SENSE BEING LOST L O N D O N E R S U N A B L E T O G RO PE T H E I R W A Y IN D A R K N E S S . Philosophical Review of Warfare’s Needs, and of Past Days, Has Not Brought Citizens to a Proper Realization of Conditions. A few months ago I chanced to be In what official language would describe ns “ a certuln northern town" at the time when lighting restrictions were being newly enforced as n precaution against air attacks. Loud was the outcry o f persons who hud bumped in to the lamppost and tripped over the curb upon their homeward way, and who had even found themselves un able to identify their own homes with out the aid of an electric torch. And yet the curious thing was that even such restricted street lighting as remained would have been considered a really handsome Illumination by our forefathers and would indeed be con sidered so today by dwellers in rural districts where the street lamp is un known, C. Fox-Smith writes in the London Chronicle. What is happening to us— or, rather, wlint was happening to us In the days when tile dnylight, In towns, was de posed before its death by the glare of gas and electric light? Were we not rapidly losing the very last remnant of that faculty of seeing in what we call "the dark,” which is really quite a natural part of our equipment, being a sort of combination of the senses of sight, smell, touch nnd hearing? As a matter of fact speaking broad ly, what most people call “ the dark” is not darkness at all. How often, for example, do you hear n person who has Just emerged from or who lifts a blind to look through the window of a lighted room excluim: “ What a pitch dark night 1" But once leave the bewildering lights behind nnd it will be seen that the apparent darkness was really more than half caused by the light itself. Pitch darkness seldom exists except comparatively, never without some ex traordinary condition, such ns fog or very dense clouds. One does, of course, remember one or two such oc casions o f a blnckness Impenetrable ns n wall nnd almost ns tangible to nil seeming. But they are rare enough to be noticeable— even to cause surprise, ns if they were somehow abnormal, which would not be so if pitch dark ness were common. It Is rather strange to reflect that, until the coming of the lighting re strictions, most of the present genera tion hnd never really seen the town at dusk. And yet what a peculiar charm there Is now about the coming on of dnrk In a city. There Is, let us frankly admit it, a touch o f the sinister about the dnrk mouths of narrow streets which by daylight are but the most common place nnd sordid of routes to the bock o f shops and warehouses. But they are for the time romnntlc, as well as sinister; there Is a some thing 8tevensonlnn about them. Stev enson o f “ Doctor Jekyll” and “ The New Arabian Nights.” Darkness Is the fairy godmother of commonplace buildings. It brings them gifts of breadth, of massiveness, of dignity. This pinchbeck incrusta tion, that shoddy bit of construction, it transfigures with n wave of its wand. Seen simply ns a broad effect of light and shade, or rather of shad- dow nnd deeper shadow, the newest building is at one with the old, the tawdriest with the most austere. Called for Repetition. Grandma had a very bad cold one «lay when her little granddaughter made her a visit. Suddenly she sneezed very hard. Much pleased with the unexpected excitement the child looked up nnd sab! : "Honk again, grandma.” — The Christian Herald. AS TO THICKNESS OF BREAD TIME TO SAVE ONE'S MONEY Dinner Table Etiquette In the Old Days of Abundance Differs From That of Today. Mistake Is Too Much a General One in Neglecting the Present for the Future. We hnve it on no less authority than that of “ Hints on Ktlquette nnd the I'sages of Society,” written by Charles William Day, nnd published in Boston in 1844, that the household bread should never be cut less than an inch nnd n half thick. Appended to this important bit of advice is the graceful hint that “ nothing is more plebeian than thin brend at dinner." Somebody was talking the other day ubout the good old times— somebody is forever talking about them—ami here is his torical proof of the abundance ns rep resented in slices nn inch and half thick, nnd wisdom as shown In the sim ple expedient of declaring anything less than tlie prescribed thickness “ plebeian.” Of course, remarks a writ er In the Indianapolis News, the word plebeian settled the thing. If it were plebeian to cut brend less than an Inch and n half thick, you may be sure that it was not done to any great ex tent. There may hnve been un emer gency now nnd then when company came unexpectedly or when there were too many in the family and too little flour in the barrel, lint