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such a situation that it was impossible to descend unless he fell upon the raggedrocks beneath him. There was no house near, from which his companionscould get assistance. He could not remain in that condition, and, what wasworse, his friends were too much frightened to do any thing for his relief. Theylooked upon him as already dead, expecting every moment to see him precipi-tated upon the rocks below, and dashed to pieces. Not so with himself. Hedetermined to ascend. Accordingly he plied himself with his knife, cuttingplaces for his hands and feet, and gradually ascended with incredible labor. Heexerted every muscle. His life was at stake, and all the terrors of death arosebefore him. He dared not look downwards lest his head should become dizzy,and perhaps on this circumstance his life depended.
“ His companions stood at the top of the rock exhorting and encouraginghim. His strength was almost exhausted; but a bare possibility of saving hislife still remained, and hope, the last friend of the distressed, had not yet for-saken him. His course upwards was rather oblique than perpendicular. Hismost critical moment had now arrived. He had ascended considerably morethan 200 feet, and had still further to rise, when he felt himself fast growingweak. He now made his last effort, and succeeded. He had cut his way notfar from 250 feet from the water, in a course almost perpendicular; and in alittle less than two hours, his anxious companions reached him a pole from thetop, and drew him up. They received him with shouts of joy ; but he himself■was completely exhausted. He immediately fainted away on reaching the spot,and it was some time before he could be recovered!
“ It was interesting to see the path up these awful rocks, and to follow inimagination this bold youth as he thus saved his life. His name stands farabove all the rest, a monument of hardihood, of rashness, and of folly.”
The passage of the Potomac through the Blue Ridge, says Mr. Jefferson, isperhaps one of the most stupendous scenes in nature. You stand on a veryhigh point of land. On your right comes the Shenandoah, having rangedalong the foot of the mountain a hundred miles to seek a vent. On your leftapproaches the Potomac in quest of a passage also. In the moment of theirjunction they rush together against the mountain, rend it asunder, and pass offto the sea.
The first glance of this scene hurries our senses into the opinion that themountains were formed first; that the rivers began to flow afterwards; thatin this place particularly they have been dammed up by the Blue Ridge, andhave formed an ocean which filled the whole valley ; that, continuing to rise,they have at length broken over at this spot, and have torn the mountain downfrom its summit to its base. The piles of rock on each side, but particularlyon the Shenandoah, the evident marks of their disrupturo and avulsion fromtheir beds by the most powerful agents of nature corroborate the impression.
But the distant finishing which nature has given to the picture is of a verydifferent character. It is a true contrast to the foreground. It is as placid anddelightful as that is wild and tremendous. For the mountain being clovenasunder, she presents to your eye, through the cleft, a small catch of smoothblue horizon, at an infinite distance in the plain country, inviting you, as itwere, from the riot and tumult roaring around, to pass through the breach, andparticipate the calm below.
Here the eye ultimately composes itself, and that wa)' too the road happensto lead. You cross the Potomac above the junction, pass along its side throughthe base of the mountain for three miles, its terrible precipices hanging in frag-ments over you, and within about 20 miles reach Fredericktown, and the finecountry around. This scene is worth a voyage across the Atlantic. Yet here,as in the neighborhood of the Natural Bridge, are people who have passed theirlives within a half dozen miles, and have never been to survey these monu-