on some logs that had drifted together at a certain point but once on the other side, one found himself in a mass of thick muddy underbrush which is rather disagreeable.  The only way left was to go north along the old Beaver Creek to the Bridge, which would make my way so much 1onger. However, as I said, it was the only way and so I set about getting to it. Recrossing the fence I again came to the pasture land. Here my way was again barred by a tributary of the stream I was trying to cross. This difficulty I overcame easily by running along its bank to a comparatively narrow place,in which I leaped it, coming safely across with only one wet foot. Over the field I now ran towards the bridge. Running was hard because the ground was so bumpy. As I ran along too I noticed that the ground was very hard and frozen under the inch of wet melted ground on top. A few rods below the bridge I found a fence that spanned the creek and I thought I might cross on it, but when a dead log creaked, I thought better of it and went on to the bridge, which I crossed.
      On the other side I ran southwestward to get to the path that runs along at the base of Cigar Mountain. As on the west of the creek, the ground was bumpy,