" " riSk-JUS
Conservative.
the transportation of farm products in
Nebraska to a distant market.
The potato is a nutritious and valuable
tuber. It has been a universal beno-
faotor. Since its
.
introduction to
Europe , from its
native homo in Peru , it has perhaps ac
complished more as a preventive of
hunger and starvation among the poor
in Ireland , in France and in other lands
than any other one staple food product
of the soil. In the "Story of a Peasant" ,
written by those charming authors ,
Erckmann and Qhatrian , entitled "The
States General" , is described the intro
duction of the potato for cultivation
among the peasantry of France. It was
in 1789.
Round the table in the large room
were people from Les Baraques , wag
goners from Aleace , Nicole , Madame
Catherine , and Father Benedict. Maitre
Jean in the middle of them , was show
ing them a great bag full of what looked
like parings , and explaining that they
came from Hanover , that they produced
most excellent roots , and in great quan
tity , so that the poor would have some
thing to eat all the year. Ho was try
ing to persuade them to plant them , as
suring them they would never be in
distress at Les Baraques again , which
would bo a real blessing to everyone.
Maitre Jean told them this in a most
solemn tone. Chauvel stood behind ,
listening with little Margaret.
Some took these husks or parings in
their hands , looked at them , smelt them ,
and then put them back again in the
bag , with a laugh , as much as to say
"Whoever heard of planting husks ?
It is contrary to common sense. "
Some nudged the others , as if to
laugh at my godfather. All on n sudden
Father Benedict , with his great nose
and little screwed-up eyes , turned
around and burst out laughing.
"They are brought by a heretic , "
cried Father Benedict ; "How can
Christians sow them or the Lord bless
them ? "
"You would be very thankful to have
one of my roots to put under your own
nose when they come up" , cried Maitre
Jeanin a rage.
"When they do come up , " cried the
Oapuciu , holding his hand ? together
with an air of pity ; "when they do
come up 1 Believe me , you have not
land enough for your cabbages , turnips ,
and radishes. Let these husks alone ,
they will produce you nothing. I ,
Father Benedict , tell you so. "
* * * * * * *
You would hardly credit all the jokes
wo had to put up with before the crop
came. The greater fools people are , the
greater pleasure they have in laughing
at those who are wiser than they , when
they get a chance ; and the Baraquius
thought they had a good one. Whenever -
over the Hanoverian seed was mentioned
all these fools began to laugh.
* * * * * * *
In summer , when the moon was at
the full , all the family worked at the
door to save the beech-mast oil. When
in the far distance we could hear the
town clock strike ton , father would riso/
put by the brooms and the willow twigs/
and then , looking up at the sky , white
witli stars , ho would say
"My God ! My God ! How great
Thou art ! Oh let Thy goodness rest on
Thy children ! "
No one uttered these words so well
and so tenderly as my poor father ; it
was clear he knew and felt these things
better than our monks , who paid as
much attention to the Paternoster or
the belief , while they repeated it , as I
do to a pinch of snuff when I take one.
Then wo went indoors and the day's
work was over.
So passed May and June. Barley ,
rye and oats grew perceptibly ; but in
Maitre Jean's field nothing was yet
visible.
My father had often talked to me
about the Hanover roots , and I explain
ed to him all the good this plant might
do us.
"God grant it , my child , " he would
say ; "we want it all , distress becomes
greater every day ; taxes are too heavy ,
and Ihe corvees take up too many of
our days work ! "
* * * * * * *
One morning between four and five in
the beginning of June , I was walking
down the street as usual to awake
Nicole , fodder the cattle , and take them
out to graze. A good deal of dew had
fallen in the night and towards Quatre-
Vents the sun was rising hot and red.
As I passed by the iuclosuro , before
knocking at the door , I just looked over
the wall , and what did I see ? Tufts of
white threads spreading right and left
everywhere. The dew had softened the
ground , and the shoots of our roots wore
coming up by the thousands.