certainly the plain statement that it was “ plebeian," so plebeian. In fact, that “ nothing was more plebeian," made it n difficult thing to serve thin slices In those days. Even so you may consider that it was a less difficult thing to serve thin brend in those days than It would be to serve thick bread these days. One doubts if even that unpleasant epithet “plebeian” could Induce us to cut it an Inch nnd n half thick. We could not If we would. One loaf seven nnd a half Inches long would make live slices. That would mean two loaves to n meal for a family of any size, nnd it is plain to be seen that that could never be accomplished. But cutting them thin, say three slices to the Inch, we can shave out twenty-two or twen ty-three sliees to the seven and a half Inch-loaf. Statistics ure wonderfully convincing, are they not? You may suggest that they had real loaves of bread in those old days, nnd it is, to be sure, easy to picture them as huge, benevolent affairs. It is easy to im agine one of those Inch and a half slices nicely spread with sugar or sirup or Jelly or any of the good tilings that belonged to those days. It would, no doubt, take n more forceful word than “ plebeian" to In duce the powers thnt be to make such loaves of bread these «lays. And that, of course, is the difference between the good old ttmes nnd these. All that people hnd to do then was to look in n useful bit of n book and cut their brend accordingly, without counting food values, or nppetltes or prices. We may pretenfl thnt we think It plebeian to cut brend nn Inch and a half thick, but It is nothing more thnn pretense. We know thnt wo hnve to cut brend according to the size of the loaf and the size of the family nnd the size of our purse, nnd we are lucky nn«l tlinnk- ful to have any bread to cut in any manner, plebeian or proper. Presumably every young man knows, ns a physical fact, that he can do nothing next year which he cannot in some degree, do today. He will not grow wings or overcome the law of gravitation or subsist without food. But he is always prefiguring n future in which his mind will operate differ ently. The time will certainly come when he realise« thnt there la no fu ture, but only nn indefinite extension of today. The Important question is whether that time will come early enough in life to do him any particu lar good. A lazy man cannot possibly make himself Industrious in the future; or a tippling man, sober; or nn extrava gant man, economical. I f it Is done at nil he must do it nt nn Immediate present moment— nt some “ right now !” No man ever saved a penny in the fu ture, or ever will. He has got to save the penny in Ills hand nt the moment or he will be broke to the day of his «lentil, the Saturday Evening Post In sists. Thnt is clear enough to any body who will think about it. T o save the penny in hand he must resist the temptation to spend it. Imagining himself next year ns resisting the temptation to spend n handful of pen nies will do him the same good thnt the drunkard gets out of imagining himself reformed next yenr. Every year that he does not resist weakens ids ability to resist. This spending business Is as much a matter of habit ns tippling. It is within tlie knowledge of everybody who hns the ordinary circle o f per sonal acquaintances thnt, nfter a cer tain time, the mnn who lives up to the limit of his income— which, about nine times out of ten, m«>nns a little beyond— accepts that ns a normal con dition nnd Just automatically spends whatever he gets. At twenty a man lives largely In nn imaginary future. At thirty he seems still to hnve fairly Incalculable pow ers and opportunities to draw upon. At forty he b«>gins to realize whnt lie fully knows, probably, at forty-five— namely, that he 1ms already spent Ids future, In the sense flint he hns large ly shaped nnd fixed it; so thnt it will contain nothing essentially different from what he himself has alreudy put into it. I f he can reullze by thirty that In« is spemiing his future every dny It will tie n good thing for him. Missed Their “ Home.” “ Wot’s up with yer, Peter inquired Weary Willie. “ Yer look as If yer were goln’ ter cry.” “ I dunno.” was Plodding Pete's re ply. “ I don't feel the Joy o’ livin’ like I used ter. I've been thlnkln’ o' ray wasted life, an’ I ’ve got a sorter un easy, homesick feelln’.” “ Homesick!” broke In Willie. “ Why, bless me, I believe that’s wot both of us are sufferin’ from. We ain't neither of ns bln Inside a Jail for close on three months now, 'ave we?” Reckless Influence. “ Are you a law-abiding c itize n r ‘Yes,” replied Mr. Chugglns. “ But I’m the victim of reckless company. Every now and then that motor car of mine breaks loose and drags me into a mix-up with