A WEEK ON WALDEN'S BIDGE. 145 



the Ridge. My informant kindly made me a 

 rough map of the way thither, and one morn- 

 ino" I set out in that direction. It would be 

 shameful to live for a week on the " summit " 

 of a mountain, and not once go to the '' top." 

 The glory of Walden's Ridge, as com- 

 pared with Lookout Mountain, — so the 

 dwellers there say, — is its streams and 

 springs ; and my morning path soon brought 

 me to the usual rocky brook bordered with 

 mountain laurel, holly, and hemlock. To 

 my New England eyes it was an odd circum- 

 stance, the hemlocks growing always along 

 the creeks in the valley bottoms. Beyond 

 this point I passed an abandoned cabin, — 

 no other house in sight, — and by and by 

 a second one, near which, in the garden 

 (better worth preserving than the house, it 

 appeared), a woman and two children were 

 at work. Yes, the woman said, I was on the 

 right path. I had only to keep a straight 

 course, and I should bring up at the " top 

 of the mountain." A little farther, and my 

 spirits rose at the sight of a circular, sedgy, 

 woodland pond, such a place as I had not 

 seen in all this Chattanooga country. It 

 ought to yield something new for my local 



