Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: September 6, 2025
A tire blew out, five miles up the stream from Asheville, and the easy, business-like deliberation with which he removed the old and adjusted the new, was a revelation to Mary of a new phase of his character. He never once grunted, or swore, or lost his poise, or manifested the slightest impatience. He set about his task coolly, carefully, skillfully, and finished it quickly and silently.
Today the Southern Railway enters the "Sapphire Country," in which Asheville lies, by practically the same route as the old Rutherfordton Trail which was used for generations by red man and pioneer from the Carolina coast.
The sojourner at Asheville can amuse himself very well by walking or driving to the many picturesque points of view about the town; livery stables abound, and the roads are good.
This was a fine country for any kind of fruit, apples, grapes, pears; it needed a little Northern enterprise to set things going. The travelers were indebted to the Colonel for a delightful noonday rest, and with regret declined his pressing invitation to pass the night with him. The ride down the Swannanoa to Asheville was pleasant, through a cultivated region, over a good road.
Augustine, Monterey, Santa Barbara, Aiken, Asheville, Hot Springs, Old Point Comfort, Bermuda, and I don't know how many other places, not forgetting Atlantic City and Lakewood, and only not Barbadoes and the Sandwich Islands because nobody happened to think of them.
"I hope to find some occupation in Asheville until the time of my tr-rial." "What do you want to do?" "I care not. I am well, str-rong. I fear not labor." Mr. Weaver compared with a glance von Rittenheim's figure with his own puny proportions, and said, "No, I should think not!" Then he rubbed his head and asked, "Can you teach?" "I know not. Never have I done such a thing. I am a soldier."
And to say the truth, the new element of Southern smartness lacks the trim thrift the North is familiar with; though the visitor who needs relaxation is not disposed to quarrel with the easy-going terms on which life is taken. Asheville, it is needless to say, appeared very gay and stimulating to the riders from the wilderness.
Among the rocks east of Asheville, North Carolina, lives the Lorelei of the French Broad River. This stream the Tselica of the Indians contains in its upper reaches many pools where the rapid water whirls and deepens, and where the traveller likes to pause in the heats of afternoon and drink and bathe.
From the steep slope below came the mingled sounds of children shouting, cattle driven home, and all that hum of life that marks a thickly peopled region preparing for the night. It was the leisure hour of an August afternoon, and Asheville was in all its watering-place gayety, as we reined up at the Swannanoa hotel. A band was playing on the balcony.
Her son had pneumonia from cold he had taken in the long drive from Asheville. The house must be kept quiet. John Sanders was helping her nurse him. She was sure the Doctor would save him. Even the knife with which she had stabbed him made no impression on her numbed senses.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking