From Richmond the routes to the Springs are, railroad to the junction,
27 miles, and from thence to Charlottesville as already given; or by
James River Canal to Scottsville, 79 miles, and from thence by stage to
Brooksville, 25 miles; or continuing on the canal to Lynchburg, 67
miles, and thence by stage to the NATURAL BRIDGE, 38 miles.
This celebrated curiosity is in the county of Rockbridge. It crosses a
small stream called "Cedar Creek." Howe, in his Sketches of Virginia,
has the following eloquent description, which was published originally
in Europe.
"This famous bridge is on the head of a fine limestone hill, which has
the appearance of having been rent asunder by some terrible convulsion
in nature. The fissure thus made is about 90 feet; and over it the
bridge runs, so needful to the spot, and so unlikely to have survived
the great fracture, as to seem the work of man; so simple, so grand, so
great, as to assure you that it is only the work of God. The span of
the arch runs from 45 to 60 feet wide; and its height, to the underline
is about 200 feet, and to the head about 240! The form of the arch
approaches to the elliptical, and it is carried over a diagonal line,
the very line of all others so difficult to the architect to realize,
and yet so calculated to enhance the picturesque beauty of the object.
"There are chiefly three points of sight. You naturally make your way
to the head of the bridge first, and as it is a continuation of the
common road, with its sides covered with fine shrubs and trees, you may
be on it before you are aware; but the moment you approach through the
foliage to the side you are filled with apprehension. It has, indeed, a
natural parapet, but few persons can stand forward and look over. You
instinctively seek to reduce your height, that you may gaze on what you
admire with security. Even then it agitates you with dizzy sensations.
You then make your way some fifty feet down the bosom of the hill, and
are supplied with some admirable standings on the projecting rockwork,
to see the bridge and all its rich accompaniments. There is, 200 feet
below you, the Cedar Creek, apparently motionless, except where it
flashes with light as it cuts its way through the broken rocks. Mark
the trees of every variety, but especially the fir, how they diminish
as they stand on the margin of its bed; and how they ascend, step by
step, on the noble rockwork, till they overshadow you, still preserving
such delicacy of form and growth, as if they would not do an injury
while they lend a grace. Observe those hills, gathering all around you
in their fairest forms and richest verdure, as if to do honour to a
scene of surpassing excellence. Now look at the bridge itself,
springing from this bed of verdant loveliness, distinct, one, complete!
It is before you in its most picturesque form; you just see through the
arch, and the internal face of the further pier is perfectly revealed.
Did you ever see such a pier, such an arch? Is it not most illusive?
Look at that masonry. Is it not most like the perfection of art, and
yet what art could never reach? Look at that colouring. Does it not
appear like the painter's highest skill, and yet unspeakably transcend
it? This is exquisite; still, you have no just conception of this
masterpiece until you get below. You go some little distance for this
purpose, as in the vicinity of the bridge the rocks are far too
precipitous. A hot and brilliant day is, of all others, the time to
enjoy this object. To escape from a sun which scorches you, into these
verdant and cool bottoms, is a luxury of itself, which disposes you to
relish everything else. When down, I was careful of the first
impression, and did not venture to look steadily on the objects about
me till I had selected my station. At length I placed myself about 100
feet from the bridge, on some masses of rock, which were washed by the
running waters, and ornamented by the slender trees which were
springing from its fissures. At my feet was the soothing melody of the
rippling, gushing waters; behind me, and in the distance, the creek and
the hills were expanding themselves to the light and splendour of day;
before me, and all around, everything was reposing in the most
delightful shade, set off by the streaming rays of the sun, which shot
across the head of the picture far above you, and sweetened the
solitude below. On the right and left, the majestic rocks arose, with
the decision of a wall, but without its uniformity, massive, broken,
beautiful, and supplying a most admirable foreground; and, everywhere,
the most delicate stems were planted in their crevices, and waving
their heads in the soft breeze, which occasionally came over them. The
eye now ran through the bridge, and was gratified with a lovely vista.
The Blue Mountains stood out in the background; beneath them, the hills
and woods gathered together, so as to enclose the dell below; while the
creek, which was coursing away from them, seemed to have its well-head
hidden in their recesses. Then there is the arch distinct from
everything, and above everything. Massive as it is, it is light and
beautiful by its height, and the fine trees on its summit seem now only
like a garland of evergreens; and, elevated as it is, its apparent
elevation is wonderfully increased by the narrowness of its piers, and
by its outline being drawn on the blue sky, which appears beneath and
above it! Oh, it is sublime--so strong, and yet so elegant--springing
from the earth, and bathing its head in heaven! But it is the sublime
not allied to the terrific, as at Niagara; it is the sublime associated
with the pleasing. I sat and gazed in wonder and astonishment. That
afternoon was the shortest I ever remember. I had quickly, too quickly,
to leave the spot for ever; but the music of those waters, the luxury
of those shades, the form and colour of those rocks, and that
arch--that arch--rising over all, and seeming to offer a passage to the
skies--O, they will never leave me!"