et . ! =e, open window of the "= Sans Souci, otherwise known ag 17, \,Partner was to OP 1DHBug. r THE JESSOP REBELLION ? Mr. Samuel Jessop sat by the dining-room of © OHO OorOndu Berge Acacia Terrace, which is the least aristocratic part of Suburbia, West. Opposite him was Sandringham, on the left Versailles, and on the right Chatsworth. All four houses were let at twenty-six pounds a year, ex- clusive of rates, to desirable ten- ants of the City-going class to which Mr. Jessop belonged, The street was strai ht and dus and hot. If it had oak a tittle lower class, children would haye played hopscotch in the gutter, and Piano-organs would have made stri- aot melody, : oe it would have $1ven some evidences of being alive. If it had been higher aan the houses would have had gardens Worthy of being called gardens, rooms which were not always stuffy, and halls in which there was space for more than an umbrella-stand amd one visitor, and wallpapers which were really "art," and not mercly dreadful imitations. Mr. Jessop was in Carford & Jellico's, the big export provision firm. His post there was worth just a hundred and sixty pounds a year, and the hope of his ever earning more was too slender to be worth counting upon. To-day the junior be married. Mr. Jessop had given half-a-~crown to- wards the silver-rimmed salad-bowl which the staff was presenting, and the firm had responded with an ex- "tra day's holiday. And now Mr. Jessop was sitting at his window, gazing at the vista of insufferable respectability before him, and trying to make up his mind to leave it all and to run away. It was the merest impulse which had made him stop at the offices of the Canadian Emigration Company on his way home in the evening be- fore, and come away with a handful of booklets and photographs. He had read them through in the suffo- cating atmosphere of his third-class compartment, left them in the kit- chen to be thrown away, and then, suddenly changing hig mind, had spent half the morning poring over them again, instead, as Mrs. Jessop had advised, of going for "'a nice brisk walk." Mr. Jessop loathed brisk walks. There was nowhere to go. There was nothing, save bricks and mor- tar, and the plate-glass frontages of the High Street, and the brown, ete ee ae erates res year has necessarily a limited ward- robe, and he merely filled the bag with the first serviceable-looking garments that came handy. The cuckoo clock below chimed eleven. There was a fast up-train to Paddington at eleven-twenty. There wasn't much time to lose. written, He carried down the bag, and went into the drawing-room, where on a spindly-legsed little "Shera- ton"' bureau that had been Mary's pride, was ink and paper. Mr. Jessop, as his eye took in every de- tail, was seized with fresh disgust. He wrote the note. Tt was very short, very much to the point. No sentimental pangs of any sort as- sailed him. Anxiety to get away in time to catch the train, and before Mary returned, was the only emo- tion of which he was conscious. But Mary was not in sight when he slammed the front door behind him, and he caught the train with seven minutes to spare, It was on the platform that he had a sudden disconcerting glimpse of her. She was buying a magazine at a bookstall, and did not see him. Mr. Jessop's heart gave a jump of apprehension. He became absurd- ly panic-stricken. He made a side- long dash for the nearest empty compartment, and shrank into the furthest. corner, thankful that the gladstone-bag had already been dis- posed of. Mary, to his horror, followed! The thing was utterly unexpect- ed. He had contemplated all sorts of contingencies and hitches, but not this. He reflected that the train did not stop until it reached Westbourne Park. He sat very still. Mary opened her magazine. He could not see her face, but pre- sently he heard the faint, unmistak- able sound of a tear splashing upon the outspread page. Mr. Jessop found himself watching her, furtively, foolishly. Under his gaze she lowered the paper with a sudden movement, and looked up. "You!"' she said, and the color in her face deepened slowly. "Where--where are you going?' demanded Mr. Jessop. "To London, and then to Liver- pool,'"' He realized that she had followed him--that in some incomprehensi- ble manner he had been found out. "To Liverpool?" he repeated. "T'm going away--to Canada. I am never going back to Acacia Ter- race again--never, never! I won't go back !" 