Rich soil is fatal to this democrat of grains. 

 It grows there, to be sure, in a weak, perfunc- 

 tory fashion, but a moderate rain will lodge 

 it hopelessly, and the grain itself is spongy 

 and without substance. At the best it is not 

 a tempting food-stuff. Rye-bread is bread 

 of bitterness unless marvellously well dis- 

 guised. Yet it keeps many millions from 

 hunger millions, too, who without it would 

 inevitably suffer famine. Under favorable 

 conditions a single seed may reproduce it- 

 self two-thousandfold. In addition, it thrives 

 in weather conditions that forbid the ripen- 

 ing of other grain. On the whole, this beard- 

 ed grain deserves more than well of a large 

 moiety of humanity. 



So, too, do oats, which Dr. Johnson de- 

 fined as " a grain that in England is fed to 

 horses ; in Scotland, to men." The sneer 

 was well parried by the indignant Scot's que- 

 ry, " An' whae will ye find sic horses and sic 

 men ?" Nowadays, though, the land of cakes 

 and heather is not singular in its consump- 

 tion of " the canny aitmeal." It has pretty 

 well all the world's breakfast-table for its 

 own. But there clings always to the grow- 

 ing plant more than a suggestion of moor 

 and mist. Mark the cool blue-green of these 

 blades tossing well up beside your knee. 



