42 THE CAROLINA MOUNTAINS 
at Lynn, that Sidney Lanier, who sang with In- 
spired soul of the dawn he so loved, of the trees, 
the marshes, the sky; — it was here in the beautiful 
valley that America's most tuneful poet "waited for 
the dawn " through that last night of pain on earth. 
As you go about in the season of flowers, you can 
trace the water-courses by the white foam of the 
silver-bell tree standing close-ranked, every twig 
and branch fringed with delicate white bells. And 
when you approach a ford or a stream you may see 
the earth hidden under the dainty little shrub 
yellow-root with its charming foliage and its lace- 
work of small purple-brown flowers, a plant whose 
decorative value is well known to the landscape gar- 
dener, who masses it along his roadways and under 
his trees, but which perhaps he may not always 
know is a monotypic genus, its only species being 
found along the eastern side of the New World ; — 
according to the botanies, though the wiseacres will 
shake their heads at this, and point a prophetic 
finger across the globe to the Celestial Empire that 
to-day is so fast giving up its many hoarded secrets. 
That waft of refreshing fragrance comes from the 
fringe-bush whose loose clusters of lacy white flow- 
ers you see on the opposite bank. What is more sig- 
nificant than this dainty and exquisite thing growing 
securely on the wild mountain-side? And how came 
it here when all other members of its family live 
in that remote Chinese Empire so mysteriously 
connected with us through the life of the plants? 
What was the bond that united us in past geologic 
