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UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA, CHAPEL HILL: THE OLD WELL AND "OLD SOUTH" BUILDING, ERECTED IN 1795 A decade ago this university decided that a lecture room's four walls were too narrow while there existed four boundaries to the State. Accordingly, her students began investigating the shortcomings of their respective counties and reporting them in the news letter of the Rural-Social Economics Department. Weekly this bulletin went free to 16,000 doctors, lawyers, ministers, and educators. Since those days a State board of charities, a mother's-aid law, juvenile courts, and a child-labor law have all come into being in North Carolina.


old Salem. A colonial dignity, a sweet primness, breathes from its columned porches, its tree-shaded promenades, its ivied walls. Momentarily you expect some lavender-fragrant ghost in poke-bonnet, cross-gartered stockings, and ringlets to trip around the corner with a curtsey in passing.

Cross a few streets and one is amid Winston's humming beehives of industrialism, where 15,000 wage-earners are turning out their daily trainloads of manufactured tobacco, furniture, and textiles on a scale that leads Uncle Sam to rate Winston-Salem as the South's second industrial city.

A circle inclosing Winston-Salem with the denims center of Greensboro and the furniture center of High Point delimits an industrial patch 30 miles across, representing an annual products value of more than $300,000,000.


Carmen, with a hand on her hip and a rose between her lips, is a world away from Winston-Salem's methods of cigarette manufacture. One machine shreds and feeds out the "makings." Another rolls them into a never-ending length of cigarette, which, as it oozes forth, is slipped into multiples as rapidly as a machine-gun sprays bullets.

Other machines make containers, affix revenue stamps, imprint and record serialized numbers-in fact, do everything for the smoker except to hand him a match. It is the machine that plays the title rôle of Carmen, while the girl inspectors are merely understudies.

Winston-Salem's stamp-sticking machines consume annually the most expensive meal in the world-a matter of $100,000,000 worth of Uncle Sam's fa

miliar blue imprints. That is the sum of her Federal taxes, which represent onehalf of those paid by North Carolina.


From the tobacco standpoint, North Carolina's civic twins are really Winston and Durham. At Durham the first perfected cigarette-rolling machine was used, and her fame for the "makings" dates back to the Civil War.

The local legend runs that during the peace-prefacing armistice the smoke-hungry Yanks and Rebs encamped around Durham descended upon its tobacco stores and looted them.

Later on the ruined owners had a joyous surprise, for when the demobilized soldiers began writing back from all over the United States for "some of that bright-leaf tobacco," Durham awoke to the fact that she had bought a nation-wide advertisement.

Durham finely symbolizes education springing out of industrialism, for it is the seat of Duke University, which is destined by recent bequests to become one of the country's greatest centers of learning.

Social welfare springing out of education is as finely symbolized by the nearby State university at Chapel Hill (see illustration on opposite page).

My last impression of North Carolina. was an industrial nocturne, glimpsed from our sleeper as we shot by some humming mill town—a blaze of tiered lights, a roar of sleepless machines, the picture framed in night as black as once it was among the pine forests of the State's origin.

With those shorn forests, there has passed away forever her Golden Age, and instead she stands upon the threshold of industrial power.


A GLIMPSE THROUGH THE GREEN CATHEDRAL ARCH OF THE FAMOUS MIDDLETON OAK: ASHLEY RIVER, SOUTH CAROLINA "As one advances through inclosed paths and over open lawns, vistas of the great tree recur at intervals, until it stands forth, fully revealed, in a wide rose garden at the river's edge" (see text, page 549).


With Illustrations from Natural-color Photographs by Jacob Gayer, Staff Photographer

MONG the streams of America the


Ashley, a short tidal river of South Carolina, is unique, both for its wistful beauty-bluffs crowned with semitropical foliage overlooking wide marshlands and for its haunting, tragic story.

To-day its upper reaches are silent, the wide marshes the lonely haunt of waterfowl, the bluffs crowned with dark lines of forest trees; but once these shores were vibrant with the life of 18th century England that reached over the sea and flourished here throughout many generations. It centered about this river region, whose natural beauty became changed and softened by the arts of a long-established culture.

Then the tide ebbed, leaving only a quaint old seaport with walled gardens and narrow, cobbled streets, forgotten parish churches entwined in the creeping forest, here and there a manor house, or again only a silent avenue of oaks to remind a new world of its yesterdays.

Charleston, far-famed for a lingering delight of other years, in her day of glory projected her life along the banks of the Ashley River in an unbroken line of great countryseats.

As early as 1675 grants of land on both sides of the river were made to Englishmen of wealth and station, and before the close of the 18th century 35 mansions looked down from the river banks; avenues and gardens were planted beside them, while the marshes along the upper reaches were transformed into emerald squares of rice.

At private wharves the crops were loaded into ships that sailed up and down the river, bringing in exchange the luxuries and conveniences of the Motherland.

After the English custom, each of the river estates bore some distinctive name that clung from generation to generation; even now deserted groves and avenues retain such proud titles as Windsor Hill, Courtlands, White Hall, and Runnymede.

An English church, St. Andrews, where the landed gentry worshiped, was built in 1706 (the date is carved above its southern doorway) and still looks down on the river from a dark grove of live oaks. CORNWALLIS HAD HIS HEADQUARTERS AT DRAYTON HALL

During the Revolution English troops held this Ashley River country, Lord Cornwallis establishing his headquarters at Drayton Hall. Little damage was done by his soldiers, and with peace began long years of prosperity for the region, lasting, in fact, until 1861, when a more cruel war came upon the land.

When peace returned again only three of the great houses remained, among them being Drayton Hall, which is still occupied by a descendant of the builder.

The Duke de la Rochefoucauld Liancourt in the spring of 1796 made an excursion up the Ashley River, as he says, "to enlarge my acquaintance with the interior of the country and to view the countryseats along the river which enjoy the greatest celebrity.

"I first stopped at Drayton Hall, where we dined. This is an ancient building, convenient and good. The gardens along this river are better laid out, better stocked with good trees, than any I have hitherto seen in America.

"In order to have here a fine garden, one but has to let the proper trees remain, here and there or in clumps, plant bushes in front of them, and arrange other trees according to their height.

"Dr. Drayton's father, who was a physician, began to lay out his garden on this principle; and his son, who is passionately fond of country life, has pursued the same plan."

The natural appearance of this region, especially in the spring, is still that of a God-made garden, a paradise where man walks reverently. These forests are set with live oaks, huge arched limbs sweeping the earth with long festoons of moss,



Middleton Place Gardens, on the Ashley River, about three miles from Magnolia Gardens and seventeen miles north of Charleston, South Carolina.

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