, as
everybody knows, the typical Southern resort, the rendezvous of all
that was most characteristic in the society of the whole South, the
meeting-place of its politicians, the haunt of its belles, the arena of
gayety, intrigue, and fashion. If tradition is to be believed, here
in years gone by were concocted the measures that were subsequently
deployed for the government of the country at Washington, here historic
matches were made, here beauty had triumphs that were the talk of a
generation, here hearts were broken at a ball and mended in Lovers'
Walk, and here fortunes were nightly lost and won. It must have been in
its material conditions a primitive place in the days of its greatest
fame. Visitors came to it in their carriages and unwieldy four-horse
chariots, attended by troops of servants, making slow but most enjoyable
pilgrimages over the mountain roads, journeys that lasted a week or a
fortnight, and were every day enlivened by jovial adventure. They
came for the season. They were all of one social order, and needed no
introduction; those from Virginia were all related to each other, and
though life there was somewhat in the nature of a picnic, it had its
very well-defined and ceremonious code of etiquette. In the memory of
its old habitues it was at once the freest and the most aristocratic
assembly in the world. The hotel was small and its arrangements
primitive; a good many of the visitors had their own cottages, and the
rows of these cheap structures took their names from their occupants.
The Southern presidents, the senators, and statesmen, the rich planters,
lived in cottages which still have an historic interest in their memory.
But cottage life was never the exclusive affair that it is elsewhere;
the society was one body, and the hotel was the centre.

Time has greatly changed the White Sulphur; doubtless in its physical
aspect it never was so beautiful and attractive as it is today, but all
the modern improvements have not destroyed the character of the
resort, which possesses a great many of its primitive and old-time
peculiarities. Briefly the White is an elevated and charming mountain
region, so cool, in fact, especially at night, that the "season" is
practically limited to July and August, although I am not sure but a
quiet person, who likes invigorating air, and has no daughters to marry
off, would find it equally attractive in September and October, when
the autumn foliage is in its glory. In