A T'housand'Mile Walk 



[Georgia], which I passed in the forenoon, 

 seems a shapeless and insignificant village, but 

 grandly encircled with banded hills. At night 

 I was cordially received by a farmer whose 

 wife, though smart and neat in her appearance, 

 was an inveterate smoker. 



September 22. Hills becoming small, sparsely 

 covered with soil. They are called " knob land " 

 and are cultivated, or scratched, with a kind 

 of one-tooth cultivator. Every rain robs them 

 of their fertility, while the bottoms are of 

 course correspondingly enriched. About noon 

 I reached the last mountain summit on my 

 way to the sea. It is called the Blue Ridge 

 and before it lies a prospect very different 

 from any I had passed, namely, a vast uniform 

 expanse of dark pine woods, extending to the 

 sea; an impressive view at any time and under 

 any circumstances, but particularly so to one 

 emerging from the mountains. 



Traveled in the wake of three poor but merry 

 mountaineers — an old woman, a young woman, 

 and a young man — who sat, leaned, and lay 

 [44] 



