It was interesting to see the path up these awful rocks, and to follow in imagination this bold youth as he thus saved his life.  His name stands far above all the rest, a monument of hardihood, of rashness, and of folly.

We lingered around this seat of grandeur about four hours; but, from my own feelings, I should not have supposed it over half an hour.  There is a little cottage near, lately built; here we were desired to write our names, as visitors of the bridge, in a large book kept for this purpose.  Two large volumes were nearly filled in this manner already.  Having immortalised our names by enrolling them in this book, we slowly and silently returned to our horses, wondering at this great work of nature; and we could not but be filled with astonishment at the amazing power of Him who can clothe Himself in wonder and terror, or throw around His works a mantle of sublimity.

WIER’S CAVE.

About three days’ ride from the Natural Bridge brought Mr. Todd and his companions to a place called Port Republic, about twenty miles from the town of Staunton.  Here they prepared themselves to visit this other natural curiosity.

The shower was now over, which had wet us to the skin—­the sun was pouring down his most scorching rays—­the heavy thunder had gone by; we threw around our delighted eyes, and beheld near us the lofty Alleghany rearing his shaggy head.  The south branch of the Shenandoah river, with its banks covered with beautiful trees, was murmuring at our feet—­a lovely plain stretched below us, as far as the eye could reach; and we, with our guide, were now standing about half way up a hill nearly two hundred feet high, and so steep that a biscuit may be thrown from its top into the river at its foot—­we were standing at the mouth of WIER’S CAVE.  This cavern derives its name from Barnet Wier, who discovered it in the year 1804.  It is situated near Madison’s Cave, so celebrated; though the latter cannot be compared with the former.

There were three of us, besides our guide, with lighted torches, and our loins girded, now ready to descend into the cave.  We took our torches in our left hands and entered.  The mouth was so small that we could descend only by creeping, one after another.  A descent of almost twenty yards brought us into the first room.  The cave was exceedingly cold, dark, and silent, like the chambers of death.  In this manner we proceeded, now descending thirty or forty feet—­now ascending as high—­now creeping on our hands and knees, and now walking in large rooms—­the habitations of solitude.  The mountain seems to be composed almost wholly of limestone, and by this means the cave is lined throughout with the most beautiful incrustations and stalactites of carbonated lime, which are formed by the continual dripping of the water through the roof.  These stalactites are of various and elegant shapes and colours, often bearing a striking resemblance to animated nature.  At one place we saw over our heads what appeared to be a waterfall of the most beautiful kind.  Nor could the imagination be easily persuaded that it was not a reality.  You could see the water boiling and dashing down,—­see its white spray and foam—­but it was all solid limestone.