A KINDLY old English gentleman, Sir John Lubbock, Bart., is no more. He is not dead, but has ceased to be a plain baronet, as were his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather before him. Now he is a peer of the realm, and he is called Lord Avebury. The new honor, lately conferred by the Queen, Sir John probably owes to his great services in Parliament, for he is not only the owner of a big bank in London, and a distinguished financier, but also a representative in the English Parliament of the University of London. In both fields his work for his fellow men has been such as to merit well an honor which all Englishmen are supposed to desire.

But we in America shall always remember him not as Lord Avebury, but as plain Sir John Lubbock, a man who probably knows more than any other in the world about the habits, nature and instincts of insects, especially of ants, bees and wasps, of which he has written more than one interesting book.

What the world needs for its happiness is more work, more achievement. Nature, which is never at rest, sets a superb example, not only of unceasing industry, but of exquisite workmanship. For not a beetle crawls along the ground but has a burnished back of ebony or jeweled green; not a weed by the roadside goes to seed but hides its promise of next year's blossom in a pod of fairy delicacy; not a spider-web glitters in the sun that is not marvelous in its structure. If only the world could be more conscious of "the Master of all good workmen" there would be less heartache than there is.