The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1913-04-19

draw some moral had determined to pierce the border states and seek for the informa ton | desired from the land where the palmetto, the pine and the live oak live side by side. The windows of the car had been raised and through them came the bracing winds from the Blue Ridge. and could catch occasionally the strange minor notes of the negroes at work in the fields. I was alive to every impress sion, and took out my notebook to chain in my memory some of the pass ing scenes.
 That evening finished my first let ter and mailed 1t from the train.
 When I reached Atlanta l made in- quiry as to the best means of reach ing some of the outlying counties. where I could study the social and educational conditions of this people out of the beaten tracks and away from the thriving centers through which 1 had passed. and which. ac- cording to my preconceived opinions. were the result Of northern capital or New England energy. 1 remained in the vicinity of this city for several days. making journeys into the coun- try and taking notes of the field hands and making inquiry as to the wages paid and the amount of labor perform ed by the average hand My zeal was unabated. and l was on the point of putting all my figures into a letter when my enthusiasm received a check that came near causing me to throw up my assignment, which I would have done without hesitation had I not fear ed it would mean summary dismiss sal from the paper as we'll. On com ing in from the factory district one aft ernoon I found a letter from the man. aging editor. It said:
 We want facts. Your letter mailed on the train found useless and has been thrown in the wastebasheE- If true, it was very good editorial, but we do not want editorials from you If you still have my order read it over and you will tion political problems Study the white people. especially the families of the old regime. and bear in mind always that wha tever you write will be copied there. Your letters, therefore, should be just and truthful, whatever else there may be. If you were artist with the . brush should say paint picture of some old colonial hoTnestea ds and antebellum plantations. Since you can't paint. write of them they are. Bring the scenes in Georgia wildly before the people of Bos- ton. They can draw their own conclu- sions. Let your pictures be of people and places only as you see them
 That was all, but it was sufficient to shatter my hopes; and, discourage all further attempts to make sure of the electoral vote Of New England Dis consulate and with a vague sense of my own ignorance. 1 boarded a train that night bound somewhere in southerly direction-I did not know and 1 did not care where.
 When I awoke the next morning the odor which filled every crevice of the ear told me that had entered the pine belt Of Georgia during my sleep threw up my window and inhaled great drafts of fresh air. l felt 1nvigorat- ed and ready to carry out my assign ment. sao matter where 1t led me, the farther into the pine forests and out of the reach of managing editors, thought, the better. Later in the day l left the main road and took the mar row gauge line which I was told fol- lowed the bed of the Savannah river and passed through several of the most historic counties of the state, rich in memories of the past and peopled mostly by remnants of the old colonial and antebe1lum families, who had in the past made them the most influen- tial centers of the state.
 The railroad wended its way through beautiful rolling country studded with pines aud cedars. The wild f1ow- CTS grew up to the very tracks. and the earth seemed carpeted with soft, velvety moss. Through the pines I caught glimpses occasionally of state ty old residences. with their gardens unkempt and the weeds growing in wild profusi8n- Where the fences had fallen they had been left to decay, but the fields were plowed and showed signs of cultivation at a cost of great labor.
 ITO be ContinuedN