two points. One of these I
have already spoken of. It lay considerably to the north of west, and
was where the setting sun made its way, as I have before described, into
the amphitheatre, through a cleanly cut natural cleft in the granite
embankment; this fissure might have been ten yards wide at its widest
point, so far as the eye could trace it. It seemed to lead up, up like a
natural causeway, into the recesses of unexplored mountains and forests.
The other opening was directly at the southern end of the vale. Here,
generally, the slopes were nothing more than gentle inclinations,
extending from east to west about one hundred and fifty yards. In the
middle of this extent was a depression, level with the ordinary floor of
the valley. As regards vegetation, as well as in respect to every thing
else, the scene softened and sloped to the south. To the north--on the
craggy precipice--a few paces from the verge--up sprang the magnificent
trunks of numerous hickories, black walnuts, and chestnuts, interspersed
with occasional oak, and the strong lateral branches thrown out by the
walnuts especially, spread far over the edge of the cliff. Proceeding
southwardly, the explorer saw, at first, the same class of trees,
but less and less lofty and Salvatorish in character; then he saw the
gentler elm, succeeded by the sassafras and locust--these again by the
softer linden, red-bud, catalpa, and maple--these yet again by still
more graceful and more modest varieties. The whole face of the southern
declivity was covered with wild shrubbery alone--an occasional
silver willow or white poplar excepted. In the bottom of the valley
itself--(for it must be borne in mind that the vegetation hitherto
mentioned grew only on the cliffs or hillsides)--were to be seen three
insulated trees. One was an elm of fine size and exquisite form: it
stood guard over the southern gate of the vale. Another was a hickory,
much larger than the elm, and altogether a much finer tree, although
both were exceedingly beautiful: it seemed to have taken charge of the
northwestern entrance, springing from a group of rocks in the very jaws
of the ravine, and throwing its graceful body, at an angle of nearly
forty-five degrees, far out into the sunshine of the amphitheatre. About
thirty yards east of this tree stood, however, the pride of the valley,
and beyond all question the most magnificent tree I have ever seen,
unless, perhaps, among the cypresses of the Itchiatu