dent. He observed that he had been for some time in the western states, with which he was much pleased. But our country, he said, was too cold for him; it had given him a violent cough. From his deportment he appeared to be a person of distinction. He is about the middling height, of very delicate make, and very handsome features. His colour was that of the offspring of a white and a mulatto. His hair and eyes were deep black; but his greatest personal beauty was his eye, which sparkled like diamonds, and of all men, he had the most suasive manners. His countenance wore a continual smile; he spoke the English language with great facility, and was very communicative. He called at Mrs. Hutchinson's, where I board, for the purpose of taking breakfast, and feeding his horse. Mrs. Hutchinson very politely apprised me of his arrival, and the moment he took his seat at the breakfast table, I took a seat opposite to him, with a view of enjoying his company, and conversation. He seemed to enter very readily into my motives, and gave me all the satisfaction our short interview afforded. After taking one cup of coffee, he asked the landlady for a glass of milk; she enquired whether "he would have sweet milk or sour," (common in this country,) "sweet milk, to be sure, madam," said he, "I like nothing that is sour, I like every thing sweet, a sweet temper, a sweet voice, and sometimes even a sweetheart." He spoke in terms of the highest praise of our country, our people, and our government, but added "the climate was too cold for him :" he had some letters to write, and although it was August, he had a fire made in his room. I enquired of him "how he happened to acquire such a perfect knowledge of the English language," he replied" that he learned it at college, in Buenos Ayres," of which place he is a native. He made several judicious remarks on the English language, said it had no melody, and was of all languages the most difficult to acquire. He pronounced his native state" Boness Iris." I told him how we pronounced it; "ah," he replied, "and you spell cough c-o-u-g-h, why don't you spell it coff." He was attended by one servant only, a free black man,

whom he hired in Kentucky. When he finished his letters, he, and his servant, both got into the gig, (by which conveyance he travelled,) he took the reins himself, telling his horse to "come abeyout here, as de yankee say," and drove off. It was with infinite regret I saw him depart. His name is Marilla.

JOURNEY TO THE ATLANTIC STATES.

BEING detained by unavoidable business in Virginia, till December, I resolved to visit the Atlantic States, taking Richmond and Washington City in my route, and set out accordingly, by way of Staunton and Winchester, Va. Our party consisted of the two Mr. C.'s, and myself, just enough to pass off the time pleasantly. The road leading from Lewisburg to Staunton passes through hilly, poor land, with the exception of a small strip, bordering on Jackson's river, and Cowpasture, until you arrive at Clover-dale, which gives name to a large body of beautiful land, the property of General Blackburn.* This tract lies between two mountains, which gives it a romantic appearance. It contains thousands of acres, of which 1000 are under cultivation, and the whole belongs to the General, acquired by his own industry and talents. What is called Hodges valley, is also good land, but you find no more, until you arrive near Middle river, a few miles above Staunton. Our first day's journey was much retarded by the badness of the roads, and vast droves of hogs, which succeeded in such numbers as nearly filled up the road. We spent the first night at the celebrated stand, known by the name of Callahans. The old gentleman, who used to give life to the tavern, has been dead some years, at present it is kept by his sons, two very amiable young men. I was astonished to find these young men genteel, very much so, and agreeable in their manners. They are stout, well-looking men, whereas, their father was quite diminutive in size. Here I had a striking in

* Uncle to the celebrated Gideon Blackburn, of Tennessee.

stance of the ravages of time. Mrs. Callahan, the widow of the old man, a low, corpulent woman, not double, but drawn down, with not one vestige of her appearance thirty-six years ago. I saw Mrs. Callahan in the year 1787; she was then a tall, elegant figure, with a blooming countenance. I had seated myself but a few minutes by the fire, before I inquired for Mrs. C. and shortly afterwards, a low, fat-looking old lady approached. I asked if it was possible that she was the same lady, she replied," the same individual," at least six inches lower in appearance, than when I first saw her. Mrs. C. did not look old, but was completely metamorphosed. No matter what pains we take, to form an idea of things long since familiar to us, we fall short of any thing like a correct idea of things subject to the decay of time. This stand, which every traveller recollects, is one of the best in the country. Four great roads meet at this house, viz. the great road from the head of navigation, already mentioned, the Lewisburg road, the sweet spring road, and the Staunton road. The situation is at the foot of a narrow vale, with a mountain in front, quite too near the house, to add to the beauty of the scenery indeed, the country is so full of mountains that they are offensive to the sight. A beautiful fountain of the purest water flows out of a large rock, within a few steps of the door. This, and a huge rock, which projects almost over the traveller's head, on the sweet spring road, also near the house, and a small creek, is all that distinguishes this place. But the long, clean, cool piazza, which runs before the door, under which, the weary traveller can repose upon one of the benches, and quaff the pure water from the spring, must be one of the greatest treats at the close of a summer-day's journey. Add to this the best accommodation the nature of the country affords, the company of two sprightly lasses, and the same number of beaux, it must be delightful.