'Why?' demanded Mr. Jessop, shakily. Unfamiliar fire: wife's eyes as sh ned and faced burned in his worn-out turf of the recreation ground, to see. It was August and the longing for green fields and | open spaces, and for the seen winding rivers, had 'MreJessop, and stirred hi come uneon slood strangely, and goaded "him out of | his conventional, black ooated, pu ---burban self, Pushing the papers, he stood up, and recarded his sur- roundings with new, scornful eyes. Five years agos his dining-room furniture--fumed oak and imitation leather--had seemed to him the last word in correctness and elegance, and now it struck him as rubbish-- and ugly. stupid rubbish at that, He hated it. The pictures, "High- land "Cattle in a Storm," also in oak, he hated. The ornaments he would have been glad to consign to destruction, one by one. They were not only purposeless, but in bad aside taste. As for the pattern of the earnet! Near the door was an enlarge- ment of himself--one which Mrs. Jessop had given him during their engagement days, when he had been fired with ambition to study languages and to take up a position abroad. It brought him back to the problem of Mary. Did he still love her, or didn't he? Had their mar- riage been a failure, or had it sim- ply become the ordinary humdrum voking together of two people who had grown used to one another, and "Who were mere travelling compan- jons along the dull and arid route which is called life ? Mr. Jessop could not say. Wiser men than he have found it difficult to analyse the depths of their own affection. The wisest have knowa better than to attempt to analyse a woman's. He only knew that he didn't very greatly care--that the sheer monotony of existence had deadened his emotions until he was tired of everything. "T'll do it!" said under his breath. Upstairs was twenty pounds--the Bavings of his married Jife,. lately withdrawn from the sayings bank, with the wild idea of buying a plot of land at one of the seas ide sales. A boat was sailing from Liver- pool to Canada on the following day. Mary could go back to her eople ii the North, She had sav- of her own, and the furniture would fetch thirty or forty pounds. He would get a job on a farm, and, later, if she cared to join him, and he could afford it, he would send for her. A note would -explain exervthing ; there should be no fuss, nor foolish, exhausting exhibitions of emotion. At the back of hig mind, some- thing told Mr. Jessop that he was behaving like 2 coward. and a cad. In the front of his mind, something else warned him that, if he didn't take his chance now, it would never Occur again. "He went from the dining-room to the kitchen. Mary, providentially, was out shopping. From the kit- chen he wandered upstairs, and for a@ moment stood in the doorway of the "best" bed-room, with its mad- dening zig-zag pattern of vivid blue roses. How camo it that he had esndured such surroundings for so long? He opened the cupboard, dragged out tho gladstone-bag 'which had been bought for his hon- The packing took just twenty minutes. He had the vaguest ideas as to what he would need, but a m2 with a hundred and sixty a Mr. Jessop, _ @ymoon, and began packing. . e . . 1 Bu winds blowing across rolling plains | him. They shon th the exasper- ation of ashunted animal. Because vr what I read yes- can't endure my life here hour longer! Mean houses in streets, with mean little du- tics, and nothing more! If you'd ied to understand, to make things easier--if you'd made greater al- |lowauces-- But you didn't. You'd | Your own routine, your own work, your own outlook! A woman--a married woman--if"--her voice fal- tered for a moment--"'if she's no children, just stays at home until she's poisoned with the bitterness of her life! And so I'm going where there's air and sky and sea. I'm going to work for my living--as housekeeper, needlewoman, drudge of any sort. I'm going to live. You don't want me--you won't miss me! You'll soon forget !" He stared at her, without words in which to break the long silence that followed. A succession of con- fused, detached thoughts struggled for precedence in his mind. Mary's outburst was hysteria--the purest hysteria, of course . But it had given him, for the first time, the Other Person's point of view. It had never occurred to Mr. Jessop before that his wife's life had, in any sense of the word, been any- thing of a martyrdom. Women, he had always understood, were differ- ent. Their outlook was narrower. Tf Mary hadn't heen happy, it was largely her own fault. Why hadn't she taken up a_ sensible hobby? Why. And yet---- He got up from his seat and came nearer, "Where were you 'going?' demanded suddenly. "To London, and then to Liver- Ise. BltAé i terday, | jean she pool,'"? Her heavy eyes widened. '*Do--you--mean----'? "T mean that I'd come to the end of my tether, too. TI was going to clear ont--to leave Carford's and-- you, If I'd dreamed----" He paused, on the verge of recri- mination. She twisted away from him, and hid her face in the dusty eushions. Her body shook with sobs. The train raced through a sta- tion Mr. Jessop stared unseeingly at the platform, with its kaleidos- copic crowd of people. They were nearing London. The houses were | growing poorer and poorer and more sordid, the gardens mere | grimy little yards behind them. The | heat and smoke of the metropolis | was heavy over all, Jessop turned slowly to his wife. | | | | | The brave mantle of the adventurer fell away from him. He saw him- self clearly--a coward. who had for- gotien the duty, which lay nearest to his hand. "Ts--is -1¢ too late to make a fresh start?' he asked at last. "Tf T thought that T still mattered to vou a little----" her voice was 'muffled, and he had to bend now to eatch the words. so lonely !" He drew her towards him, forget- ting how far from one another they had drifted. Hig own grievances dwindled and vanished. 