Today is the day of the bazaar and tea at the Saltsburg Presbyterian Church. And wouldn't I love to be there! There's something about a bazaar - especially a church bazaar; the fellowship of Christian women working together, each contributing her special talent; each creating something of beauty with a purpose; each one doing her bit to build up the church, and thus advance the Kingdom of God. Ina knows how I longed to be with you, and has been a cordial conspirator. Failing that, I thought I surely would get a little apron made for the event. Next time give me six months' notice. Although I don't believe in denominational lines, where the promotion of God's Kingdom is concerned, I suppose I have a sort of inbred loyalty to the Presbyterian Church. Grandfather Burlingame was an elder in that church for fifty-years; Father Taylor for twenty-five. The best of good luck to the C.W.A. of Saltsburg Presbyterian! ****

Our own Dr. Harold C. Phillips is in Atlanta, Ga., this week, giving a series of lectures - ten of them - to the students at Emery University. His going brings to mind the beauty of that campus; the winding drive, the lovely trees and shrubs, and the unusual masonry of the buildings, a combination of white sandstone and a kind of marble-ized pink stone. Strikingly beautiful.

There is much yet to tell about Atlanta - about the amazing Coca-Cola plant, where the drinking fountains yield that famous drink instead of water; about the home of Joel Chandler Harris, author of the "Uncle Remus" stories; his home is called the "Wren's Nest." When I went out there, I learned why. Wrens do choose strange places to set up housekeeping, and this certain couple chose the mail-box in the yard. They must have started in on a Saturday afternoon, for when the mailman came around Monday morning, there was the nest. Mr. Harris of course made other arrangements for his incoming mail. A gentle lady visitor suggested that he call his home "The Wren's Nest."

Another time I must give you a complete description of his home and Uncle Remus's cabin, transported from the hills to the back yard of this home.

Florence B. Taylor

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