A WEEK ON WALDEN'S RIDGE. 165 



foot. Passing through the village, on my 

 return from one of my earlier visits to 

 Falling Water, I stopped a nice-looking 

 man (if he will pardon the expression, 

 copied from my notes), driving a horse with 

 a pair of clothes-line reins. He had an air 

 of being at home, and naturally I took him 

 for a native. Would he tell me something 

 about the country, especially about the 

 roads, so that I might improve my scanty 

 time to the best advantage ? Very glably, 

 he answered. He had walked and driven 

 over the mountain a good deal, surveying, 

 and if I would call at his house, a short dis- 

 tance down the road, — the house with the 

 big barn, — he would make me a rough map, 

 such as would answer my purpose. At the 

 same time he mentioned two or three shorter 

 excursions which I ought not to miss ; and 

 when I had thanked him for his kindness, 

 he gathered up the reins and drove on. 

 Intending no disrespect to the inhabitants of 

 the Ridge, I may perhaps be allowed to say 

 that I was considerably impressed by a cer- 

 tain unexpected propriety, and even ele- 

 gance, of diction, on the part of my new 

 acquaintance. I remember in particular his 



