64 BULLETIN No. 36 



It would be more than a day's tramp from any of our large 

 Southern towns, to one of those "turned-out" fields now, and 

 the adventurous pilgrim who undertook the tour, would leturn 

 to his wigwam more hungry than wise. 



Sixteen miles east from Atlanta and directly on the line of 

 the Georgia Railroad, stands Stone Mountain, at w^lich place is 

 located the plant of a granite industry. Before these works 

 were erected, the spot was a perfect wilderness of red cedar, 

 and yellow jessamine. It afforded a roosting, as well as a 

 nesting place for the Turkey Vulture, while the shrubbery 

 which covered the mountain, provided an ample shelter for 

 smaller birds to nest and rear their young. Not a feather can 

 now be found upon that mountain, every vestage of plant life 

 has been wiped from that time-honored spot and to day it stands 

 a bare rock reaching above the clouds, a sad reminder of its 

 former grandeur. There is another bird which must not remain 

 unsung, it would be downright treachery, like selling my 

 Southern birthright, to forget the bird of my youth — the Purple 

 Martin. 1 often think of that tall pole with the many gourds 

 tied to it, which "Uncle Tom, "our old black daddy had planted 

 behind his "quarters", just between the horse lot, and the 

 plum orchard, for the accommodation of the Marlins. There 

 was always a sacred tie between an old time darl.ey and the 

 Martins ; he never neglected to provide for their comfort, and 

 the birds came and went without an unkind "fling" from their 

 black benefactor. 



A Martin pole would be a "rare find," now, and the 

 Martins .'' I sometimes see a few sailing overhead, and I often 

 wonder where they build their nests. Once or twice I have 

 put up boxes for their use, but the English Sparrows have al- 

 ways taken possession of them before the Martins arrived. 



The old time darkey, one of the finest friends that these 

 birds ever possessed, has already reached the turn in the road 

 to the Darksome Valley, and will soon pass into the shadows 

 of the "Great Beyond." I know not that when the work of 

 life's eventful day is done, that the storm tossed mariner will 

 see the celestial beacon of a better world. But if there is a 



