THE annexed engraving is said to be a correct representation of this great natural curiosity. It is situated' in the county of Rockbridge, to which it has given name, and is viewed as one of the most sublime and imposing productions of nature. It is on the ascent of a hill, which appears to have been cloven through its length by some mighty convulsion. The following account will, we presume, be read with much interest. On a lovely morning, towards the close of Spring, I found myself in a very beautiful part of the Great Valley of Virginia. Spurred onward by impatience, I beheld the sun rising in splendour, and changing the blue tints on the tops of the lofty Alleghany mountains into streaks of the purest gold, and nature seemed to smile in the freshness of beauty. A ride of about fifteen miles, and a pleasant woodland ramble of two, brought myself and companion to the great Natural Bridge.

Although I had been anxiously looking forward to this time, and my mind had been considerably excited by expectation, yet I was not altogether prepared for the visit. This great work of nature is considered by many as the second great curiosity in our country, Niagara Falls being the first. I do not expect to convey a very correct idea of this bridge, for no description can do this.

The natural bridge is entirely the work of God. It is of solid limestone, and connects two huge mountains together by a most beautiful arch, over which there is a great wagon road. Its length from one mountain to the other, is nearly 80 feet, its width about 35, its thick

ness about 44, and its perpendicular height over the water is not far from 220 feet. A few bushes grow on

its top, by which the traveller may hold himself as he looks over.—On each side of the stream, and near the bridge, are rocks projecting ten or fifteen feet over the water, and from 200 to 300 from its surface, all of limestone. The visiter cannot give so good a description of this bridge as he can of his feelings at the time. He softly creeps out on a shaggy projecting rock, and looking down a chasm of from 40 to 60 feet wide, he sees nearly 300 feet below, a white stream foaming and dashing against the rocks beneath, as if terrified at the rocks above. This stream is called Cedar Creek. The visiter here sees trees under the arch, whose height is 70 feet, and yet to look down upon them, they appear like small bushes of perhaps two or three feet in height.

I saw several birds fly under the arch; they looked like insects. I threw down a stone and counted 34 before it reached the water. All hear of heights and depths, but they here see what is high, and they tremble and feel it to be deep. The awful rocks present their everlasting butments, the water murmurs and foams far below, and the two mountains rear their proud heads on each side, separated by a channel of sublimity. Those who view the sun, the moon, and the stars, and allow that none but God could make them, will here be fully impressed, that none but Almighty God could build a bridge like this.

The view of the bridge from below, is as pleasing as the top is awful. The arch from beneath would seem to be about two feet in thickness. Some idea of the distance from the top to the bottom may be formed from the fact, that as I stood on the bridge and my companion beneath, neither of us could speak loud enough to be heard by the other. A man from either view, does not appear more than four or five inches in height.

As we stood under this beautiful arch, we saw the place where visiters have often taken the pains to engrave their names upon the rock. Here Washington climbed up 25 feet and carved his name, where it still remains. Some wishing to immortalize their names,

have engraved them deep and large, while others have tried to climb up and insert them in the book of fame.

A few years since a young man, being too ambitious to place his name above all others, came very near losing his life in the attempt. After much fatigue, he climbed up as high as possible, but found that the person who had before occupied his place was taller than himself, and consequently had placed his name above his reach; but he was not thus to be discouraged.-He opens a large jack-knife, and in the soft lime stone, began to cut places for his hands and feet. With much patience and difficulty, he worked his way upwards, and succeeded in carving his name higher than the most ambitious had done before him. He could now triumph, but his triumph was short, for he was placed in such a situation, that it was impossible to descend unless he fell upon the ragged rocks beneath him.

There was no house near, from whence his companions could get assistance. He could not long remain in that condition, and, what was worse, his friends were too much frightened to do any thing for his relief. They looked upon him as already dead, expecting every moment to see him dashed to pieces. Not so with himself. He determined to ascend. Accordingly, he plies himself with his knife, cutting places for his hands and feet; and gradually ascended with incredible labour. He exerts every muscle. His life was at stake, and all the terrors of death rose before him. He dared not to look downwards, lest his head should become dizzy; and perhaps on this circumstance his life depended.His companions stood on the top of the rock, exhorting and encouraging him. His strength was almost exhausted; but a bare possibility of saving his life still remained, and hope, the last friend of the distressed, had not forsaken him. His course upwards was rather oblique than perpendicular.-His most critical moment had not arrived. He had ascended considerable more than 200 feet, and had still further to rise, when he found himself fast growing weak. He thought of his friends and all his earthly joys, and he could not leave them. He thought of the grave, and dared not meet

it. He now made his last effort and succeeded.-He had cut his way not far from 250 feet from the water, in a course almost perpendicular; and in little less than two hours, his anxious companions reached him a pole from the top and drew him up. They received him with shouts of joy; but he himself was completely exhausted. He immediately fainted away on reaching the spot; and it was sometime before he could be recovered.

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.

NATURAL DREAD OF DEATH.

It seems to us strange, it seems as if all were wrong, in a world where, from the very constitution of things death must close every scene of human life, where it hath reigned for ages over all generations, where the very air we breathe and the dust we tread upon was once animated life-it seems to us most strange and wrong, that this most common, necessary expedient, and certain of all events, should bring such horror and desolation with it; that it should bring such tremendous agitation, as if it were some awful and unprecedented phenomenon; that it should be more than deatha shock, a catastrophe, a convulsion; as if nature, instead of holding on its steady course, were falling into irretrievable ruins.

And that which is strange, is our strangeness to this event. Call sickness, we repeat, call pain, an approach to death. Call the weariness and failure of the limbs and senses, call decay, dying. It is so; it is a gradual loosening of the cords of life, and a breaking up of its reservoirs and resources. So shall they all, one and another, give way.-"I feel"-will the thoughtful man say "I feel the pang of suffering, as it were, piercing and cutting asunder, one by one, the fine and invisible bonds that hold me to the earth. I feel the gushing current of life within me to be wearing away its own channels. I feel the sharpness of every keen emotion,