The Hot and Warm springs are so well known I pass over them; at the latter place we spent the second night, and here I found my old acquaintance, Mrs. Lewis, the widow of Mr. John Lewis, lately deceased, proprietor of Sweet springs. This lady from being a stout

over-grown woman, of about two hundred weight, I found reduced to a skeleton; what has become of her since, I have never heard. She was accompanied by her beautiful daughter, Miss Lyn. This turned out rather unfortunate for one of my fellow-travellers, whose heart was stolen by this fair nymph, as he informed us. This circumstance being one of those which occur daily, gave me no surprise, and I amused myself with mine host, Mr. Fry, proprietor of the tavern, and uncle to the Messrs. Frys of Kenhawa. I could not forbear a few jests with the old gentleman, on the subject of his handsome wife, whom I at first took to be his daughter. But what was my asonishment when she informed me she was the mother of fourteen children, though no one would suppose her to be more than twenty-four years of age. Mr. Fry is not only an inn-keeper but keeps a boarding-house for the accommodation of those strangers who visit the springs, during the summer months, for the benefit of health; he is one of your jolly, undisguised men, who loves a joke and money at the same time, which no one regrets to pay for the best accommoda tions and the most assiduous attention. When leaving Warm springs you immediately ascend the Warm spring mountain, which is pretty steep. After getting up the mountain, some distance, you have a fine view of the valley below, which comprises Hot and Warm springs, and the adjacent farms and meadows; but this is nothing to the scenery that awaits you at the summit. This is the Blue Ridge and an assemblage of mountains betwixt you and it. As much as I have seen of mountain scenery I had never seen any thing like this. To taste its beauties, it must be seen, as no language can convey an accurate idea of its impression. A deep valley appears under you, on the opposite side of which "Hills o'er hills and alps o'er alps arise," the last of which, is Blue Ridge, which mingles amongst the clouds, and has more the appearance of a blue cloud than a mountain. In fact, no one who was not apprised of it, would take it for any thing else.

The Blue Ridge pleases by its sudden appearance, by its serenity, its color, by peeping over the other

mountains in the form of blue domes, by its great height, by its smooth waving line, by its assuming every attitude of waves in motion. But what puzzles the fancy to delusion, is the seeming uniformity both in height and distance of the intervening mountain, which appears like so many steps of equal distances one from the other, while it is evident they are not. They appear to be near you, even the farthest, the Blue Ridge, which seems almost within your grasp, while it must be at least one hundred and sixty miles distant. The thin appearance of this last, resembles any thing rather then a mountain, in its graceful curves; but language would fail me, to give even a glimmering of this grand spectacle. As we began to descend the Warm Spring mountain, the Blue Ridge disappeared by degrees, until we lost sight of it entirely; nor did we see it again until we were within a few miles of Staunton; but it did not appear to be the same; it no longer retained the power to please. The third day brought us to Hodge's, who gives name to a fertile valley, in which he resides. Hodge is one of your plain Augusta farmers. Here we found peace and plenty, and by the way, another young lady; but whether my friend had another heart to lose, or had recovered the one he had already lost, I am unable to say.

Next morning we had to contend with another mountain; and to add to the misfortune, it rained the whole day. We took care, however, to fortify ourselves with a comfortable cup of coffee and a slice of ham before we set out. It never ceased raining, nor did we cease travelling, until we arrived at Staunton, which was about three o'clock P. M., when a good dinner and comfortable fire restored our exhausted spirits. Besides Jackson's river, this road crosses the Cowpasture, Calfpasture, and Bullpasture rivers; all of which streams are small, but when united, form James's river, a navigable river of Virginia, well known. From Lewisburg to Staunton, which is ninety-six miles, you cross three mountains, viz: the Alleghany, the Warm Spring, and North mountain. The appearance of the country as you recede from the North mountain, is precisely the same with that on the west side of the Alleghany moun