'T've been lonely, too. We'll be- gin again, dear." The train drew up with a grinding rattle. Mechanically they climbed out."' "Have you. any luggage?' he asked. "A basket--in the van," He fetched it, together with his own bag. A porter carried both across to the down platform, and The note to Mary had still to be} | told thea: Hhalsthens saa fe 4 train back in ten minutes. Rain was falling heavily when the Jessops reached Acacia Terrace again. The exhausting heat of the past week had broken. The gutters were flooded with noisy little streams, and the sparrows were squabbling happily in the newly- washed trees. Mr. Jessop opened th edoor with the latechkey which, from sheer ha- bit, he had slipped into his pocket. "Home again!' he said, and smiled awkwardly. "Home again!' echoed Mary, hovering between tears and laugh- ter. It was the phrase he had used when their honeymoon had come to an end, and they had entered No. 17 for the first time as man and wife. She pulled up the venetian blinds as an excuse for action. Mr: Jes- sop had passed quickly to the kit- chen. He was tearing across and across the note he had left on the dresser an hour earlier. He start- ed guiltily at Mary's step outside. "A letter !? she said. He came forward, opened it, and passed it back to her with shaking fingers. It was the offer of the managership of a Colonial branch of Carford's. The salary, to begin with, would be six hundred pounds ayear. The sole condition involved was that 'he should arrange to leave England in a weeks time. "I suppose you'll accept?' said Mrs. Jessop at last faintly. 'It will be a wrench." "There are bound to be sacri- fices," said Mr. Jessop. He thought of his fumed oak dining-room furni- ture, and for the moment his heart grew heavy within him. 'But----" "Nothing will matter if we have each other," said Mary, smiling happily.--London Answers. Ly LIFE OF THE MIKADO. Yoshihito Will Be Almost the Lone- somest Man on Earth. Yoshihito, youth of thirty-two, has lately sueceeded to the imperial throne of Japan. His is a regal magnificence that visits itself upon no other monarch of the earth. Oriental splendor, pomp and cere- mony in their very essence invest his rule. His people all, but deify him. To them he is the connecting link between God and man. He is the embodiment of the spirit of Ja- pan. He has thirty palaces to live in. The respect his subjects must hold him in is awe-inspiring. They may not so much as mention his name during his lifetime. To say "Yoshihito"? is a sacrilege among the Japanese. He must be referred to as the Emperor. When the title is printed capital letters must be used, as must the pronouns refer- ring to him, Not even the greatest among his subjects may presume to address him. In his presence the greatest must lower their eyes. He may be addressed only through members of the imperial houseold. At state banquets he will sit alone on a raised dais and none may presume to eat until he has finished. Mil- lions of his subjects bow at the mere mention of his title. Unless he break through precedent he will be the most unapproachable man in the world, which means a splendid isolation throughout his life. The question of whether he is per- sonally popular can affect bis sta- tion little. His subjects believe him descended from the gods. He is the 128rd sovereign of his line tracing the royal descent back to 600 years before the time of Christ. As Em- peror he is intrenched in the im- tense idealism and mysticism of his people. But there is another side to the picture. The modern spirit that made its impress upon old Japan in the last decade or two found lode- ment with Yoshihito long before he had any thought of becoming a monarch. He learned European ways received a European. educa- tion developed a fancy for Euro- pean athletics. As two other sons intervened between him and the throne, he developed into an in- tensely human young man with many associations, working at school without favor or special con- sideration. He wedded a merely royal woman with a fondness for European things, particularly for tennis, Now at thirty-two, in the prime of his youth, he must give up those things in a large measure and sac- rifice himself to the splendid isola- tion and the pomp that are the Em- peror's lot. His imperial functions are limited, although the modern spirit has made it possible for him to read war orders and administra- tive reports when' he go desires. That, with ceremony, prayer at the shrine of his forefathers and an occasional review of his troops, must make up his new life. Tn its superficial moods the world has been inclined to look upon all rulers of nations as beings upon whom fate has lavished her most bewitching smiles. In time we may come to see these monarchs, or many of them, as unhappy indivi- duals who have been required to sacrifice themselves on the altar of a national fancy and who are des- tinod to a life of repression, isola- tion and hollowness. An océasional "T've been so--' peep