Near the head of one of the islands of the Nantihala, the road from over Stecoah mountain appears on the opposite bank, and by a wide ford reaches the main road. By the Stecoah mountain highway, it is twenty miles to Robbinsville in the center or Graham county. There are no scenes of striking grandeur along the route, but the traveler will be interested in way-side pictures. A primitive “corncracker” at one point is likely to produce a lasting impression. It is a tall, frail structure with gaps a foot wide between every two logs. Through these cracks can be seen the hopper, and the stones working at their daily bushel of grain, deposited therein at dawn by the miller, and left, without watching, to be converted into meal by his return. One would conceive that other mills than the gods’ grind slowly. It is a small volume of water that pours through the flume, by means of a race,--a long, small trough, made of boards, rotten and moss-grown, and elevated on log foundations, about ten feet above the ground. Reaching back toward the wooded hill-side, fifty yards away, it receives the waters of a mountain stream. I have seen mills in the mountains, forming with roof, hopper, and all, a structure no larger than a hackney coach. Along the road to Robbinsville, for fifteen miles, the predominating family is Crisp. It is Crisp who lives in the valley, on the mountain side, in the woods, by the mill, on the bank of Yellow creek, and in numerous unseen cabins up the coves. In fact Crisp seems ubiquitous. Robbinsville has eight or ten houses, one of which serves for a hotel; a store; a court-house, church, and school-house. Near it flows Cheowah creek, through fertile valleys. The finest tract of land in the county is owned by General Smythe, of Newark, Ohio, and is called the Junaluska farm. It is situated near the village, on the banks of Long creek, and consists of 1,500 acres, 400 or 500 acres of which are cleared valley land of rich, loamy soil. In this locality a number of Indian families own homes. After this slight digression, let us turn to the Nantihala. A short distance from the Stecoah highway ford, the river empties into the Little Tennessee. Just before reaching that point, the road diverges from beside the crystal current; the valley widens out; a deeper roar of mightier waters arises; and, soon after, having reached the bank of the Little Tennessee, you enter its ford, and, turning in the saddle, take a parting look at the closely parallel mountain ranges, and the narrow space between them, known as the valley of the Noon-day Sun. WITH ROD AND LINE. Blest silent groves, O, may you be, Forever, mirth’s best nursery! May pure contents Forever pitch their tents Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these mountains! And peace still slumber by these purling fountains, Which we may every year Meet, when we come a-fishing here. --_Sir Henry Wotton._