* * ' * * 4- # *
Now I must tell you about our potatoes
coming into flower , and the crop which
brought Jean Loroux into greater repute
in the country than he had over enjoyed
before.
In July the field of Maitre Jean look
ed from , the Mittelbron side like a great
green and white bouquet ; the rows were
nearly as high as the wall.
While the great heat lasted , while
everything was dried up in the fields , it
was a pleasure to look at our fine plants
spreading larger and larger ; they only
needed a little morning dew to keep
them fresh , and we used to picture to
ourselves the roots beneath gaining in
size.
size.We
We dreamt about them all day ; in the
evening we talked of nothing else. We
even forgot the gazettes , for the affairs
of the great Turk and the Americans
had less interest for us than our own.
* * * * * * *
"Chauvel told us to dig them in Octo
ber. On the first of October wo will try
a plant or two , and if wo must then
wait , wo will wait. "
The first of October was a foggy
morning. About ten Maitre Jean lott
the forgo , wont into the kitchen , took a
fork from behind the door , and went in
to the potato field.
We went after him.
At the first row ho stopped and plung
ed his fork in , and when lie had shaken
off the clods of earth , and wo saw those
beautiful pink potatoes dropping about ,
K\vheu we saw that every plunge of the
fork brought up as many , and that in
the'J.ength of five or six feet wo had half
filled n basket , we looked at one another
with'astonishment. . We could hardly
believe our dyes. ,
* * * * * * *
"Thoy are muoh better than turnips ;
you can eat them all sorts of ways , "
said Ohauvel. "You may well believe ,
if I had not thought it was a good plant ,
and a useful one for you and for every
one , I should not have put these cuttings
in my basket. It was heavy enough
without that. Nor should I have ad
vised you to plant your field with them. "
"Without doubt ; but I must have
iny say. I am like Saint Thomas I
must touch and I must see , " said Maitre
Jean.
And the little Oalviuist , with a quiet
smile , answered
"You are quite right , and now you
can touch. Nicole has got the dinner on
the table ; you wont wait long. "
Everything was ready.
In those days master and servant din
ed together , but the maid and the mis
tress waited at table ; they only sat
down after the others had dined.
* * * * * * *
All I remember now of that day is , '
that after the omelette Catherine . . ; ;
brought the potatoes on in a basket.
They were boiled , white , the- skins
bursting , the flowery part dropping
from them. M. Christopher leaned over
them and asked
"What is that , Jean ? Where does it
come from ? "
My godfather having told us all to
taste them , we found them so nice that
everyone said
"We never ate anything so good. "
The cure , when told that these were
the roots which all the country had
despised , and that they produced fifteen
sacks to the quarter of an arpent , would
not believe it.
It is too good to be true , " said he ;
"It is not possible. "
Then Madam Catherine gave us some
milk to help oat them. At last M.
Christopher laid down his spoon and
u n 1 rl
"Enough Jean , enough ; one might
overeat one's self , they are so good. "
We were all of the same opinion.
Before ho left the cure would see our
bit of land ; he made Ohauvel explain to
him how these Hanoverian rootswero
cultivated , and when he told thorn that
they grow still better in the sandy soil
of the hills than in the strong land of
the valley , ho cried
"Listen , Ghanvel ; when you brought
these cuttings in your basket , and you ,
Jean , when you planted them , in spite
of the folly of the Capuoins and other
silly people , you did more for our
country than all the monks in the throe
bishoprics have done for ages past.
These roots will bo the poor man's
bread ! "
Now it so happened that my first
edibles from the soil of the territory of
Nebraska were
First Fruits.
potatoes grown at
Arbor Lodge in the summer of 1855.
They were of the pink-eyed variety ,
and , as during the long autumn of 1854
and through the succeeding winter
months of that year and the beginning
of 1855 potatoes had been so scarce as to
have become a rare luxury , we were as
curious and solicitous about our pioneer
potatoes as the peasants of France were
as to Their first planting in 1789. But