no THE CAROLINA MOUNTAINS 
get to the first saw-horse. At this point it will be 
well to use your own judgment. 
But one loving a walk need not refrain because of 
the bridges. You soon become used to them, and a 
long stick is so great a help as to rob any ordinary 
foot-log of more than half its terrors. The foot-log, 
indeed, soon becomes one of the pleasures in a 
mountain-walk, for it seems naturally to choose the 
most picturesque place on the stream, generally 
beginning and ending at the foot of a large tree. To 
stand mid-stream on a broad, squared log thrown 
across from bank to bank and guarded by a rail on 
one side, to stand there and watch the lights glint- 
ing through the forest foliage on the swift, rippling 
water, to look into the deep shadows under the 
clustering laurel and rhododendron bushes and the 
arching tree branches both up and down the stream, 
— to do this is to get from the mountain bridge 
enough to balance other moments when perchance 
a three-cornered fence-rail thrown across the top of 
a waterfall offers the only avenue of approach to the 
other bank of the stream. 
