WARM SPRINGS, Ga., Friday—Last night the Heavens opened and the rain descended upon us with thunder and lightning to remind us the summer season was coming on and there are such things as electrical storms.

Fortunately for us, we took the drive over the mountain to Pine Mountain Valley yesterday afternoon. The view is lovely all along the ridge, the road perfectly good when dry, but like any road in Georgia which is not paved, it might not be so good today.

I had never seen this homestead, which is under WPA, at close range. From a distance it looks like many of the other homesteads, with its neat little houses, some close together and some more scattered. It covers a considerable acreage and, in about the center of the project, a school and community building is located.

Its organization is a little different from any other project which I know, because each individual has a holding of his own, but the corporation farms a good part of the land which is not as yet allotted. Out of the 133 families now settled there, only three have failed.

Seeing a project with the President is not what I call close investigation, but no one could hear and see the children singing the song which they made up about Pine Mountain Valley, without realizing what a visit from him meant to them and to their parents gathered on the opposite side of the road.

Mr. Harry Hopkins, who arrived yesterday, and Miss Gay Shepperson, State WPA Director, were with us. When we reached home and I saw the dusty figures emerging from the other cars, I realized that being in a closed car might be less windy but it was no less dusty if you had to ride behind anyone else. I am quite sure that everything, as well as everyone, in any car behind us had to find a tub before returning to Norman.

I have had an orgy of reading at night and if you haven't read Robert Nathan's "Winter In April," I recommend it as a charming story. I have also read Lyle Saxon's "Children of Strangers," a sympathetic and delightful handling of an interesting and pathetic situation found in the Louisiana country he knows so well.

In my mail, a couple of days ago, I found a letter from two girls which said that someone had entered my name as a subscriber to a little quarterly review which they were publishing, but they doubted if I ever came across it in the Washington mail, and so they were sending me some extra copies here. It is called, "The North Georgia Review" and it is published in Clayton, Georgia. The covers in themselves are interesting.

These young women are modern-minded but they have a fine taste in books and poetry. The articles which deal with other subjects are interesting, but somewhat surprising from a Southern origin. I shall try not to lose these little magazines in Washington from now on.

Tomorrow we shall start back and Mrs. Scheider and I will write this column from the train to conclude the diary of our travels.