THE BROWN EARTH 



To the landscape of winter the brown earth con- 

 tributes one of the dominant notes. Grey skies, 

 distances of a deeper blue -grey, fields far greener 

 than those of autumn, and others which plough 

 and harrow have transformed into a chocolate 

 brown sober tones all they speak of the time 

 when sunshine is neither abundant nor strong. 

 But the fields of naked earth are not quite so 

 naked as they look. Examine them closely, and 

 the bare surface is found starred with many a 

 hundred of tiny plantlets, each with an expression 

 almost of appeal in its aspect of tender helpless- 

 ness. That is a misreading of expression if ever 

 there was one, for of all the living things on earth 

 these are perhaps the best able to take care of 

 themselves, and the least in need of considerate 

 treatment. They are, in fact, the weeds with 

 which the farmer wages Incessant warfare, on which 

 he is constantly inflicting reverses, but over which 

 he never wins decisive victory. Of these weeds of 

 field and garden it has been said that in the 

 course of their continual warfare with one another, 

 with the animals which prey on them, and with 

 that particular animal which attempts to extirpate 

 them, they have equipped themselves with a code 