behind the royal curtains be- trays a sombre truth. A. fleeting vision of tracedy was caught by the world when King George reluctant- ly' gave up private life for the throne of England. Another imper- ial tragedy is suspected in the suc- cession to the throne of Japan of a young man of thirty-two who had just learned the joy of living. Na HIS TIME LIMITED. "Your beau," remarked the frst summer girl, "doesn't seem to care to spoon in secluded nooks," "No," responded the second: sum- mer girl, 'the poor gink only has four days in which to acquire a coat of tan." FUROPE'S POPULAR BANKS NOW 18,000 IN GERMANY AND 5,500 IN FRANCE, es Founded by German Financier with a View to Assisting Farmers, The popular banks of Europe were first instituted about seventy years ago in Germany. From their beginning they have been founded and conducted upon the basis of the unlimited liability of the sharéhold- ers. These banks are now found practically in all the countries of Europe, serving especially two classes of the people, the farmers and the wage earners, The inception of the popular banks may be found in the brain of the well-known German financier and philanthropist Raiffeisen. Ac- cording to Moody's Magazine he first conceived this beneficent plan for the amelioration of the econdi- tions surrounding agricultural peo- ple. In 1847 he established the first caisse rurale, or agricultural bank. His purpose was actuated solely by a desire to help the farmer by placing within his grasp the facili- ties with which to help himself, to improve his equipment and to in- crease. hhis acreage and the produc- tivity of his land and stock. PLAN QUICKLY GAINS FAVOR. He neither sought nor obtained assistance from the government, but from the first relied upon the perfect mutuality of all the ele- ments of the plan. The wisdom and practicability of Raiffeisen's system can have no better proofs than the thousands of © societies which have been founded during these intervening years upon the identical plans which he conceived and, successfully established in the beginning. another German, Schultze-De- litasch, established the first popu- lar bank or co-operative credit so- ciety for the benefit of the people of the towns, tradesmen and insti- tutions. He is undoubtedly entitled to quite as much credit as we accord to Raiffeisen, as he extended the work of the latter by assisting a different class of the people who were quite as much in need of bank- ing facilitis as were those in the farming districts. ARTICLES OF ASSOCIATION. The following are some of the articles of association upon which the success of these banks has been established : The capital of the society is not fixed, but varies according to the number of stockholders. The capital is divided into shares of $1 to $5 par value each (i. e., franes, lira, marks, etc., as the case may be.) The foundational object of the society is to procure to its stock- holders the credit necessary for their business to stimulate the ha- bit of saving surplus and to provide a safe and remunerative invest- ment for such savings. The shareholders shall be mutual- ly responsible to the extent of their | respective private fortunes for the liabilities of the society, which lia- bilities are divided among the shareholders pro rata. No person is accepted as a share- holder unless he is well known to the directors, a citizen of the same locality, and known to be honest, sober and economical. : PRINCIPLES OF LOANING. The shareholders alone are eligi- ble to borrow money from the bank. The specific purpose for which the loan is asked must be explained, and only the necessary amount ac- tually required is loaned. (This principle of loaning only to share- holders insures to a great degree the security of the loan in that the borrower will naturally protect his own investment as a shareholder). The management of the society rests with the governor, board of directors, auditors and the general meetings of the shareholders. These will all vary in number according to the volume of business transact- ed. In Germany there are at present 18,000 institutions of this charac- ter, of which over 10,000 are country popular banks. There are some dif- ferences in the details of the consti- tution and management of these banks, depending upon local condi- tions. About five hundred of the number are based upon the limited liability of the shareholders, and the re- maining 9,500 follow the plan of unlimited liability and moral mu- tuality among the members. Dur- ing the last year of 1910 the gross business of the German _ societies amounted to over 6,000,000,000 marks, equal to $1,500,000,000. NEW IN ENGLAND. In England the organization of popular banks has only recently been undertaken and their success is still a matter for future develop- ment, though it may be safely pre- dicted, as there is ample opportun- ity and a recognized necessity for these banking facilities in rural dis- tricts. There they are known, as village credit societies, agricultural credit societies' or agricultural banks. In Austria there are more than 4,000. popular banks