A WEEK ON WALDEN'S EIDGE. 175 



ings had been exchanged. I believe, in my 

 innocence, I had always looked upon that 

 word as an invention of story-writers. 



Somewhere in this neighborhood we 

 traversed a pine wood, in which my first 

 Walden pine warbler was trilling. Then, 

 for some miles, we drove along the Brow, 

 with the glory of the world valley, river, 

 and mountain outspread before us, and 

 the Great Smokies looming in the back- 

 ground, barely visible through the haze. 

 For seven miles, I was told, one could drive 

 along that mountain rim. Surely the city 

 of Chattanooga is happy in its suburbs. 

 Here were many cottages, the greater num- 

 ber as yet unopened ; and not far beyond 

 the one under the piazza of which I had 

 weathered the thunderstorm of the day be- 

 fore, the road entered the forest again. 

 Then, as the way grew more and more diffi- 

 cult, we left the horse behind us, and by 

 and by came to a footpath. This brought us 

 at last to Falling Water Fall, where Little 

 Falling Water after threading the swamp 

 and passing Mabbitt's Spring, as before 

 described tumbles over a precipice which 

 my companion, with his surveyor's eye, esti- 



