White Sulphur papers; or, Life at the springs of Western Virginia

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WARM SPRING MOUNTAIN. 17
Where is that master-spirit of our own age, whose
wand w^aved over the ruins of the Alhambra and
brought forth its buried images of romance ? Has
he never been here?
to change those towering piles
of blackest rock, now shading all around us, into
castles and fortresses, and people this solitude with
his giants, and his knights, and his sceptred visions
of antiquity
Far below us, on one hand, we descried, in the
narrow streak like a w^hite pencil-mark, the winding
road by which we had ascended. At our feet, on
the other side, v^ere the shining roofs of the cabins
and bath-houses at the Warm Springs, where we
were to remain a short while and revel, if we pleased,
in the most luxurious of baths.
The sound of the horn called us again to the
stage ;
and we were whirled down the steep to the
base of the mountain with incredible velocity.
The drivers of the stages in this part of the
country (mostly young men) are very active and
expert, and will wind a six-horse team round the
shortest curves of the mountains w^th the same skill
and ease as a Broadway whip will
turn a phaeton.
" A merry welcome to you, gentlemen," said the
pleasant landlord,
as we reined up before the door
of the hotel at the Warm Springs, where a fine
breakfast was waiting for us. And then we did
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