the traffic regula tion«.” An Optimist. It was 5 a. m. He was starting tlie furnace fire at this unseemly hour. Without warning a large lump of cool leaped from Its berth on top of the coal pile nnd landed squurely on the enptaln of his toe brigade on the left foot. In other words, the coul landed squarely mi his big toe. He warmed up much more quickly than the tire ns he hopped ubout on one foot in Imitation of a Russian toe dancer. He swore, cursed his luck, Increased the white space on his fHce, nnd then — then— then he began to smile. And Ids toe thumped like a stranded auto engine I “ Why, I renlly am lucky,” he thought. “ I'm lucky to have a coal pile big enough for a lump of coal to get a start on. Come on, do It again,” ho dared and smilingly rust his grouch In the furnace, gave his nchlng toe a rub or two and cheerily went to work. Had Reason for Belief. “ I was reading the other day,” said skimpy little Mr. Meek, “ that firm ness of purpose is one of the most necessary sinews of character und one of the best Instruments of success. I believe It, too, for I am sure that without firmness my wife would never have been able to make me the model husband that everybody says I am.” ONE’S OWN PLACE P R O B L E M T H A T C O N F R O N T S BOY S T A R TIN G L IF E WORK. Examinations Made by Experts Are of Supreme Importance In Guiding Footsteps of Youth Into Their Proper Sphere. In view of the practical qunlity of the results of psychological examina tions, it Is not unreasonable to sup pose that much practical knowledge can thereby he gained concerning an individual, which muy give a clearer conception ns to his place In the world, and may even Indicate the condition« which lead to his fullest .development, l ’earce Bailey, M. D., writes iu Scrib ner's. Tlie boy who seems to have no .spe cial qualifications or special Interests when he reaches tlie period when lie should begin to prepare for his life work is convicted by his own indif ference of not being first class. In the event of his purents having no employment or occupation ready at hand, he fails Into something hap hazard. Such a hoy under present arrangements may have aptitudes which nngbt permit him to excel ut some particular calling, or he may have defects which definitely prohibit certain callings. There is another clnss of hoys be tween whom and their parents there is disagreement ns to whnt they should do. Each is, perhaps, controlled by an Idealistic preference for some occu pation, but tlie ideals do not coincide. Psychological examinations might determine whether the boy really had some leaning to nr «luallficatlons for what he wanted to do, or whether Ids Ideals on the subject were purely imi tative without solid foundation, and whether he would do better at the call ing his father wished him to follow. In deciding this question, tlie antipa thy which not Infrequently exists, al though hotly denied, between parent and child would have to he considered. It has often h««eii found, when a parent is determined on some one thing nnd tlie son Just as obstinately t i another, thnt the divergence Is not on the reul issue, hut on a personal antagonism which neither of the two admits. There is another large eluss of boys and young men who nro almost cer tainly predestined to get In wrong un less thoy are wisely directed ill youth. There is some twist in llielr mental make-up, either congenital <>r acquired, which unfits them for certain lines of work, and if they follow these lines the result Is not only economic failure, but physical and mental collapse. Such young persons are recognizable by a variety of signs. . . . There Is no absolute standard by which such Indi viduals may be Judged as a class. On Urn contrary, each one Is different, de pending upon heredity, environment, early education, passionate prejudices acquired through imllvidunl experi ence. a luck of Inilnnce In learning and a discrepancy In moral development, capacity and Ideals. Each re«julres a different social remedy. They are boys that present tlie most serious problems that parents have to face, such ns drinking, failure in studies, tendency to evil associations, criminal nnd Immoral tendencies. The vast majority o f these are the product of conditions nnd nre not Incurable de- ilnqi]«-nts. Coul'l the fumlnincntnl dis harmony be recognized early enough, and could conditions he changed, many of these boys might be suved from ultimate collapse und might be come useful citizens. Function of Art. Truer words were never spoken by Schiller than when he said: "Where and whenever art deteriorates, It Is al ways the fnult of the nrtlsts." The function of art Is to educate, and ele vate, and when it fulls to do this, It fulls in its mission.