“There are two great gates of entrance,” says Eric, “Swannanoa and Hickory-Nut Gaps. In the old time, when people traveled in their carriages, it was the general custom to cross the Blue Ridge by one gap in going to the transmontane country, and by the other in coming away.—You remember that, mother?” “Certainly,” answers Aunt Markham, “I went to Tennessee with your father thirty years ago, and we crossed the Hickory-Nut Gap in going, and Swannanoa in coming back.” “Let _us_ go in that way,” says Sylvia. “Impossible,” says Charley. “The railroad takes you to Swannanoa.” “A fig for the railroad! We can go in our carriage, like the grandees of thirty years ago. Which is the finest gap, Swannanoa or Hickory-Nut?” “There is no comparison,” says Eric. “Hickory-Nut is infinitely finer.” “Then we must see it,” says Sylvia, decidedly. She is of a nature easily roused to enthusiasm, and it is evident that this enthusiasm is beginning to wake in the interest of the long-neglected beauty lying within our own borders. “Listen!” she says, sitting upright in her chair, “why can we not go by the railroad to Swannanoa Gap, and take the stage-coach from there to Asheville, leaving the carriage to follow us to the same place, so that we can travel where we like in the mountains, and finally return by Hickory-Nut Gap? Is not that a good plan, Eric?” “Only open to the objection that the carriage will be likely to be broken to pieces,” says Eric. “Why, I have heard you say that the roads beyond the Blue Ridge are excellent.” “The turnpikes are generally excellent, but I humbly submit that all roads are not turnpikes; and, furthermore, that to reach the country beyond the Blue Ridge it is necessary to cross the mountains—to do which is no joke.” “I don’t know a more serious matter,” says Charley. “You are jolted, and bumped, and thumped, until you do not care for any prospect that can be shown to you.” “Pray speak for yourself,” says Sylvia. “I am quite sure that no one else would think of putting a few jolts and thumps in comparison with the grandest scenery—” “In the Atlantic States!” says Charley. “I have heard that from Eric several times. I contemplated this scenery on many occasions, and from many different places, with no great degree of satisfaction; but the trout-fishing—_that_ is something which warrants enthusiasm!” “And the hunting!” says Rupert, with an ecstatic smile on his sunburned face. “How many deer did you kill last season, Brother Eric?” “About the carriage,” says Aunt Markham, “I am inclined to think with Sylvia that it might be a good plan to send it to Asheville. The idea of traveling about the mountains in stage-coaches and hacks is insufferable!” “But we are more than enough to fill the carriage,” says Eric. “Take two saddle-horses, also,” cries Sylvia, with a bright light springing into her eyes. “One for you, and one for me—how delightful!” “And how economical!”