that this place which possesses

decided advantages over any watering place in the United States and

perhaps in the world--whose climate, scenery and healing properties

are no where surpassed, and to which, notwithstanding the

accommodations, crowds resort, should not be fitted up in a style

suited to its merits.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.