Part 14

Sparrow:-- chipping, 148, 230. field, 132, 148, 159, 205. lark, 190. song, 128, 199, 278. white-throated, 30, 157, 196, 239, 255.

Spring beauty, 216.

Stone-crop, 216.

Sumach, fragrant, 260.

Swallow:-- barn, 74, 75, 201, 278. rough-winged, 32, 75, 201, 218, 278.

Sweetbrier (Eglantine), 67, 276.

Swift, chimney, 132, 145, 201, 230.

Tanager:-- scarlet, 132, 203. summer, 23, 231, 240, 277.

Thrasher, brown, 30, 51, 126, 148, 196, 198.

Thrush:-- Louisiana water, 66, 126, 203, 219, 230. olive-backed (Swainson), 23, 240, 247, 253, 267. wood, 51, 247.

Trillium:-- grandiflorum, 215. stylosum, 56.

Tufted titmouse, 126, 196, 223.

Tulip-tree, 160, 166, 217.

Violets, 133, 160, 161, 162, 166, 177, 214.

Vireo:-- mountain solitary, 118. red-eyed, 119, 195, 223, 230, 255. warbling, 202, 278. white-eyed, 127. yellow-throated, 196, 230, 255.

Walking fern, 217.

Warbler:-- Blackburnian, 126, 128, 195, 240, 255. blackpoll, 127, 196. black-throated blue, 121, 126, 180, 240, 254, 255. black-throated green, 23, 195, 255. blue yellow-backed (parula), 45, 123, 195, 223, 230, 248, 258, 265. Canadian, 121, 126, 240. Cape May, 261. cerulean, 236, 251, 255, 258, 265, 267, 268, 271, 281. chestnut-sided, 126, 132, 195, 196, 255. golden-winged, 21, 51, 126, 193, 195. hooded, 125, 155, 254. Kentucky, 125, 127, 156. magnolia, 235, 263. myrtle, 127, 195, 196, 255. Nashville, 269. pine, 23, 195. prairie, 23, 127, 206, 230, 266. redpoll, 195. summer yellow (golden), 127, 195, 278. worm-eating, 178, 195.

Whippoorwill, 5, 59, 231, 247.

Woodpecker:-- downy, 196. hairy, 241. golden-winged, 159, 196. pileated, 32, 48, 180, 246, 250. red-headed, 241. yellow-bellied, 180.

Wren:-- Bewick, 126, 148, 198, 202. Carolina, 126, 231. house, 150, 198, 203, 275. winter, 155, 198.

Xanthorrhiza, 189.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] “Do come” and “did come” are proper enough; why not “done come”? And in point of fact, this common Southern use of “done” with the past participle has its warrant in at least two lines of Chaucer: in _The Knightes Tale_ (1055):--

“Hath Theseus doon wrought in noble wise,”

and in _The Tale of the Man of Lawe_ (171):--

“Thise marchants han doon fraught her shippes newe.”

If a ship is “done loaded,” why may not a carriage have “done come”? Idiom is long-lived. As Lowell said of the Yankee vernacular, so doubtless may we say of the Carolinian, that it “often has antiquity and very respectable literary authority on its side.”

[2] If I seem to have said too much about the vulgar question of something to eat, let it be my apology that for a Northern traveler in the rural South the food question is nothing less than the health question. A few years ago, two Boston ornithologists, who had undertaken an extensive tour among the North Carolina mountains, returned before the time. Sickness had driven them home, it turned out; and when they came to publish the result of their investigations, they finished their narrative by saying, “Few Northern digestions could accomplish the feat of properly nourishing a man on native fare.” On my present trip, a resident physician assured me that the native mountaineers, living mostly out of doors and in one of the best of climates, are almost without exception dyspeptics.

[3] See especially an article by Mrs. Olive Thorne Miller in _The Atlantic Monthly_ for June, 1896.

[4] All things go by comparison. “I always lived in the country till I came here,” said my driver to me one day.

[5] The great “war governor” and senator of North Carolina was born among the mountains of the State; and from what I heard, he seems to have left his name

“to be found, like a wild flower, All over his dear country,”

as truly as Wallace ever did in Scotland.

[6] The case is recorded in _The Auk_, vol. vi. page 68.

[7] On a different road, and on a Sunday morning, I met a young colored woman,--an unusual sight, colored people being _personæ non gratæ_ in the mountains. _We_ bade each other good-morning, as Christians should. My notebook, I see, records her as dressed in her best clothes,--a blue gown, I think,--with a handsome light-colored silk parasol in one hand, and a tin pail in the other.

[8] _The Auk_, vol. iii. pp. 108 and 111.

[9] My first impression was correct. Mr. Brewster, as I now notice, says of the nest that it is “larger and composed of coarser material” than that of _Junco hyemalis_.

[10] “At Highlands I saw a single male,--an unusually brilliant one,--which I was told was the only bird of the kind in the vicinity.”

[11] According to a publication of the State Board of Agriculture, North Carolina contains forty-three peaks more than 6000 feet high, eighty-two others more than 5000 feet high, and an “innumerable” multitude the altitude of which is between 4000 and 5000 feet.

[12] Pulaski, or Pulaski City (the place goes by both names,--the second a reminiscence of its “booming” days, I should suppose), is so intermediate in size and appearance that I find myself speaking of it by turns as village, town, and city, with no thought of inconsistency or special inappropriateness.

[13] Mr. H. W. Henshaw once told me about a flock that appeared in winter in the grounds of the Smithsonian Institution, so exhausted that they could be picked off the trees like apples.

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