itious. These forms, falling,
rising, floating, over the eternal hills, susceptible of heavenly
brightness, and deepening into the gloomiest of earth's shadows, spur on
fancy and fear to act at will.

I shall not attempt, my friend, to describe this loveliest of all
five-mile drives, from the Profile House to the Flume under the Eagle's
Cliff, and old 'Prospero,' and beside his lake, and the Emerald Bowl,
and then finished by the most curious, perhaps the most beautiful
passage we have yet seen in the mountains--'The Flume'--thus called,
probably, from a homely association with the race-way of a mill. The
ravine is scarcely more than a fissure, probably made by the gradual
wearing of the stream. I am told the place resembles the Bath of
Pfeffers, in Switzerland. That world's wonder can scarcely be more
romantically beautiful than our Flume.

The small stream, which is now reduced to a mere rill by the prolonged
droughts, forces its way between walls of rock, upheaved in huge blocks
like regular mason-work. Where you enter the passage, it may be some
hundred yards wide, but it gradually contracts till you may almost touch
either side with your outstretched arms. I only measured the height of
the rock-walls with my eye--and a woman's measure is not very
accurate--it may be one hundred or one hundred and fifty feet. Tall
trees at the summits interlace, and where they have fallen, bridge the
passage from one side to the other. Rich, velvety mosses cover the rocks
like a royal garment, and wild vines, almost glittering in their
autumnal brightness, lay on them like rich embroidery, so that we might
say, as truly as was said of the magnificence of oriental nature, that
'Solomon, in all his glory, was not arrayed like one of these.'

But how, dear Susan, am I to show the picture to you--the sun glancing
on the brilliant forest above us, and the indescribable beauty of the
shrubs--golden, and crimson, and fine purple--that shot out of the
crevices of the rocks? It is idle to write or talk about it; but only
let me impress on you that this enchanting coloring is limited to the
first days of October. I am afraid it may be said of scenery as has been
said of lover's _tete-a-tete_ talks, that it resembles those delicate
fruits which are exquisite where they are plucked, but incapable of
transmission. As my father can never enjoy any thing selfishly, he was
particularly pleased with the nice little foot-path won from the
mountain