University of Virginia Library

TAVERNS.

The notice we took of the "Spotted Tavern,"
on the road to Fauquier Springs, was incidental.
It was not our intention to touch on
this subject, lest we might do injustice to some
of those who deserve well of travellers by
keeping comfortable and neat accommodation
along the different routes to the Virginia
Springs. Of the houses on the road from Guyandotte
to White Sulphur, we know nothing;
but presume, as it has been so long the great
stage route, they are good. On the road from
Lynchburg to Sweet Springs, there is a delightful
house kept at New London, by Mr.
Eccoles. The house at Liberty is an excellent
house; at Beaufort's, plentiful and neat:
at Fincastle, the tavern is, or was, well kept
by Mr. Lancaster; and we found the stagehouse,
kept by Scott, west of Price's Mountain,
a very good house. The Eagle Hotel, at
Charlottesville, we found admirably kept, this
last summer; Cocke's is an old stand, well

known; the rooms and beds are comfortable, and
the servants attentive. The fare is such as is
usually found at stage-houses—the same now
it was fifteen years ago. The house is neat,
and comfortably furnished. Brookville Tavern
is said to be well kept, as also the house
of Mrs. Jones, in Waynesboro'.

The houses west of Staunton are pretty
much on a par, with the exception we shall
notice by-and-by. The houses at Winchester,
Fredericksburg, Lynchburg, and Staunton, are
quite respectable, and afford the traveller much
comfort. There is, on the road from Waynesboro'
to Lexington, a house at Greensville, kept
by a Mr. Smith, which is most comfortable.
This family know what good living is, and
are kind and attentive. There are two other
houses in the village, said also to be very
good. The stage-house, and only house at
Lexington, we found crowded, as we were told
it usually is, in summer. It is kept by Mr.
Sloan, a very kind and agreeable man. The
fare was moderately good, but the servants
either had too much to do, or were incompetent.

There are, on the road from Charlottesville
to White Sulphur, two localities so favourable

as resting-places for the weary traveller, that
we cannot pass them over without a more extended
notice. In doing this, we are altogether
influenced by the desire to benefit the traveller,
and not by any disposition to invidiously discriminate.
The houses to which we refer are
the Mountain Top and Callaghan's.

The house on Mountain Top is on the
western slope of the Blue Ridge, at Rock-fish
Gap, and about 150 yards from the summit.
Above it, rises a cone of the mountain inclining
southwest; and to the northeast is another
conical mountain, both several hundred
feet higher than the house. The view from
the Road-summit or Gap, commanding a varied
prospect of mountains, forests, and cultivated
plains, is, indeed, very fine. In the morning,
you may see the glorious God of day emerging
from his curtains of purple and gold, and
shaking from his locks the dewy drops of Ocean,
and with a benign radiance illuming the welcoming
features of his fruitful sister. Here,
again, at mellow evening, you may see him
descending in majestic dignity beneath the
great Appalachian Mountains, gilding, in his
descent, the green forests and fleecy clouds,

creating a thousand fanciful shapes of castles
and giants, old ladies with high caps, graceful
giraffes and clumsy elephants. But the view
from the point designated is limited in comparison
with those that may be obtained by
ascending, as we did, the impending cone, by
a path which admits of riding within a few
yards of the summit. On the hill-side we
found a finely-set crop of clover, and near the
top a cow, that seemed indignantly to frown
upon us, and silently to say, "Thou intruder,
what doest thou here?" At the highest cleared
point was a cluster of disjointed sand-rocks,
in the centre of which rose a sturdy oak, which
seemed to bid defiance to the tempests; yet
the tempests came and shattered one of its
arms, while the humble and shrinking shrubbery
around it remained undamaged: so it is
in human life; those who expose themselves
to its tempestuous hurricanes, must, indeed, be
clad in panoply, if they escape unscathed;
while the gentle and retiring are sheltered
from its frowns and its malice. The former
may be greater benefactors of society, the latter
are more happy within themselves. Carefully
observing there was no rattlesnake in
juxtaposition, we seated ourself upon the
highest crag, and thence viewed two-thirds of
the horizon. Having already given expression
to our feelings on similar occasions, we
will not fatigue the reader by a repetition; suffice
it say, that if any one shall think proper to
follow in our footsteps, he will be amply repaid
by the scene which we witnessed. Let him
go alone, too, and feel that there is nothing
but the pure canopy of Heaven above him,
and no eye that can look down upon him, but
that of his God.

