Meyers had been missing since July 5, 1910, and Doctor Fred C. Wheat, of Minneapolis, Minn., last November asked members of the Iowa Alumni Association to “comb all the quarters of the earth” in an effort to find him. Meyers was a graduate at the class of 1888, University of Iowa. Meyers is a mining engineer, and his wife is said to be an expert in minerals. In 1904 he was in charge of a large mine at San José, Cal., where he befriended an old Scotchman named Sandy McDonald. When the old man died, he showed Meyers a map giving the location of a valuable diamond mine near Kimberley. This map, he said, he had secured from another Scotchman. Meyers, at first skeptical, finally went to Kimberley, found the mine, and returned with the report that in a few days he had dug out five hundred carat weight of gems. He interested his friends in the United States and secured $25,000 to buy the land. If he had taken it as a diamond claim, he would have had to split the diamonds with the government. Returning to South Africa, he found that the price of the land had gone up as a result of the discovery of other mines near, and he was forced to return to this country and raise $10,000 more. He was last seen in San Francisco. In a letter to J. L. McLaury, of Glenwood, Minn., Meyers, writing from Fresno, says he is still blocked in his effort to secure title to the diamond property, but that the obstacle may be removed any day. Doctor Wheat refuses to discuss the details of the venture, although he said that he was satisfied that Meyers was absolutely honest, and that eventually the proposition would be a success. King of the Rabbit Hunters. Stephen Osborn, seventy-eight years old, who lives five miles southwest of Gentry, Mo., claims the distinction of being the champion rabbit hunter—for his age, at least—of northwestern Missouri. He has killed 500 rabbits so far this winter, and is not through yet. Osborn, who is an expert shot, does his hunting in a buggy which is drawn by a twenty-one-year-old horse. He is accompanied by two dogs. The dogs scare the rabbits from their hiding places; then, after the fatal shot is fired, they bring the dead animals to the hunter, who is not compelled to leave his buggy. Osborn says his best day’s work was forty-nine rabbits out of fifty shots. Modern Lumberjack a Real Aristocrat. Should an old-time lumberjack wander back into the neighborhood of Mellen, Wis., searching for old, familiar scenes, and with the possible desire to once again, for a brief time, enter into the old calling for pastime or physical improvement, he would be apt to make a hasty survey of present conditions, and, with a voice softened by disappointment, declare: “No, this is not the same—not at all the same. This may be all right for a minister’s son, but not for me—not for me. Too much like Chicago.”