change their type, or make-up. If I owned a newspa-
per, and there arose a question of giving space to this
majestic name, I should cheerfully drop out a baseball
story, or the love letters in some divorce case, or even
an advertisement, in order to display it as it deserves to
be displayed.

Kalamazoo (I love to write it out!) Kalamazoo, I
say, is also sometimes known familiarly as "Celery
Town"--the growing of this crisp and succulent vege-
table being a large local industry. Also, I was in-
formed, more paper is made there than in any other city
in the world, I do not know if that is true. I only
know that if there is not more something in Kalamazoo
than there is in any other city, the place is unique in my
experience.

From my own observations, made during an evening
walk through the agreeable, tree-bordered streets of
Kalamazoo, I should have said that it led in, quite a dif-
ferent field. I have never been in any town where so
many people failed to draw their window shades, or
owned green reading lamps, or sat by those green-
shaded lamps and read. I looked into almost every
house I passed, and in all but two, I think, I saw the self-
same picture of calm, literary domesticity.

One family, living in a large and rather new-looking
house on Main Street, did not seem to be at home. The
shades were up but no one was sitting by the lamp.
And, more, the lamp itself was different. Instead of a
plain green shade it had a shade with pictures in the

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