YOUR OWN \ MONG the many dreadful dangers that 
VEGETABLES hedged about the precarious career of 
the adventurous mariner in our child¬ 
hood pirate tales was one more terrible than all the rest. It was 
the insidious scurvy, and before its fatal approach the bravest pri¬ 
vateer was helpless. We did not know what this fabulous disease 
was like, but unless the becalmed ship adventitiously arrived at 
some tropical island where vegetables and fruits abounded all 
hands were doomed. Since those days the word scurvy has stood 
for some hideous monster, even though the disease is now under¬ 
standable. But not so long ago there came a true report of a 
present-day privateer, a pleasure sailor in Pacific seas, and he 
caught scurvy. The story awakened the slumbering recollection 
of those boyhood stories, especially when it was discovered that 
the sufferer was only brought relief by getting in touch with a 
passing ship, from which he received a crate of onions. Just as 
in the pirate stories, the cure was almost immediate. 
While the chord of recollection was still pleasantly stirring over 
this tribute to the saving vegetable there came another recom¬ 
mendation from a different source. In a bulletin from the De¬ 
partment of Agriculture was an analysis of the diet of the present 
day. So much was grain, so much flesh, some little fruit and a 
very considerable part some patented cathartic. The pamphlet 
went on to show how these medicines—sometimes harmful—were 
all unnecessary, for their function was naturally carried out by a 
liberal use of vegetables in the daily menu. 
These facts are not new; the incontestable value of vegetables 
in the diet is generally understood, but the vegetable forms but a 
slim part of the meal. In cities it is scarce. Look at a hotel menu 
card. Meat and game appear in innumerable disguises; eggs 
parade the names of most French literary or historic dignitaries, 
but, with the exception of the salads and potatoes, vegetables take 
but a very small space on the bill, and their preparation shows as 
much lack of care as absence of distinguishing name. In the 
country it is even worse. The only purchasable vegetables worth 
while are those in cans; all the local crop is shipped to the city, 
where evidently it immediately evaporates. The rural, native 
population is generally found subsisting almost entirely without 
any but canned vegetables. 
If you want fresh vegetables, and your reason should tell you 
that you must have them, grow them yourself. This statement 
here used appears like a last, grim alternative. If you become 
convinced of the necessity, you will find that the best way is the 
pleasantest. If there is a finer delight to be enjoyed than the first 
meal of home-grown vegetables it has not been described to us. 
And the vegetables are ever so much better than you can buy. 
The flavor and freshness of the garden-patch crop is beyond the 
competition of the grocer. 
There is another satisfaction; perhaps to some it ranks above 
all the rest. It is that delicious sense of self-dependence that 
comes when you really produce your own food; when you see, in 
place of a few seeds given to the chill hospitality of the ground, 
luscious, ripe tomatoes or crisp, green lettuce. The satisfaction of 
Robinson Crusoe when he first found himself self-sufficient by his 
own handiwork, is little greater than that felt by the man who has 
kept his table filled from his own back yard. And when we speak 
of the delights found in the novelty of growing one’s own proven¬ 
der we do not, by any means, intend that, with the novelty gone, 
the pleasure also fades. To us it is a perpetual wonder to watch 
those few grains of seed develop into great, hulking fruits that 
bear down the sturdy vines and stout supports. If you are of an 
intensely practical turn of mind, weigh the tomato seed you set out 
this spring; then keep track of the weight of the fruit produced, 
and figure out the tremendous increase in weight dividends that 
accrues to you for your slight labor. We hope, however, that this 
existence will not be necessary to convince you of the pleasure and 
profit to be had in growing your own vegetables. 
A SENSE OF BEAUTY T T seems a far cry to go back to 
FOR EVERY DAY the Greek state to find out 
what is the matter with our own, 
but that is what Mr. Livingstone has done. The message brought 
back in his book, “The Greek Genius,” indicates clearly a general 
fault of most Americans. He speaks to an English audience, but 
his charge is as justly directed against us. 
“The modern man has a just and well-trained sense for beautiful 
things,” he says. That is particularly true here, where every other 
individual is a collector of china or brasses, furniture or prints, 
and most of us have a genuine appreciation for what is gathered. 
Some of the choicest art of all ages is found in our private gal¬ 
leries and our museums. We are critics all, and most of us dilet¬ 
tantes in the artistic. That is the fault; our need for beauty is 
purely spasmodic; it is not vital. Our sense of beauty is frivolous. 
As the author puts it: “We have what I may call a picture-gallery 
sense of beauty; a sense that can be turned on and off, like a tap.” 
It is this “on-again, off-again” beauty sense that accounts for the 
fact that beautiful houses architecturally are ugly and ill-furnished 
inside. This accounts for our being oblivious to the lack of har¬ 
mony and attractiveness of much within our very doors, while we 
prate about the merits of the latest art exhibition. 
If we are granted even a “picture-gallery beauty sense” there is 
a chance for our full development. We will insist upon the beau¬ 
tiful about us where we are now content with the dull. With such 
an awakening, billboard nuisances, outrageous tenement construc¬ 
tions, bare, ill-kept garden spaces and like blots upon the land¬ 
scape will disappear. We will find new experiences in our life, 
indoors and out. 
A NEW CASE OF ' ■ 'HE modern conception of a pater- 
FADDISM X nal government which legislates 
to supervise the morals of the com¬ 
munity has by no means exhausted its possibilities with correcting 
such abuses as gambling and intemperance. There are many other 
chances for restraining the common fault of going to excess. The 
bungalow fad, for instance, is a case in point. This house was a 
good thing in itself when built rationally, but an overplus of zeal 
in producing it soon resulted in a most astonishing mushroom 
growth of every sort and variety of bungalow, until certain sec¬ 
tions of the country are covered with it in every conceivable dupli¬ 
cation. Later, an enterprising architect discovered the adapta¬ 
bility of the Swiss chalet to America. Now some localities show 
no other type of building. 
The present excess of building faddism is the penchant for built- 
in furniture. The economy and convenience of built-in settles 
and cupboards are unquestioned. There are several other articles 
of furniture that are most acceptable when built with the house. 
But here again we see a good idea run wild. Some recent houses 
appear with built-in tables and clothes hampers ! Before the craze 
spreads to built-in waste baskets and built-in chairs we offer a 
plea for restraint. Let us have an awakened conscience as to the 
fitness of things or call out the militia. Some furniture is by 
nature portable; much remains too immovable as it is; so we must 
not kill all opportunity for change and variety within our homes. 
Why cannot there be a sane regard for functions ? 
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