ed at being no nearer the answer than
when you came.

And still the curious continue to motor miles and miles to see the
haunted house with the green gables.

8. SINGING ON THE MOUNTAIN SIDE

Though there were and are people in the Blue Ridge Country who, like
Jilson Setters, the Singin' Fiddler of Lost Hope Hollow, can neither
read nor write, such obstacles have meant no bar to their poetic bent.
They sing with joy and sorrow, with pride and pleasure, of the scene
about them, matching their skill with that of old or young who boast of
book learning.

OF LAND AND RIVER

APPALACHIA

Clothed in her many hues of green,
Far Appalachia rises high
And takes a robe of different hue
To match the seasons passing by.

Her summits crowned by nature's hand,
With grass-grown balds for all to see,
Her towering rocks and naked cliffs
Hid by some overhanging tree.

In early spring the Maple dons
Her bright red mantle overnight;
The Beech is clad in dainty tan,
The Sarvis in a robe of white.

The Red Bud in profusion blooms
And rules the hills a few short days,
And Dogwoods with their snowy white
Are mingled with its purple blaze.

High on the frowning mountain side
Azaleas bloom like tongues of flame,
The Laurel flaunts her waxy pink,
And Rhododendrons prove their fame.

Then comes the sturdy Chestnut tree
With plumes like waving yellow hair,
And Wild Grapes blossom at their will
To scent the glorious mountain air.

But when the frost of autumn falls,
Like many other fickle maids,
She lays aside her summer robes
And dons her gay autumnal shades.

Oh, Appalachia, loved by all!
Long may you reign, aloof, supreme,
In royal robes of nature's hues,
A monarch proud--a mountain Queen.

--Martha Creech

BIG SANDY RIVER

Big Sandy, child of noble birt