Our object in dwelling upon the glorious
prospects afforded by this place, has been to
attract to it public attention; but we should
do great injustice were we to pass, in silence,
its other advantages. A purer air never
breathed on this earth than fans the apartments
of this Mountain House, which is, indeed,
admirably divided and adapted for the
entertainment of families. If we are not mistaken,
it was built, with that view, by the
late Dr. Adams, of Richmond, a man who was
in advance of the age in which he lived, whose
plans, during his life, were scoffed at by puny
minds, but who, if he had lived to the present

day, might see their merit appropriated by persons
who, when he digested those plans, were
in the womb of time, or, at least, in petticoats.
We remember when this house was neatly
kept by the Misses Madison. After that period,
being owned by a bachelor, Mr. Leake, it
was, for several years, not open for entertainment.
Lately, however, it has been opened
by the brother of Mr. Leake, and is now kept
in the neatest and most comfortable manner.
Here the traveller will find good bread, both
corn and wheat bread, nice biscuits, good tea
and coffee, well-cooked meats, and a delightfully
neat-spread table. He will have a fine
airy chamber, a sweet bed, a pure atmosphere,
cool porticoes and passages, and a giant walnut
tree, under the shade of which he may swing
himself to sleep in an old-fashioned arm-chair.
This house is distant from Weyer's Cave only
twelve miles, and is a convenient spot from
which to visit that celebrated freak of nature,
and from it may be taken various pleasant excursions
through the neighbouring valleys.
Taking all these advantages into consideration,
and moreover, the excellence of the pure
freestone water, and the use of a good chalybeate
water, and last, though not least, the
kind attention of the host and hostess, we do
trust that Mountain Top will not be passed
without a look by the traveller.

Come we now to Callaghan's. This house
is situated in an interesting valley, on the
north fork of Dunlap's Creek, and at the intersection
of the great eastern and western
road, with those to Covington and the Sweet
Springs. It would be impossible for any location
to be more favourable for a public house,
and, accordingly, it has always been a great
resort of travel. It was originally owned and
kept by Dennis Callaghan, an honest, blunt
old Irishman, of whose witty drolleries many
are recollected and repeated by the more elderly
travellers. The property is now owned by
his son, an amiable, unassuming man, though
as far beyond his father, in cultivation, as Diomedes
was beyond Tydeus in war. In no establishment
west of the Blue Ridge has the
march of improvement been more visible than
at this. The house is, all through, neat and
clean and suitably furnished, and the fare is
most excellent. Reader, if you have never
eaten fried chicken at Callaghan's, then you

do not know the luxury of fried chicken. No
French cook can touch it. There is a delicacy
about it which you will say you never
experienced before. Perfectly done—it is unscorched,
white, plump, tender, delicious. It
makes our mouth water at the distance of 200
miles. It is not worth a journey across the
Atlantic, but if it were at Harper's Ferry, it
would make the scene more picturesque: it is
the ambrosia of meats—a food which Ganymede
may feel proud of serving. We could
give you a recipe for preparing it, but we fear
you would not follow directions, and you
would then imagine we are "romancing." Far
from it, we assure you; but this is not all; we
defy Hebe herself to serve up nectar equal to
Callaghan's milk; it is the essence of milk.
We will lead you a little into the secret of its excellence.
First, then, the cows are fed plentifully
on sweet grass and wholesome provender,
well salted and attended; secondly, the
spring-house is of equal temperature, and it
and the vessels kept neat and pure; thirdly,
it is never skimmed for table use; but the
morning's milk is used for dinner and supper,
and the cream is diffused through it by gently
whisking it. In like manner, the night's milk
is used in the morning, and all extravagance
apart, there is no milk superior to Callaghan's
on the broad earth. Here, too, the traveller
will find a species of bread vulgarly called saltrising,
which will cure dyspepsia, if any thing
can. The table is always supplied with tender
venison steak and other delicacies, and,
upon the whole, this is one of the best public
houses any where to be met with in the country.
When you visit Callaghan's, kind reader,
after journeying through our book, or
drinking stale water with Dr. Moorman, the
best thing we can wish you is a good appetite,
which we do with all our heart.