A TALE OF THE TRAIL 



581 



in it have been directed toward mechan- 

 ics rather than economics. Years of 

 profitless, destructive effort have im- 

 paired the credit of the industry and 

 fastened the stigma of incompetence 

 upon it; yet these years have awakened 

 those concerned to needs and good will 

 result. We will learn to value our trees, 

 conserve them under reasonable ex- 

 pense, convert them with profit to the 

 labor and capital employed and apply 

 them to legitimate uses. 



Putting the industry in order will 

 mark the passing of the lumbermaker 

 and the advent of the merchant- 

 manufacturer. New organization, new 

 methods, new capital and new brains 

 will be applied. Together these forces 

 will maintain The American Lumber 

 Industry in a proud position among 

 the industries of men. Its future is 

 secure. It waits on large-scale produc- 

 tion, maximum efficiency and coopera- 

 tion . 



A TALE OF THE TRAIL 



Matt Daly 



Mr. Daly's work in the logging camps of Minnesota is along the general lines of the other 

 camp missionaries, except that he brings to it a very unique personality, which is absolutely 

 essential to success in dealing with the class of men with whom he comes in contact. He is not 

 a preacher, but he is something very much more effective; a man, who because of his own peculiar 

 experiences, can meet the lowest on common ground, and influence them in the right direction. 

 Editor's Note. 



This life's a middlin' crooked trail, and after forty years 



Of knockin' around, I'm free to say that the right ain't always clear. 



I've seen a lot of folks go wrong Get off the main high road 



An' fetch up in a swamp somewhere almost before they knowed. 



I don't set up to be no Judge of right and wrong in men, 



I ain't been perfect all my life and may not be again, 



An' when I see a chap who looks as tho he'd gone astray, 



I want to think he started right an' only lost his way. 



I've seen a lot of folks start out with grit and spunk to scale 



The hills that purple over there an' somehow lose the trail. 



I've seen 'em stop an' start again, not sure about the road, 



And found them lost on some blind trail almost before they knowed. 



I've seen 'em circling, tired out with every pathway blind, 



With cliffs before 'em mountains high, an' sloughs and swamps behind. 



I've seen 'em circling through the dust when twilight's gettin' gray, 



An' looking for the main road Poor chaps who've lost their way. 



It ain't far from right to wrong, the trail ain't hard to lose. 



There's times I'd almost give my horse to know which one to choose. 



There ain't no guides or signboards up to keep you on the track. 



Wrong's sometimes white as snow, an ' right looks awful black. 



I don't set up to be no Judge of right an' wrong in men, 



I've lost the trail sometimes myself and may get lost again. 



An' when I see a chap who looks as tho he'd gone astray, 



I want to shove my hand in his an' help him find the way. 



