A ’Thousand- Mile JValk 
fall is obtained, a thing easily done in the 
mountains. 
On Sundays you may see wild, unshorn, un- 
combed men coming out of the woods, each 
with a bag of corn on his back. From a peck to 
a bushel is a common grist. They go to the mill 
along verdant footpaths, winding up and down 
over hill and valley, and crossing many a rho- 
dodendron glen. The flowers and shining leaves 
brush against their shoulders and knees, occa- 
sionally knocking off their coon-skin caps. The 
first arrived throws his corn into the hopper, 
turns on the water, and goes to the house. 
After chatting and smoking he returns to see * 
if his grist is done. Should the stones run 
empty for an hour or two, it does no harm. 
This is a fair average in equipment and ca- 
pacity of a score of mills that I saw in Tennes- 
see. This one was built by John Vohn, who 
claimed that he could make it grind twenty 
bushels a day. But since it fell into other hands 
it can be made to grind only ten per day. All 
the machines of Kentucky and Tennessee are 
[ 36 1 
