Identifier: americanscenery00rich (find matches)
Title: American scenery
Year: 1854 (1850s)
Authors: Richards, Thomas Addison, 1820-1900. (from old catalog)
Subjects:
Publisher: New York, G. A. Leavitt
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation

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e tempest, noeye or ear but her own could see or feel the dropping waters. Stepping aside at this critical moment, cautiously andunseen, her trusting followers moved on, each after the other,down the deep and fatal abyss, from which no wail of despairor death rose above the fury of the storm. One by one, theythus marched to their fearful graves, until not a soul of all thedevoted procession lived to tell the gloomy tale. As her last foe perished, the wretched woman uttered ashout of hellish triumph. Not yet, not yet, will I leave thefiends! she cried; Ill follow them to their living graves!and with one mad leap she sunk with her victims into thedark basin of Toccoa. A gloomy story for so smiling a scene, said Flakewhite;but, alas! how many gay faces are masks to bitter thoughts. A dead march is not exactly the music to go home by,said Mr. Brownoker, as he looked for his hat. I hope Blue-black will hereafter give us his sentiments at the beginning,rather than at the end of the evening.
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CHAPTER VI. Where are we going ? said the amiable chairman, re-peating Mr, Brownokers inquiry touching the route of thenight. Brownoker was always curious on this point, as thoughit made the least difference in the world to him, happy in allplaces and circumstances, whither he went. Where are wegoing, my dear fellow? ISTot very far from our last nightscamp at Toccoa; only a pleasant walk, if you will, of half adozen miles thence to the famous cascades of Tallulah, theTerni of Georgia. * Charming the eye with dread—a matchless cataract! mur-mured the Professor, turning Childe Harold over in his thoughts. Truly, a matchless cataract, added Mr. Vermeille, hard-ly surpassed by any parallel scene in the world. Unlike thebeautiful Toccoa, descending sweetly and gently upon us, asthe soft whispers of angels, the mad waters of Tallulah—orTerrora the Terrible, as the stream is sometimes called—howland hiss and boil in endless torture, affrighting the ear likethe wails of tortured spirits

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