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"There's the courage that nerves you in starting to climb, The mount of success, rising clear, And when you've slipped back, there's the courage sublime, That keeps you from shedding a tear; These two kinds of courag+more strength to the wordAre worthy of tribute-but thenYou'll not reach the summit unless you've the thirdThe courage to ffy it again." ***

And then, of course, there was the lumber salesman who lost his job because he was too independent. He took orders from nobody!

The annual vacation season is now at hand. I wonder if most folks who think of vacations do not instinctively vision tall waving trees, and running water?

Ship me far away from cities, Where the whispering Pines grow tall, And the forest, still primeval, Green and shadowed like a wallRises up and bids me welcom+ Seems to smile and bid me welcomeWelcome to the green-leaved hallQuiet! Can't you hear it call? !F*{.

And then, of course, there was the Indian girl who applied for relief. She said she was so poor she actually didn't have a Sioux to her name. ***

A lumber friend sends in this one: l.**

"The government has so governed my business that I don't know who owns it. I am inspected, suspected, examined and re-examined, informed, misinformed, required and commanded so that I don't know who I am, where I am, or why I am. All f know is that I am supposed to be an inexhaustible supply of money for every known need, desire or hope of the bureaucrats; and because I will not sell all that I have and go out and beg, borrow, and steal money to give away to people who have done nothing to earn it and probably do not deserve a cent of it, I have been cussed, discussed, boycotted, talked to, talked about, held up, hung up, robbed and nearly ruined. The only reason f am clinging to life is to see what the Hell is coming next."

As I look and muse upon the mad world that now surrounds us, I think of a passage from Voltaire's wonderful little short story, "Candide," which brings the great Frenchman to the topmost heights of sarcasm. He relates a dialogue between Candide and Martin. Candide asks Martin: "Do you believe that men have always massacred one another as they do today, that they have always been liars, cheats, traitors, ingrates, brigands, idiots, thieves, scoundrels, gluttons, drunkards, misers, envious, ambitious, debauchees, fanatics, hypocrites and fools?" To which Martin replied: "Do you believe that hawks have always eaten pigeons when they have found them?" "Without doubt" replied Candide. "Well then," said Martin, "if hawks have always had the same character, why should you imagine that men have changed theirs?"

I have before me a letter from a lumber friend of mine, and it is so filled with bristling indignation that it almost singed the paper it was written on. He has been selling building material all his life, but the other day he had to buy some, and what happened was the cause of his indignant letter. He bought an old house for an investment. It needed painting, and some inside work. He asked for bids on the job, and the figures he got knocked his hat off. So he went out and got prices on the actual MATERIALS to be used in the house, and the difference between the material prices and the contract prices vyere more than the usual gap-they were a yawning abyss. My friend wants to know how in the world we are going to ever make the building business prosper again if builders have to pay such prices for getting the work done as were asked of him? ,* ri rt

'Twere a waste of good printers ink and white paper to discuss this subject with any hope of convincing anyone. Adam Smith, wisest of all economists, wrote long ago the gospel truth that whenever a tax or a price gets too high it "invokes the law of diminishing returrrs." Every thinking man knows that this is true. Everything we do, proves it. Yet mankind is slow to incorporate this philosophy into its daily workings. When the labor cost becomes so high that people cannot afford to pay it, the demand dies. In the instance I have just referred to, my friend would never have bought the house at all, had he known what it was going to cost him to put it in proper condition. He knew what the materials would cost, but the total price surprised and dismayed him. It is hard to convince the building trade workers that continually advancing wage scales in many localities definitely bring the workers themselves "diminishing returns" in the long run. A fair wage that the ordinary builder can afford to pay will undotrbtedly produce a greater annual income to the skilled laborer, than a per hour wage that.frighten" l"t."t";

I know this friend of mine from Missouri thinks he "put the bee, on me when he wrote and asked what in the name of all that's holy is the CAMBIUM of a tree? Sure I know! And I didn't even have to look it up. Because the Cambium of a tree is a genuine PERSONALITY that is hard to forget. Yes sir ! The Cambium of a tree, even though you have to use a microscope to see it, is one of the most attractively intelligent things the inanimate world can point to. It is a zone of thin-walled cells between the wood and the bark of a tree, forming a layer of delicate and succulent tissues between the two, and performing some of the miracles of Mother Nature. These cells are highly charged during the growing season of the year with a viscid fuid which holds in solution the food or nourishment of the tree. These Cambium cells are what the botanist sharps call "meristematic," meaning that the mother cells divide and give rise to daughter cells, uniform in kind, the particular duties of which are the propagation and production of BARK elements on the outside, and WOOD elements on the inside of the Cambium. Yet this very active and vital element of a tree is so thin that it cannot be detected by the naked eye; it requires a microscope. ***

When trees grow in temperate regions the activity of the Cambium ceases when winter comes, and is not renewed again until spring. Through the spring and summer months there is natural wood growth on the inside of the Cambium. But during the late summer and fall, nature brings the message that winter is coming, and immediately the Cambium begins devoting itself to the building of strengthening tissues much more dense and compact than the fiber which has been growing normally through the spring and summer. And so these two zones, which difrer much in character and density but are produced within a single year, constitute an annual "ring" in the wood. The age of the tree as well as its rate of diameter increase can be determined by the number and width of these growth rings. And it is the entirely changed operation of this very intelligent Cambium in preparing for winter, that makes the wood difference that creates the annual ring. Smart, eh? It's a great mistake, you see, to call some human dumbbell a "wooden head." You're fattering him. For there are very few human heads that contain anything one-half as intelligent as the Cambium of a tree.

**!N(

My old friend "Ifncle Johnnie" Bonner died the other day. He is the man to whom I dedicated my first book of stories, "Cullud" Fun. I never saw him when he wasn't grinning at his friends, a happy, cheerful word always on his lips no matter how ill he might be. He died just that waylaughing. He was probably the most popular personality that East Texas ever produced. Yet, though he had the gentleness of a woman, he also had the courage of a lion, and the forcefulness of a battering ram. FIe never struck a sail to fear. He loved his friends as men seldom do, and served thern well. He never overlooked a chance to help one. He was a famous member of Hoo-Hoo, having senred as Snark of the Universe when the Order was in its hey-day, and from ocean to ocean and from Gulf.to Canada members of the Order heard "IJncle Johnnie" deliver his incomparable negro sermon, and helped him with the choruses. Never was a negro seffnon like it. In order not to be sacrilegious he used for his text the words of "Old Mother Hubbard." And how he used them. He made everybody happier who knew him, which is an epitaph and a benediction in itself. I asked him one fall day how he was doing. He said terrible. I wanted to know why, and he said the hunting season was about to begin, and he was three weeks behind with his fishing. That was "Lfncle Johnnie."