and agricul- tural credit societies and in Hun- gary about seven hundred. In Bel- giuin there are over 300 agricultural or co-operative societies, of which 290 are based upon the Raiffeisen system. In Italy there are over 7,000 popular banks. and credit societies under the same system, established under the personal guidance of Mr. Wollemborg; of this number 736 are purely popular banks. The Ttalian popular banks represent a capital of 95,000,600 frances, surplus 57,000, - 000 francs, total 152,000,000 francs. Contemporaneous with Raiffeisen. I The rate of interest on loans aver-| ages 4 to 6 per cent., and the rate paid on deposits is 3 to 4 per cent. In France the popular banks are variously known by the names of Credit Agricole Mutuel, Caisse Rurale and Regionale, Caisse Ouv- riere, etc. They number in the dif- ferent classes over 5,500 banks and societies with over 1,800,000 share- holders. 'All these societies enjoy the contro] of the French Govern- ment, as also its financial help. oie. BEWARE OF THE OPTIMIST. A New View of jhe ttan Who Is Too Cheery. A wag 'has said that pessimists and amateur photographers are curiously alike, in that they always take the worst possible view of everything. An optimist, on the other hand, ig popularly supposed to be a brisk, cheery sort of person, who goes about shedding smiles broadcast, and always looks on the bright side of things. _ The truest wisdom lies, of course; im refusing to be labelled as either of these extreme types, the best and happiest of all people being those whom it is most difficult to describe. But if you must belong to an. extreme type, then I advise you by all means to cultivate a gen- tle pessimism, It seems to me that the confirmed 'optimist needs a heap more luck than falls to the lot of most of us if he is going to make a success of his career, and not a ghastly fail- ure. The smile which never comes off is very jolly and all that, but in real workaday life you will find that it is apt to cause the smiler-- and others--a good deal of expen- sive trouble. Because it is too of- ten the smile of callous indifference or rank stupidity. The optimist is a bad friend in need. "Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you," he says gaily, as he slaps you on the back. "Always hope for the -- best." "Things are never as bad as they seem." 'The night is always dark- est just before the dawn.'"? These are among his favorite sayings, You grasp him by the hand and declare that it does you good to meet him. And then, if you are a very abject kind of fool, you put all your cares aside, and go with him and enjoy yourself. Meanwhile the distressed, dis- tressful pessimist, Mr. Dumps, goes on warning you and advising you till you 'have to be rude to him. And then he takes himself off with a sigh, and does what he can to help you out of your fix in his own peculiarly melancholy, helpful way. But when he has put things right for you, it is the optimist who ex- claims breezily: "What did I tell you? I knew that gloomy raven of a Dumps was all wrong!' And then you thank him and say what a capital fellow he is. But it is perhaps in the common- place affairs of every day that the optimist gets in his deadliest work, and makes the most complicated mess of things. For he can never be brought to see that the unexpected is always happening, and that the prudent course is to provide against any possible accidents, however, im- probable. He is, in fact, too inher- ently selfish to appreciate the harm he does to others dependent on him by his haphazard ways and devil- may-care methods; and this ac- counts for his invariable good-hu- mor. a But really the optimist is, in his small way, an unmitigated curse, to all in his immediate circle. aR oa VOTING INDUCEMENTS. Failure to Vote in Belgium Is a Misdemeanor. In this country voting is not com- pulsory, and, therefore, any omis- sion to do so when the polling day comes round is not punishable by law. But the same happy state of af- fairs does not obtain in Belgium. There the franchise laws are ex- tremely strict, for failure to vote is counted a misdemeanor, and the penalty is severe. To prevent non- appearance at the polling-station, the Belgian Government even goes 80 far as to defray the expenses of citizens who live' some distance away, and who can show an ade- quate reason for absence. In fact, many natives of that country, domi- ciled for a time in England on busi- ness, enjoyed a free trip home last May in order to record their votes at the Parliamentary polling. Nor is the Belgian content with one vote. Hegean, if he will, obtain three; Beside that to which he js entitled at the age of twenty-five should he have lived in the 'same commitne for a year, he is granted another if-he reach a certain degree of educational efficiency. While the third is obtainable at the age of thirty-five--that is, if the citizen pays. a house tax of. five francs--$1.02 a year, and is either married or a widower, pear Ae EY OE Aa WHY MITFORD WEPT, It was the habit of Lord Eldon, in recalling the time when that great but not entirely noble Eng- lishman was attornoy-general, to close his speeches with some re- marks justifying his own charac- ter. At the trial of Horne Tooke, El- don, speaking of his own reputa- tion, said, '"'It is the inheritance I have »to leave my children, and by God's help, I will leave it unim- paired."' Here he shed tears, and to the astonishment of those present, Mit- ford, the solicitor-general, also be-' gan to weep. "Just look at Mitford!' eaid a bystander to Horne Tooke. 