"This famous bridge is on the head of a fine limestone hill, which has the appearance of having been rent asunder by some terrible convulsion in nature. The fissure thus made is about 90 feet; and over it the bridge runs, so needful to the spot, and so unlikely to have survived the great fracture, as to seem the work of man; so simple, so grand, so great, as to assure you that it is only the work of God. The span of the arch runs from 45 to 60 feet wide; and its height, to the underline is about 200 feet, and to the head about 240! The form of the arch approaches to the elliptical, and it is carried over a diagonal line, the very line of all others so difficult to the architect to realize, and yet so calculated to enhance the picturesque beauty of the object.

"There are chiefly three points of sight. You naturally make your way to the head of the bridge first, and as it is a continuation of the common road, with its sides covered with fine shrubs and trees, you may be on it before you are aware; but the moment you approach through the foliage to the side you are filled with apprehension. It has, indeed, a natural parapet, but few persons can stand forward and look over. You instinctively seek to reduce your height, that you may gaze on what you admire with security. Even then it agitates you with dizzy sensations. You then make your way some fifty feet down the bosom of the hill, and are supplied with some admirable standings on the projecting rockwork, to see the bridge and all its rich accompaniments. There is, 200 feet below you, the Cedar Creek, apparently motionless, except where it flashes with light as it cuts its way through the broken rocks. Mark the trees of every variety, but especially the fir, how they diminish as they stand on the margin of its bed; and how they ascend, step by step, on the noble rockwork, till they overshadow you, still preserving such delicacy of form and growth, as if they would not do an injury while they lend a grace. Observe those hills, gathering all around you in their fairest forms and richest verdure, as if to do honour to a scene of surpassing excellence. Now look at the bridge itself, springing from this bed of verdant loveliness, distinct, one, complete! It is before you in its most picturesque form; you just see through the arch, and the internal face of the further pier is perfectly revealed. Did you ever see such a pier, such an arch? Is it not most illusive? Look at that masonry. Is it not most like the perfection of art, and yet what art could never reach? Look at that colouring. Does it not appear like the painter's highest skill, and yet unspeakably transcend it? This is exquisite; still, you have no just conception of this masterpiece until you get below. You go some little distance for this purpose, as in the vicinity of the bridge the rocks are far too precipitous. A hot and brilliant day is, of all others, the time to enjoy this object. To escape from a sun which scorches you, into these verdant and cool bottoms, is a luxury of itself, which disposes you to relish everything else. When down, I was careful of the first impression, and did not venture to look steadily on the objects about me till I had selected my station. At length I placed myself about 100 feet from the bridge, on some masses of rock, which were washed by the running waters, and ornamented by the slender trees which were springing from its fissures. At my feet was the soothing melody of the rippling, gushing waters; behind me, and in the distance, the creek and the hills were expanding themselves to the light and splendour of day; before me, and all around, everything was reposing in the most delightful shade, set off by the streaming rays of the sun, which shot across the head of the picture far above you, and sweetened the solitude below. On the right and left, the majestic rocks arose, with the decision of a wall, but without its uniformity, massive, broken, beautiful, and supplying a most admirable foreground; and, everywhere, the most delicate stems were planted in their crevices, and waving their heads in the soft breeze, which occasionally came over them. The eye now ran through the bridge, and was gratified with a lovely vista. The Blue Mountains stood out in the background; beneath them, the hills and woods gathered together, so as to enclose the dell below; while the creek, which was coursing away from them, seemed to have its well-head hidden in their recesses. Then there is the arch distinct from everything, and above everything. Massive as it is, it is light and beautiful by its height, and the fine trees on its summit seem now only like a garland of evergreens; and, elevated as it is, its apparent elevation is wonderfully increased by the narrowness of its piers, and by its outline being drawn on the blue sky, which appears beneath and above it! Oh, it is sublime—so strong, and yet so elegant—springing from the earth, and bathing its head in heaven! But it is the sublime not allied to the terrific, as at Niagara; it is the sublime associated with the pleasing. I sat and gazed in wonder and astonishment. That afternoon was the shortest I ever remember. I had quickly, too quickly, to leave the spot for ever; but the music of those waters, the luxury of those shades, the form and colour of those rocks, and that arch—that arch—rising over all, and seeming to offer a passage to the skies—O, they will never leave me!"

Leaving the Natural Bridge, we proceed to

DIBRELL'S SPRING,

In Botetourt County, 19 miles. "This watering-place is 43 miles from the White Sulphur. The buildings here are very neat and comfortable, and sufficient for the accommodation of about 200 persons."

The following analysis of the water is by Professor Rogers:

Solid Ingredients.

"Organic matter containing chloride of potassium, nitrogen, carbonate of lime, and carbonate of ammonia.