There are certain excursions that the sojourner at Asheville must make.  He must ride forty-five miles south through Henderson and Transylvania to Caesar’s Head, on the South Carolina border, where the mountain system abruptly breaks down into the vast southern plain; where the observer, standing on the edge of the precipice, has behind him and before him the greatest contrast that nature can offer.  He must also take the rail to Waynesville, and visit the much-frequented White Sulphur Springs, among the Balsam Mountains, and penetrate the Great Smoky range by way of Quallatown, and make the acquaintance of the remnant of Cherokee Indians living on the north slope of Cheoah Mountain.  The Professor could have made it a matter of personal merit that he escaped all these encounters with wild and picturesque nature, if his horse had not been too disabled for such long jaunts.  It is only necessary, however, to explain to the public that the travelers are not gormandizers of scenery, and were willing to leave some portions of the State to the curiosity of future excursionists.

But so much was said about Hickory Nut Gap that a visit to it could not be evaded.  The Gap is about twenty-four miles southeast of Asheville.  In the opinion of a well-informed colonel, who urged us to make the trip, it is the finest piece of scenery it this region.  We were brought up on the precept “get the best,” and it was with high anticipations that we set out about eleven o’clock one warm, foggy morning.  We followed a very good road through a broken, pleasant country, gradually growing wilder and less cultivated.  There was heavy rain most of the day on the hills, and occasionally a shower swept across our path.  The conspicuous object toward which we traveled all the morning was a shapely conical hill at the beginning of the Gap.

At three o’clock we stopped at the Widow Sherrill’s for dinner.  Her house, only about a mile from the summit, is most picturesquely situated on a rough slope, giving a wide valley and mountain view.  The house is old rambling, many-roomed, with wide galleries on two sides.  If one wanted a retired retreat for a few days, with good air and fair entertainment, this could be commended.  It is an excellent fruit region; apples especially are sound and of good flavor.  That may be said of all this part of the State.  The climate is adapted to apples, as the hilly part of New England is.  I fancy the fruit ripens slowly, as it does in New England, and is not subject to quick decay like much of that grown in the West.  But the grape also can be grown in all this mountain region.  Nothing but lack of enterprise prevents any farmer from enjoying abundance of fruit.  The industry carried on at the moment at the Widow Sherrill’s was the artificial drying of apples for the market.  The apples are pared, cored, and sliced in spirals, by machinery, and dried on tin sheets in a patented machine.  The industry appears to be a profitable one hereabouts, and is about the only one that calls in the aid of invention.