There Is A Little Village At Warm Springs, But The Hotel - Since
Burned And Rebuilt - (Which May Be Briefly Described As A Palatial
Shanty) Stands By Itself Close To The River, Which Is Here A Deep,
Rapid, Turbid Stream.
A bridge once connected it with the road on
the opposite bank, but it was carried away three or four years ago,
and its ragged butments stand as a monument of procrastination, while
the stream is crossed by means of a flatboat and a cable.
In front
of the hotel, on the slight slope to the river, is a meager grove of
locusts. The famous spring, close to-the stream, is marked only by a
rough box of wood and an iron pipe, and the water, which has a
temperature of about one hundred degrees, runs to a shabby bath-house
below, in which is a pool for bathing. The bath is very agreeable,
the tepid water being singularly soft and pleasant. It has a
slightly sulphurous taste. Its good effects are much certified. The
grounds, which might be very pretty with care, are ill-kept and
slatternly, strewn with debris, as if everything was left to the
easy-going nature of the servants. The main house is of brick, with
verandas and galleries all round, and a colonnade of thirteen huge
brick and stucco columns, in honor of the thirteen States, - a relic
of post-Revolutionary times, when the house was the resort of
Southern fashion and romance. These columns have stood through one
fire, and perhaps the recent one, which swept away the rest of the
structure.
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