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The little vale into which I thus peered down from under
the fog canopy could not have been more than four hundred yards long; while in
breadth it varied from fifty to one hundred and fifty or perhaps two hundred. It
was most narrow at its northern extremity, opening out as it tended southwardly,
but with no very precise regularity. The widest portion was within eighty yards
of the southern extreme. The slopes which encompassed the vale could not fairly
be called hills, unless at their northern face. Here a precipitous ledge of
granite arose to a height of some ninety feet; and, as I have mentioned, the
valley at this point was not more than fifty feet wide; but as the visitor
proceeded southwardly from the cliff, he found on his right hand and on his
left, declivities at once less high, less precipitous, and less rocky. All, in a
word, sloped and softened to the south; and yet the whole vale was engirdled by
eminences, more or less high, except at two points. One of these I have already
spoken of. It lay considerably to the north of west, and was where the setting
sun made its way, as I have before described, into the amphitheatre, through a
cleanly cut natural cleft in the granite embankment; this fissure might have
been ten yards wide at its widest point, so far as the eye could trace it. It
seemed to lead up, up like a natural causeway, into the recesses of unexplored
mountains and forests. The other opening was directly at the southern end of the
vale. Here, generally, the slopes were nothing more than gentle inclinations,
extending from east to west about one hundred and fifty yards. In the middle of
this extent was a depression, level with the ordinary floor of the valley. As
regards vegetation, as well as in respect to every thing else, the scene
softened and sloped to the south. To the north --- on the craggy precipice --- a
few paces from the verge --- up sprang the magnificent trunks of numerous
hickories, black walnuts, and chestnuts, interspersed with occasional oak, and
the strong lateral branches thrown out by the walnuts especially, spread far
over the edge of the cliff. Proceeding southwardly, the explorer saw, at first,
the same class of trees, but less and less lofty and Salvatorish in character;
then he saw the gentler elm, succeeded by the sassafras and locust --- these
again by the softer linden, red-bud, catalpa, and maple --- these yet again by
still more graceful and more modest varieties. The whole face of the southern
declivity was covered with wild shrubbery alone --- an occasional silver willow
or white poplar excepted. In the bottom of the valley itself --- (for it must be
borne in mind that the vegetation hitherto mentioned grew only on the cliffs or
hillsides) --- were to be seen three insulated trees. One was an elm of fine
size and exquisite form: it stood guard over the southern gate of the vale.
Another was a hickory, much larger than the elm, and altogether a much finer
tree, although both were exceedingly beautiful: it seemed to have taken charge
of the northwestern entrance, springing from a group of rocks in the very jaws
of the ravine, and throwing its graceful body, at an angle of nearly forty-five
degrees, far out into the sunshine of the amphitheatre. About thirty yards east
of this tree stood, however, the pride of the valley, and beyond all question
the most magnificent tree I have ever seen, unless, perhaps, among the cypresses
of the Itchiatuckanee. It was a triple-stemmed tulip-tree --- the Liriodendron
Tulipiferum --- one of the natural order of magnolias. Its three trunks
separated from the parent at about three feet from the soil, and diverging very
slightly and gradually, were not more than four feet apart at the point where
the largest stem shot out into foliage: this was at an elevation of about eighty
feet. The whole height of the principal division was one hundred and twenty
feet. Nothing can surpass in beauty the form, or the glossy, vivid green of the
leaves of the tulip-tree. In the present instance they were fully eight inches
wide; but their glory was altogether eclipsed by the gorgeous splendor of the
profuse blossoms. Conceive, closely congregated, a million of the largest and
most resplendent tulips! Only thus can the reader get any idea of the picture I
would convey. And then the stately grace of the clean, delicately-granulated
columnar stems, the largest four feet in diameter, at twenty from the ground.
The innumerable blossoms, mingling with those of other trees scarcely less
beautiful, although infinitely less majestic, filled the valley with more than
Arabian perfumes.
The general floor of the amphitheatre was grass of the same character as that I had found in the road; if anything, more deliciously soft, thick, velvety, and miraculously green. It was hard to conceive how all this beauty had been attained.
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