spring were changed into bronzed skins and bulging muscles in late summer. Professor Nelson C. Brown, New York State College of Forestry, says: “The usual army disciplinary methods were not permitted, but by precept and example and by an exhibition of tolerance and patience, and a friendly attitude of helpfulness, the camp commanders and forestry officers have made a really notable contribution to the upbuilding of character and good citizenship in this great army of young men.” But let no one think for a moment that it is an army, or even the barest beginning of one. These young men are no more soldiers than any other rugged young men of our country. They have had no more military drill, military teaching, military environment, military discipline, military progress than high school lads at a fire drill. Why they’re not even allowed to have military books in their libraries. To be soldiers, they would have to start at the bottom in everything--forms of courtesy, upright posture, neatness in dress, obedience, discipline, team work, scouting and patrolling, guard duty, the use of weapons and all the thousand and one things that the trained man must know. The fact that C.C.C. boys wear parts of army uniform misleads many. That clothing, salvaged from the war, was all the country had to give them. The army dispensed it to keep the lad covered up. But a lion skin doesn’t make a lion. No, anyone seeing an army post and then a camp of the C.C.C. boys would notice the complete difference. The C.C.C. is wholly a peacetime project for the interior development of our country, the largest one ever undertaken in the United States. Today nearly a million C.C.C. boys have passed through the soldier’s hands. Ninety-four per cent of the camps are now under Reserve Officers from civilian life, who are carrying on with great efficiency and success. This vast enterprise is just another by-product of the army’s normal work of being fit and ready against an emergency. And all of these services of the soldier come to the average taxpayer for less than a penny a day. Do I toot too loudly--do I scare the calf? _IV_ THE FIRST GAME One day at West Point it was my duty to take a prominent visitor, an Englishman, to a football game. We sat through three periods with little conversation. Knowing that British Rugby corresponds in its continuous motion to our basketball, I finally got up courage to ask him what he thought of the game he was witnessing. “Well,” he said, “I think it’s all very jolly, but I can’t understand why they get down and pray so much.” That brings up the very first serious game we played with the British in this country. It was a contest we had for freedom between 1775 and 1783. Incidentally we lost the game, but we gained our independence. If the actual score could have been displayed in the headlines of a great news sheet, it would have read something like this: “The British rout the Colonials, 31-6.”