A WEEK ON WALDEN'S EIDGE. 



Throughout my stay in Chattanooga I 

 looked often and with desire at a long, flat- 

 topped, perpendicular-sided, densely wooded 

 mountain, beyond the Tennessee River. Its 

 name was Walden's Ridge, I was told ; the 

 top of it was eighty miles long and ten or 

 twelve miles wide ; if I wanted a bit of wild 

 country, that was the place for me. Was it 

 accessible? I asked. And was there any 

 reasonable way of living there? Oh yes; 

 carriages ran every afternoon from the city, 

 and there were several small hotels on the 

 mountain. So it happened that I went to 

 Walden's Ridge for my last week in Ten- 

 nessee, and have ever since thanked my 

 stars — as New England Christians used to 

 say, in my boyhood — for giving me the 

 good wine at the end of the feast. 



The wine, it is true, was a little too freely 

 watered. I went up the mountain in a rain, 

 and came down again in a rain, and of the 



