The Birmingham age-herald., 1918-02-16
MEN, WOMEN
 AND THINGS

rot make spring may be true, just as on
 'swig" may not make a drunkard; bu
 one swallow is likely to be followed b,
 many swallows, and one "swig' b.
 many swigs. One spring may not mak,
 a life, but many springs will; just al
 one drink may not cause the drinker tc
 see things, but many drinks will keeI
 distillery running.
 But this is not to be a temperance
 tract, so please read on. On my way
 down the. hill to catch car on Friday
 morning, robin perched on the topmos bough of a pine tree gave me such :
 cheery greeting that I took off my hal
 to him and thanked him for being a harbinger of spring. There was only ono robin on the hill. just one but he changed my whole days outlook, for ]
 went to my office with a new song ir
 my heart
 1 Is 1t not strange how little things set the current of our thoughts and turn our hours into happy or sorrowful ones
 Just because a robin piped at me l felt
 the joy of living; just because robin I opened it's throat and bade me good
 morning in his musical way, I walked along the golf links. with spring in my steps; just because robin came for a
 moment out of the blue and tarried for a ! bit on his way to the Land of Flowers l
 was made to feel that God was in His I heaven in spite of the hell let loose on earth by the German Huns.
 
 Who can fathom the ways of maid If you can tell, then tell me the secrets | of the mind, show to ,ne the longings of the heart reveal me the inmost .aspira- tions of the soul. Why, in spite of are yet ignorant concerning the springs of life, and this tabernacle of flesh in which dwells our spirit still has it's secrets hid from the prying eyes of the materialists, and psychology is the com ing study. The Psychological club of Birmingham fills real need.
 Who knows how thoughts begin. how emotions are stirred, how souls are | moved? Of what stuff are dreams made, not merely those in the night time, but day dreams? A song will flood us with l tender memories, a perfume will set Us atremble, poem will drive us to despair, painting will open new world of pie I lures, a name will fill us with unuttera- | ble longings.
 all ,,Ia +Sn nl,; ,f a robin red breast gave me visions of ] spring? Why flower sprinkled meadows | through which purling waters flashed | their diamonds heavenward lit up with ] glory my daily task until the dreary de- 1 tails are shot through with interest and | the eve of g. great adventure, while the rainbow arches the sky and turns me l back to my childish belief that there is
 pot of gold at it's feet.
 l Now if I walked daily in Paul Cook E shoes, I might know what was the mat 1 ter with me. He Is a poet and would realize that the sap had begun to mount and he could get ease by mounting his Pegasus and fly away into the land oi poesy; but alack for me, I can't relieve l myself in rhyme and hold my, job. have got the poetic temperament. this I admit myself, but I am short on the art of versification.
 1 The world would be a drab place with out poets. They can come about as near as the best physicians to minister to a | tortured soul or diseased mind. feal we do not honor them enough. I dc l not mean the immortals, but the news l paper boys who have daily to grind out I column or corner. l may be commit l ting a breach in journalistic etiquette but if the readers would begin the day 1 by reading Paul Cooks "Adrift With the Times they would be happier men and women, and more easy to get along with at home, in business and socially l As the divine afflatus' will not come 1 even in speaking distance of me, and as spring is in my bones, I know what I'll do: I will a fishing go. Is 1t not curl ous how a mans profession will cror out in spite of any little camouflage he may use to hide his identity? I am es- saving ts be writer. yet the old preacher habit clings and am getting back to my I text in spite of wandering far away from l it. am not going to preach, but just connect at the close with the opening I thought, which was spring water anc l fire water bit in proximity, kind oi
 
 | a mixed drink.
 l Spring suggested water, and water sug- | gested drinks, and being on the water wagon I couldn't help throwing stone at those who had fallen off or never | climbed on, and I at once began to talk a bout "swallows'' and ''swigs' and bab' lrling brooks and boiling stills with 3 glint toward fishing Now, there ism any sense in this, but will you please de l for me what I asked at the start explair | to me the mystery of the mind maze 1 I hear some old sinner say. But vol Iain't as nutty as you pretend, for if you 1 have made up your mind to go fishing why. don't forget the jug
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