where my Leghorns are, were full of dande- 

 lions almost knee-high. The Leghorns ei- 

 ther did not care for them or else there were 

 not enough Leghorns to gather the crop; 

 and my discovery embraces the fact that, 

 even if it does cost more to feed the large 

 breeds, they can be taught to subsist largely 

 on greens, and perhaps other plants as well 

 as dandelions. When I observed their strong 

 preference I swung the gate open and invit- 

 ed my daughter's whole flock to come over 

 and "behapi^y" like the traditional "pigs 

 in clover " you have heard about. Why, it 

 was just fun to see the beautiful plump 

 white pullets and long gawky cockerels wade 

 into the dandelions. They were so crazy 

 for the greens that they did not mind my 

 presence at all as the Leghorns do. And 

 this is another thing in favor of the Wyan- 

 dottes. They are so exceedingly gentle and 

 kind that it almost seems wicked to kill the 

 little chaps; and I for one seldom or never 

 kill a pullet for anybody. 



I suppose you have all heard of nice 

 "corn-fed beef." It certainly is very much 

 superior to beef fed on any thing else. Now 

 I am going to introduce to the world "dan- 

 delion-fed" chickens. I think that down 

 east they have already acquired a reputation 

 for milk-fed chickens. They all say they 

 are greatly superior. But it is my pleasure 

 to introduce to the great wide world dande- 

 lion-fed chickens. 



Yesterday was the anniversary of our 

 golden wedding. The children and grand- 

 children were all assembled. It took five 

 Wyandotte cockerels to furnish the dinner; 

 and, if I am a competent judge, I should 

 say a dandelion-fed Wyandotte cockerel 

 makes better fried chicken than any other 

 "fried chicken " in the world. My brother- 

 in-law, J. G. Gray, in closing his"^ remarks, 

 said it was characteristic of A. I. Root to 

 want to share with the rest of humanity 

 every thing he discovers or comes across 

 that he greatly enjoys. Very likely he gave 

 me more credit (as is customary on such oc- 

 casions) than I deserve; but if he is right 

 about it, I hereby take great pleasure in in- 

 troducing to your notice the humble dande- 

 lion and the dandelion-fed fried Wyandotte 

 chicken. I told you there were toasts from 

 different ones present. One of the toasts 

 was a little poem by one of my very good 

 friends; and I thought best to submit the 

 poem right here. 



Just fifty years, ray worthy friends. 



If records rightly tell, 

 Since into Amos' loving care 



A " blue-eyed Susan " fell. 

 And not one charm, in all these years, 



lias that sweet flower lost. 

 And not one nip at autumn-tide 



Of matrimonial frost. 



As from these richly nourished Roots 



Five little blue-eyeds sprang. 

 To God. from whom these blessings came, 



Your humble i^raises rang. 

 And now, at this late autumn-tide. 



All lands your praises sound. 

 For your long cord of love has reached 



The whole wide world around. 



May be you think I have forgotten all 

 about the text at the head of this talk; but 



Gleanings in Bee Culture 



if you will be patient a little you will find 

 that, when I get to the end of my story, it 

 comes in after all. 



Not quite forty years ago — i)erhaps 35 — I 

 started a mission Sunday-school in one of 

 the worst beer-drinking spots in our county. 

 It was about the time these Home papers 

 were started. If you have the old numbers 

 on file you can turn back and read about 

 that Sunday-school. When ^the weather 

 was pleasant I used to take Blue Eyes. She 

 was then just learning to talk; but she used 

 to stand up on the platform in the Sunday- 

 school and sing — 



I am .Jesus" little lamb; 

 Happy all day long I am. 

 I am his and he is mine — 

 Oh! I'm his lamb. 



Well, while the weather was good during^ 

 summer the Sunday-school was a success. 

 Sometimes the people deserted the brewery 

 and the saloon (both of which were open all 

 day Sunday and Sunday night in those 

 days) , and came to the Sunday-school until 

 some days the country schoolhouse would 

 hardly hold them all. Well, when winter 

 came, everybody^ — or at least almost every- 

 body — thought the school would have to be 

 given up; and in discussing the matter I 

 told them if it were given up it would be be- 

 cause of no scholars; and I announced I 

 would be on hand, no matter what the weath- 

 er; and if any person felt as I did about it I 

 should be glad to have such person be on 

 hand and back me up. 



One day late in the fall the weather was 

 so bad that our Medina liveryman said he 

 could not consent to let any of his " rigs" 

 go out in such weather. But he was not 

 much in sympathy with Sunday-schools, 

 you will notice. I went home and tried to 

 make up my mind that I would not go that 

 day-; but when I thought it might be pos- 

 sible that some of those bright little faces 

 would be on hand and find no teacher, I told 

 Mrs. Root I could not stand it. I got some 

 rubber boots and a big umbrella and waded 

 through the mud four miles to that Sunday- 

 school. One of my good friends, a deacon 

 in our church, brought the subject up in 

 prayer-meeting, and said he thought I was 

 carrying things to an unwarrantable ex- 

 treme. He said he had taken pains to in- 

 vestigate, and found I had traveled off down 

 there to Abbeyville, through the mud and 

 rain, and found just two barefooted boys 

 present. I smilingly owned up that what 

 Deacon Thompson had said was true; but I 

 did not agree with his elecision in regard to 

 the matter. I was happy at every step I 

 took on that four-mile tramp. And I think 

 the two small boys went home happy also. 

 I had a good square talk with them. I then 

 learned that their mother was carrying a 

 fearful load in caring for a pretty good-sized 

 family while the poor father was a victim of 

 that saloon and brewery. I wonder if my 

 text comes in here anywhere — "entertaining 

 angels unawares." If you had seen me with 

 my unbrella and mud-bespattered rubber 

 boots you would never have thought of call- 