'What on earth is he crying for?' "He is crying to think what a small inheritance. Eldon's children are likely to get!" replied Tooke, whose wit was ready and biting. AN EGYPTIAN SINDBAD. 5,000 Years Old. In the hermitage Museum of St. Petersburg there is a very ancient papyrus, nearly 5,000 years old, which contains a story reminding one, says a writer in the Raja Yoga Messenger, of the adventures of the famous Sindbad in the "Arabian Nights.'? The hero, a very ancient mariner, begins by saying that he was one of a band of 150 fearless adventurers, "'whose hearts were stronger than lions, and who had seen heaven and. earth." They were on their way ito the Mines of Pharaoh in a ship of 150 cubits, but ill fate awaited them, for presently the wind rose and threw up mighty waves and the ship was wrecked. Every one perished but the hero, who was washed ashore on a piece of wood. He found himself strand- ed upon an island, but it was no desert. There were fruits and good. ly herbs and many other fine things. The sailor had been piously brought up, for after enjoying a good meal he made an offering to the gods. Immediately the marvels began, and it is clear that the good char- acter of the hero saved him from destruction, for the next thing he saw was a huge serpent of terrible aspect, his body overlaid with gold and his color a bright blue, _How- ever, the serpent did him no harm, but politely asked how he had reached the island. Being satisfied with the answer, the king of the serpents, for it was no less a personage, carried the sailor in his mouth to a place where there was. a tribe of seventy-five other serpents. The serpent king! said: "If thou hast come to me it is God who has let you live. It is He who has brought you to this Isle of the Blest, where nothing is lack- ing and which is filled with all good things." The serpent then told him to be of good cheer for he would be res- cued by aiship from his own land in three months. Our Egyptian Sind- bad spent much of shis time waitch- ing for the ship from the top of a tall tree. At lagt it arrived, and the first thing he did was to run to the king serpent to tell him. His surprise was great when he found that the serpent knew all about ib, and had some gifts ready for him to take away. On parting the ser- pent said: 'Farewell; go to thy home and see thy little children once more; let thy name be good in thy town." The sailor was very gratful for the kindness he had received and he offered to speak for the serpent be- fore King Pharaoh and to return with a ship full of treasures fit for such a friend of men cast away in a far off land. But the serpent said no, they would not meet again, for the magical island would disappear and melt away when he was gone. PLANTS HAVE EYES. Prof. Haberlandt Says He Has Found Them in Tree Leaves. After long experimenting and study Prof. Gottlieb Haberlandt of the' Botanic Institute, of Gratz, in Styria, declares that plants, the word taken in its widest sense, and including trees, can see, The professor says that he has succeeded througl{ photography and the use of the microscope on the visual organs of plants. The images included objects at different distances, and even persons and houses. Plants may, he says, be classed with the inferior animals in this respect. His observations have been confirmed by Dr. Nuttall and Dr. Harold Wagner. We are still so ignorant of ani- mal, plant and insect life (because we do not understand their Jan- guage) that we fancy the plant, like the insect, is not conscious of what it sees, but that is probably a dis- covery for the future. At present we are forced to accept.the theory that they are not conscious. But that they do see, Prof. Haber- landt says, he has _ satisfactorily proved, He has found the same minute eye such as belongs to bees and other insects in sycamore leaves, in the sugar maple and in the Peruvian acanthus, The eyes of plants appear different from the eyes of insects in that they have no coloring matter, though this is not yet determined. The professor is continuing his experiments, and he expects. to make further interesting and sur- prising announcements. He says that plants and trees have eyes is undoubtedly a proof that all natur- al life is linked in one long chain. NOT TO BE BLATER "Do you think you could eat an- other piece of cake, Tommy?' -"T think I could, auntie, if I stood on my head." Rete SRS es OLD-FASHIONED. "How old-fashioned they are.'