-five thousand acres of corn land are to be
added to the national store in this county of Hertfordshire alone. The
wages of agricultural labourers, have risen by more than one-third. The
farmers are to be protected and encouraged as they never have been since
the Cobdenite revolution; and the Corn Production Bill now passing
through Parliament shows what the grim lesson of this war has done to
change the old and easy optimism of our people.

As to the energy that has been thrown into other means of food-supply,
let the potatoes now growing in the flower-beds in front of Buckingham
Palace stand for a symbol of it! The potato-crop of this year--barring
accidents--will be enormous; and the whole life of our country villages
has been quickened by the effort that has been made to increase the
produce of the cottage gardens and allotments. The pride and pleasure of
the women and the old men in what they have been able to do at home,
while their sons and husbands are fighting at the front, is moving to
see. Food prices are very high; life in spite of increased wages is
hard. But the heart of England is set on winning this war; and the
letters which pass between the fathers and mothers in this village where
I live, and the sons at the front, in whom they take a daily and hourly
pride, would not give Germany much comfort could she read them. I take
this little scene, as an illustration, fresh from the life of my
own village:

Imagine a visitor, on behalf of the food-economy movement, endeavouring
to persuade a village mother to come to some cookery lessons organised
by the local committee.

Mrs. S. is discovered sitting at a table on which are preparations for a
meal. She receives the visitor and the visitor's remarks with an
air--quite unconscious--of tragic meditation; and her honest
labour-stained hand sweeps over the things on the table.

"Cheese!"--she says, at last--"_eightpence_ the 'arf pound!"

A pause. The hand points in another direction.

"_Lard--sevenpence_--that scrubby little piece! _Sugar_! sixpence
'a'penny the pound. The best part of two shillin's gone! Whatever _are_
we comin' to?"

Gloom descends on the little kitchen. The visitor is at a loss--when
suddenly the round, motherly face changes.--"But _there_ now! I'm goin'
to smile, whatever 'appens. I'm not one as is goin' to give in! And we
'ad a letter from Arthur [her son in the trenches] this morning, to say
'is Company's on the list for leave, and