68 CHICKAMAUGA. 



Perhaps tlie most enjoyable part of the 

 day — the most comfortable, certainly, but 

 the words are not synonymous — was a two- 

 hour siesta on the Snodgrass Hill tower, 

 above the tops of the highest trees. The 

 only two landmarks of which I knew the 

 names were Missionary Ridge and Lookout 

 Mountain; the latter running back for 

 many miles into Georgia, like a long wooded 

 plateau, till it rises into High Point at its 

 southern end, and breaks off precipitously. 



Farther to the south were low hills fol- 

 lowed by a long mountain of beautiful shape, 

 — Pigeon Mountain, I heard it called, — 

 with elevations at each end and in the mid- 

 dle. And so my eye made the round of the 

 horizon, hill after hill in picturesque confu- 

 sion, till it returned to Missionary Ridge, 

 with Walden's Ridge rising beyond, and 

 Lookout Point on the left : a charming pros- 

 pect, especially for its atmosphere and color. 

 The hard woods, with dark pines everywhere 

 among them to set them off, were just com- 

 ing into leaf, with all those numberless, 

 nameless, delicate shades of green that make 

 the glory of the springtime. The open 

 fields were not yet clear green, — if they 



