10 AN IDLER ON MISSIONARY RIDGE. 



allowed myself to be taken at a cruel noon- 

 day disadvantage. Even now, in the deep 

 frigidity of a Massachusetts winter, I cannot 

 think of Missionary Ridge without seeing 

 again those long stretches of burning sun- 

 shine, wherein the least spot of shade was 

 like a palm in the desert. In every such 

 shelter I used to stand awhile, bareheaded ; 

 then, marking the next similar haven, so 

 many rods ahead, I would hoist my umbrella 

 and push forward, cringing at every step as 

 if I were crossing a field under fire. Possi- 

 bly I exaggerate, but, if I do, it is very little ; 

 and though it be an abuse of an exquisite 

 poem, I say over to myself again and again 

 a couplet of Miss Guiney's : — 



" Weather on a sunny ridge, 



Showery weather, far from here." 



In truth, early as the season was, the exces- 

 sive heat, combined with a trying dog-day 

 humidity, sadly circumscribed all my Ten- 

 nessee rambles. As for my umbrella, my 

 obligations to it were such that nothing but 

 a dread of plagiarism has restrained me from 

 entitling this sketch " An Umbrella on Mis- 

 sionary Ridge." Nature never intended me 

 for a tropical explorer. Often I did nothing 