? "So gr? "Yes, they still keep their fa- thers' pictures hanging in the liy- ing room," Wife--"In a battle of tongues a woman can hold her own." Hus- band--"M--yes, p'r'aps she can; tbut she never does." His Story Told in Ancient Papyrus |: MAKE BETTER VEAL. the last few years has encouraged, particularly dairymen, to pay more attention to making good veal, but there is a woeful lack of this kind of meat now on the market. Most dairymen will not take the trouble to fatten calves, but send them to market just as soon as they are past the age limit, and the result is entirely unsatisfactory, both to the seller and the ousto- i ee Well fatted calves, Mcbacmg 2 from 120 to 150 pounds, always brin high prices, no matter what condition of the cattle market may be. City people eat a great deal of veal and would consume much more if they could get what they want, but the stuff seen on the market is for the most part stringy, unfinished and not all satisfactory. Many calves 'are sold when a week old at three to four cents per pound, when if fed until they weighed 25 pounds, would bring double the money, but dairymen have not yet learned how to feed calves-in order to make good veal, The European farmers make good money out of the right calves The youngster is carefully fed froin the day he is born, being confined in dark stalls. He is fed liberally on oatmeal, whole milk at the start and skim milk later, with some roots, and when he goes to market he is about as toothsome a morsel as can be found anywhere. Eng- lishmen are very fond of this kind of meat, and price cuts no figure with them. There is no reason why our dairy- men should not increase their pro- fits materially by feeding calves; and it has always been a source of wonder to us why they so neglect this part of their business, The fact is, the public, to a lange extent, is so prejudiced against veal, having read gruesome tales about bob veal being too often mar- keted, that thousands are afraid to buy veal of any kind. If a bet- ter system of feeding calves were adopted, and the business systema- tized, we would have in a few years a line of choice meat that would sell readily at very high prices. The first thing that is to be done would be to amend the laws to pre- vent the railroads and express com- panies shipping veal under four weeks of age. The amount of im- mature stuff that goes to market every day is appalling, and we be- lieve that 75 per cent. of it is un- fit for food. How it gets past the inspectors is something no man can find out. LAMB RAISING. The farmer who will pay close attention to his breeding stock and raise native lambs of uniform size and breed, feed them intelligently and market them at the right time can make more profit from his flock than from any other farm invest- ment. As a rule the native lambs sent to the markets are so badly mixed, both as to breed and feed- ing that they are a torment to the buyer and of little profit to the own- er, This is one of the reasons why the western range lambs find great favor in the big markets. They are more uniform in size as they are fed in large flocks and go to market practically in the same condition. Only\a small portion of the native lambs that are sold on the eastern markets can be called prime, and this fact is entirely the fault of the farmer. As a rule, sheep-raising on the average farm is merely a side issue and little attention is given to it, The remedy of the present condi- tion of the native Jamb market lies entirely with the men who produce the lambs. Whenever the farmers are engaged in the producing of prime lambs for market at any sea- son of the year, the business has proven highly profitable. Of course the best markets are just before Christmas and in the early spring; at this period the prices are always high. America is becoming a great mut- ton-eating nation, and if the farm- ers will improve their flocks and their methods of feeding there is no reason why the native larab mar- ket should not prove. more profit- able than that controlled by the range district. PEERS MECr eee || Releed eMS Re Te MOST FAMOUS CLAN, The Clan MacDonald is probably the oldest and most famous of the Scottish clans, claiming descent from Donald, grandson of Somer- led of the Isles, in the 12th century, Somerled's name is Norse, "Sumer- lidhi," summer-slider, that is mari- ner. He was son 'of "Gillie. brighde," son of - "Gille-ad-am- nan." These two names are thor- oughly Gaelic, so that on the whole Somerled may be regarded as a Geel ruling independently over the mixed Norse and Gael of Argyll shire, Somerled died in 1164. Soctiecitmianestnes AA sagan SOMETHING ABOUT. SALT: The chief thought about salt. in the midst of all holidaysmakers will 'be in connection with the sea: but it has other uses and significance. Most people think that spilling salt is 'unlucky, This superstition has been handed down from the an- cient Romans. Two or three hun- dred years ago all the servénts of the wealthy sat below the salt to show their humble origin, and this custom was observed nob so very long ago in- Scotland, Salting a coffin is still prevalent among some nations, but the mest curious use to which salt is put to-day is in Abyssinia and Tibet, where cakos of salt are employed as maney, The high price of mutton during: ~~