This even to us was not an imaginary one as he
had seriously contemplated moving down in the valley some day.
He said "'a rolling stone gathers no moss,' neither does a
settin' hen grow fat, but, I'll have to find a place to set for
I'm gettin' old." We thought he had set too much already. "I'd
as leave move a thousand miles as one hundred yards. It's the
startin' I hate."
How much of what he considered his misfortune was clue to no
other than his phrase, "I hate to start." He reminded us of the
girl we saw in the valley sitting out at the front gate beneath
an elm tree, waiting for something to turn up. She had failed to
see patches of weeds in the yard and the vegetables were crying
for help, yet she heard them not. Be wary, young men, for the
person who waits for something to turn up usually finds only
creditors.
"I was born in 1871. Yes, I was born, bred and raised near
Yellow Sulphur Springs, Ohio. I ramped around thar many a day."
Looking at the flock of children who lacked many of the bare
necessities of life, we thought what the Book of Books says: "He
who careth not for his own is worse than an infidel."
Out across the valley we beheld the beautiful Blue Ridge rising
like a grand graded way. Here was displayed a panorama that of
all our Shenandoah journeys still appears as one of our most
memorable mountain scenes. At our feet lay the valley
interspersed with villages, homes and vast stretches of corn,
oats and wheat, all clothed in that blue filmy veil making all
appear like a rich garden of various emerald tints. Far away
toward the horizon rose a lovely forest-crowned ridge so
gloriously colored and luminous it seemed like the scene of a
vast painting. Out over the tremulous billowy fields of grain
and over the forest and meadow the sunlight fell in pale
spangles of light over which a few gray shadows chased one
another.
The sun was gilding the west as we started down the mountain
side. The radiant host of evergreens stood silent in bold relief
against their luminous background. High in the azure dome a few
rose-colored clouds were drifting, scarce seeming to move in the
light filled ether. Over all the vast expanse of sky a crimson
spread which was followed by pink that was quickly succeeded by
violet purple. Never had we beheld such a striking crimson sea.
Soon those radiant splendors vanished in the purple twilight. We
watched the last faint color fade from the distant ridges. A
soft breeze sighed among the pines and rustled the aspen leaves,
then, died away. Mingled odors of pine and fern floated to us
from the nearby forests. The light vanished from the sky but the
mysterious charm of the time was not broken. In the east a
softer and more quiet splendor tipped the foliage with silvery
radiance, edging the fleecy clouds with mellow light. Only the
purling music of the distant waterfall now broke the restful
solemnity of the mountain solitudes. Night with its thoughts of
other fairer worlds than this, was here and we with all Nature
were preparing for rest.
As we drew near the Lawrence Hotel at Luray, the Moonlight
Sonata floated dreamily upon the calm night air, and we seemed
to feel the beauty of Hugo's lines:
Come child, to prayer; the busy day is done,
A golden star gleams through the dusk of night;
The hills are trembling in the rising mist,
The rumbling wain looms dim upon the sight;
All things wend home to rest; the roadside trees
Shake off their dust, stirred by the evening breeze.
The sparkling stars gush forth in sudden blaze,
As twilight open flings the doors of night;
The bush, the path-all blend in one dull gray -
The doubtful traveler gropes his anxious way.
Oh, day; with toil, with wrong, with hatred rife;
Oh, blessed night! with sober calmness sweet,
The age-worn hind, the sheep's sad broken bleat -
All Nature groans opprest with toil and care,
And wearied craves for rest, and love and prayer.
At eve the babes with angels converse hold,
While we to our strange pleasures wend our way,
Each with its little face upraised to heaven,
With folded hands, barefoot kneels down to pray,
At selfsame hour with selfsame words they call
On God, the common Father of us all.
And then they sleep, the golden dreams anon,
Born as the busy day's last murmurs die,
In swarms tumultuous flitting through the gloom,
Their breathing lips and golden locks descry,
And as the bees o'er bright flowers joyous roam,
Around their clustered cradles clustering come.
Oh, prayer of childhood! simple, innocent;
Oh, infant slumbers! peaceful, pure and light;
Oh, happy worship! ever gay with smiles,
Meet prelude to the harmonies of night;
As birds beneath the wing enfold their head,
Nestled in prayer the infant seeks its bed.
CHAPTER III
LURAY CAVERNS AND MAMMOTH CAVE
O! bear me then to vast embowering shades,
To twilight groves and visionary vales,
To weeping grottoes and prophetic glooms,
Where angel forms, athwart the solemn dusk
Tremendous, sweep, or seem to sweep, along,
And voices more than man through the void,
Deep sounding, seize the enthusiastic ear.
Or is this gloom too much?
Where creeping water ooze, and where rivers wind,
Cluster the rolling fogs and swim along
The dusky mantled lawns. - Thompson.
The Shenandoah valley is not only famous for its beauty,
picturesque scenery and many historical associations, but here
in Page county, Virginia, are located the beautiful caverns of
Luray.
