Letters of Asa Gray; Vol. 2

by Asa Gray

I am, as you may suppose, a bolter from the Republican presidential nomination. We even hope to give the electoral vote of Massachusetts, stanchest of Republican States, to the Democratic candidate. But I need not bore you with American politics.

Let me say how sorry we were not to see Miss Fox at our home. It might have been, except for a little journey we made from Philadelphia, of which I must tell you more.

I had a mere glimpse of Miss Fox at Montreal, and a little more of her cousin. She came late to Philadelphia, where Mrs. Gray (who was not at Montreal) and I had a most pleasant chat with her at a garden reception. The next day I went out to the suburban place where she was visiting, and came near to winning her for our expedition, at least as far as to Luray cave, and the Natural Bridge in the Valley of Virginia. But the engagements she had made could not be reconciled. Her hostess was to take her to this neighborhood, but too early for us to receive her here. All good people in this country think so much of Caroline Fox that they wished to know her sister.

I have not seen the book by Mr. Arthur on difference between physical and moral laws, and am not sure that I ever heard of it or of the author. Who is the publisher? I might find it at the university library. No, I never had the fortune to see, much less to know Maurice. Of course I have always known a good deal about him and of the remarkable influence he exerted, both in person and in his writings, “in which were some things hard to understand,” such as his liking for the Athanasian creed, but nothing that was not most excellent in spirit.

Of course I well remember Miss Wedgewood; and we had occasional correspondence up to the time when Darwin died, and she, on the part of the family, announced it to me. I am glad to know that she wrote the sketch of Maurice in the “British Quarterly.”

And now about ourselves. I got the Compositæ off my mind late in the spring, but not off my hands until sometime in August. At the end of August and of the pleasant part of the summer here (for it was delightful in Cambridge, so cool and quiet, and Mrs. Gray away only for three weeks with her friends on the coast) I went to the meeting of the British Association at Montreal; enjoyed it much; read a paper,[128] a sort of address, to the botanists coming over to North America, which the Section seemed to like and voted to print in extenso. (I will first print it here, and send you a copy. Not that there is much novelty in it, but it may be readable.) I had to leave the meeting after three or four days, and return here; sorry to leave our friend Mr. Walter Browne ill at the hospital with typhoid fever. He and his poor wife received every kind attention, but he died in a few days.

It is agreed that the British meeting was a distinguished success. It brought over a throng of English people, and the American savants (I cannot abide the word “scientists”) were in good force. We were repaid by the large attendance of British Association members at Philadelphia, where they contributed to make our meeting large and notable.

Up to this time the weather was all that could be wished, cooler, I suppose, than in England at the time. But that week at Philadelphia was raging. Mrs. Gray and I were there for the whole week, domiciled with friends in the heart of the city,—a city which never cools at night, as it does hereabouts. I bore the heat well, as my manner is; Mrs. Gray, fairly, by keeping quiet through the mornings and giving herself rather to the evening receptions, which were fine and most admirably managed. It grew cooler the moment the week was over and the session ended. Besides, we moved at once into a cooler region. It was arranged that I should lead any British botanists that cared to go on an excursion into the mountains of Virginia and Carolina. But they were otherways bound, so that I could take only my friend Mr. John Ball of London, your fellow F. R. S., taking also another American botanist, with whom we had visited these regions more than once before, and, to make it pleasanter, we added three ladies, wives and daughters of botanists, Mrs. Gray being one.

Our first day’s journey was to Luray, in the Valley of Virginia, between the Blue Ridge and the proper Alleghanies. The next day we visited the Cavern, which I think is the finest in the world, not forgetting that of Adelsberg in Styria. It is newly discovered, with wonderful wealth and beauty of stalactical formations, and is lighted up for visitors with electrical lights in all the larger chambers. That day we went on to the Natural Bridge, which we had not seen for many years. It was grander than I had remembered; indeed, it and the scenery around is worth a voyage and a journey to see. Then we went on to our favorite Roan Mountain, on the borders of North Carolina and Tennessee, one of the highest in the Atlantic United States, and the finest; the base and sides richly wooded with large deciduous forest trees in unusual variety even for this country, the ample grassy top (of several square miles) fringed with dark firs and spruces, and the open part adorned with thousands of clumps of Rhododendron Catawbiense, which when there last before, late in June, we saw all loaded with blossoms, while the sides were glorious with three species of Azalea, not to speak of many other botanical treasures. There, at top and at base, we passed four busy days. A narrow-gauge railway recently built, and new to us, reaches to the base of the mountain, up the Doe River, through most picturesque scenery, showing to most advantage in the descent. On our way back we diverged to visit some striking rock scenery on the upper Kanawha River, and thence to a mountain-top lower than Roan, but with the advantage of a charming little lake, with banks all fringed with Rhododendron maximum and Kalmia, hanging over the water for a rod or two, except on the side where the little hotel stands. Well, I have written a deal here, little as I have managed to tell you. I think you and Lady Fry should come over and see for yourselves, just a pleasant summer vacation, if you can leave Failand for so long.

TO J. D. HOOKER.