Rubber from Rabbit Brush

RUBBER FROM RABBIT BRUSH 883

10% is extremely high, probably 2% or 3% being nearer the average yield from a well developed plant. Natively there are from one to four thousand plants per acre, weighing from one to two pounds each, though it is estimated by the investigators, in this and other states, that about three thousand plants, averaging three feet high, and weighing around three pounds each, can be grown on an acre, which, at a fair calculation, based on the tests made, would yield around 250 or 300 pounds of rubber. If grown artificially, without irrigation, in average western weather conditions, it is estimated that a harvest could be taken every four or five years, at a comparatively light expense for seeding and harvesting. Under irrigation the yield could probably be increased fourfold, it is said. The quantity of rubber in the rabbit brush seems to vary directly with the amount of alkali in the soil, up to a certain limit, thus the less valuable the soil is for agricultural purposes, the more valuable it is considered for producing rubber. The immediate need for greatly increasing the rubber output of the world may have passed with the passing of the World War, but ultimately the rabbit brush fields are looked upon by scientists as a certain, and a fairly profitable, source of rubber. The extraction of the rubber is a comparatively simple process, requiring only a moderate factory or plant expense. The rubber is simply dissolved out through the pores of the wood, or after macerating, with the ordinary solvents of rubber.

Consolation

What though you be (for want of faith not higher) Silent, unknown, in some inglorious place; Or, if renowned, you seek again to gain Possession of some past beloved desire?

What though the milestones speed? They but in vain (Call we them "years" that hasten down apace) Smite your stern breast, as if they would efface All sign of peace, and leave but blot and stain.

Behold! e'en now new promises appear, And gather in the cloud's faint aftermath, Full of some gladness for the toiling one. While in the pool's calm bosom, deep and clear, Is Heaven mirrored; and a golden path Leads up to vastly greater things left still undone. G. G. Meldrum

Who Appreciates? By George H. Mauglvan, of the Ricks Normal College

Many have watched a colony of bees and admired their industry and harmony of effort. Some of the most interesting and often most important things in the world are small ones but some people let them pass by almost daily, probably through a whole life-time, and fail to get their message or enjoy the beauty they possess. Let us follow one little worker bee through her life and then leave the question "Who appreciates?" for you to answer. A little white egg in a small wax cell made with great care and much work and with perfect shape and finish was the beginning of this bee's life. In three days the egg hatched out into a tiny grub and was fed "bee food" by other bees for several days. Then it turned into a sleepy pupa, stopped eating, and was thus left by its nurses to rest. Its cell was capped over to keep it safe and unmolested while it passed through its resting stage. At the end of a few days more a full grown bee broke its way out of this cell. It had awakened from its long nap and was no longer an ugly grub, but a neat, well developed worker bee, with strong wings, clear eyes, good legs, and muscles which could work and work and not tire. The task of the young bees just grown is to care for the baby bees and this bee began as a nurse. When she had learned to do this work well, and her wings had gotten tough and her body covering had hardened, one fine morning she made her first journey into the world, for her chief mission in life was to make honey. Her first trip was a short one. She must not go far and lose her way. She came back without any honey. That afternoon she went farther away, and it was not long before she began to gather and bring back the juice out of which she made honey. She was a very busy bee. After the dew was gone in the morning and until the sun went down, she hurried from flower to flower and from plant to plant, reaching far down into the flowers for the sweet nectar they had hidden, there for her. She made many trips home each day carrying all she could of the honey juice. How much was that? Oh, about as much as could be held on the end of a tooth pick. At night she stood over the partly filled cells waving her wings to make a wind to drive off the water and thicken the