As for the United States, the climatic conditions are such there that we can grow healthy cattle when theirs are affected and beat them; that is to say, we can send live cattle and make a good profit when they cannot, but must send dead meat. Seeding down and grass feeding upon our fields is another good method to rid our lands of these foul weeds. When the foul plants are young, by eating the fields pretty close our flocks nip off the foul stalks, and keep them from seeding. But if the plant be an annual, during the latter part of the season such pastures can with profit be turned into a late summer fallow, and thus be cleared. Wire root is got rid of by turnips and thorough cultivation. But perhaps the easiest and laziest way to get rid of this pest, which gets down so deep in lighter soils, is to sow buckwheat on such fields thick and heavy. Many farmers assert that a stout crop of buckwheat will choke the wire root out, and leave not a root alive. Ordinarily our farmers sow buckwheat only for this purpose, and to plough down as a green crop for manure. Very few of our farmers, in fact, will grow buckwheat for a crop, and consider it beneath the dignity of the quality of their fat lands to raise buckwheat as a crop. That man partakes of the nature of the soil, is, perhaps, to most persons at first thought an anomaly, but yet it is so. Where the soil grudgingly gives to the husbandman a very moderate living, his hospitality in a certain sense partakes of the nature of his lands. While he does his best for you as a guest, still the heartiness and bountifulness of his larder, for man and beast, is in a measure subdued, as it were, and somehow the guest feels that he ought not to deprive the careful husbandman of too much of his essentials of living. The husbandman is necessarily cramped and bound as his farm is. But go among those whose lands are fat and fill the great barns, and where it’s a task to take care of his bountiful crops, and we find another kind of a man entirely. There’s no stint. Your horse may consume bushels of oats per day if he will, and if ordinarily good milk is not of your liking, cream is just as free as the milk is. Open-handed, big-hearted; a man one involuntarily likes, as you grasp his broad, brown hand, and his fingers give a tight squeeze. And such are the great majority of Ontario’s husbandmen, a people of whom any nation may justly feel proud. I am wandering from my springtime, and will get back by saying that bee culture among us is becoming fairly developed. Food for bees is in such abundance among our fields and fruits and woods, that in the future this industry must necessarily be much larger. Fourteen years ago I saw a field of about eight acres sown with sweet clover, to feed the farmer’s bees. It was the sweetest smelling field any one [Illustration: CANADIAN APPLES AT THE GLASGOW EXHIBITION--“THE BEST IN THE EMPIRE.”]