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The National Geographic Magazine 



matter, and with it the part that gives 

 flavor to the kernels, but they often break 

 the long, slender grains that characterize 

 the famous Carolina golden rice. This 

 breakage is so great that the Louisiana 

 growers begged for assistance, and the 

 new Office of Plant Introduction sent Dr 

 S. A. Knapp to Japan in search of a 

 short-kerneled variety that would not 

 break in the milling process. Today Dr 

 Knapp declares that one-half of all the 

 rice grown in Louisiana and Texas is the 

 Kiushu rice that had its origin in the 

 introduction made in 1899. This new 

 rice has reduced the breakage from 40 

 per cent to 10 per cent, and has at the 

 same time brought into culture a more 

 productive rice. It has not done away 

 with the pernicious practice of polishing, 

 but an interest in the unpolished rice has 

 lately been aroused that, it is hoped, will 

 lead to the abandonment of a practice 

 which robs the buyer of nearly all of the 

 flavoring matter of the rice and leaves 

 only the starchy portion. It is a dis- 

 grace that the most intelligent nation in 

 the world should be so ignorant of the 

 food value of the crop, on which more 

 people live than on any other, that they 

 should insist upon having their rice made 

 as shiny as polished glass beads, although 

 in so doing they are throwing away the 

 best part of it. No rice-eating people 

 treat their rice as we do, and it is to be 

 hoped that the small markets that have 

 been started for the unpolished rice in 

 this city and elsewhere will lead to a 

 general propaganda in its favor. 



the corsican citron industry 



The Corsican citron is better known to 

 housewives than to the general public, 

 though a failure to put thin shavings of 

 candied citron rind into the poundcake 

 would be quickly noticed by the house- 

 hold. 



Though no one person eats in a year 

 any large amount of citron, yet every one 

 eats a little, and the aggregate amounts 

 to over 2,000,000 pounds a year, almost 

 all of which is imported from Italy and 

 Corsica. To assist a progressive Cali- 



fornian who thought he had the right 

 kind of land and a climate in which to 

 grow the Corsican citron, the writer was 

 sent to the birthplace of Napoleon by the 

 pomologist of the department in 1894. 

 It was the first time I had ever tried to 

 get from a foreign people the plants with 

 which to start an industry that would 

 eventually remove one of its best buyers 

 from the field and might some time lead 

 to the appearance of a rival industry. I 

 was nervous and had been advised that 

 the Corsicans were not inclined to let 

 scions of their fine citron trees go out of 

 the country ; so on landing at Bastia, the 

 the port nearest Italy, I pushed through 

 to the center of the island ; and there, in 

 a small mountain town, perched on one 

 of the characteristic pinnacles of land, 

 surrounded by groves of citron, I made 

 my mission known to the mayor. 



While waiting for him to bury one of 

 his friends in a neighboring village I 

 strolled about the place and sought by 

 means of my camera to dispel the suspi- 

 cions of the crowd that gathered uncom- 

 fortably about me. While I stood with 

 my head under the black focusing cloth, 

 with a young mother and her child pos-> 

 ing against the stucco wall before me, I 

 was startled by the touch, not too gentle, 

 either, of the guarde civile of the village. 

 "Vos papiers, si'l vous plait," was the 

 curt demand. I replied in Italian that I 

 had left them at Bastia, at which re- 

 sponse, and to the evident delight of the 

 crowd, I was marched off to jail. On an 

 errand that was not likely to be pleasing 

 if explained to the guard, with no papers 

 in my pocket, with a captor whose very 

 look was enough to terrify any one, and 

 in a jail that would rival in filthiness any 

 that the Inquisition ever had, I think- 

 there are few men who would not have 

 paled. Seated in the jail, with the guard 

 and his wicked-looking wife glaring at 

 me, I was asked to give an account of the 

 reason of my visit. This I refused to do, 

 but endeavored to find out why an 

 American was arrested for taking pic- 

 tures of the beauties of this lovely vil- 

 lage. To my surprise I found that I was 



