Everyone has seen a hare, either crouched or running in the fields, or hanging dead in a poulterer's shop, or lastly pathetic, even dreadful-looking and in this form almost indistinguishable from a skinned cat, on the domestic table. But t many people have met a Mahatma, at least to their kwledge. Not many people kw even who or what a Mahatma is. The majority of those who chance to have heard the title are apt to confuse it with ather, that of Mad Hatter. This is even done of malice prepense (especially, for obvious reasons, if a hare is in any way concerned) in scorn, t in igrance, by persons who are well acquainted with the real meaning of the word and even with its Sanscrit origin. The truth is that an incredulous Western world puts faith in Mahatmas. To it a Mahatma is a kind of spiritual Mrs. Harris, giving an address in Thibet at which letters are delivered. Either, it says, there is such person, or he is a fraudulent scamp with greater occult powers-well, than a hare.