Such ensilage will correspond to that which occurs when we gather Jersey or other superlatively fine pears in autumn as soon as they are full grown. They are then hard, woody, and acid, quite unfit for food, but by simply storing them for a month, or two, or three, they become lusciously tender and sweet; the woody fibres are converted into sugar, the acid neutralised, and all this by simply fulfilling the conditions of ensilage, viz. close packing of the fibre, exclusion of air by the thick rind of the fruit, _plus_ the other condition which I have just suggested, viz. the diffusion of acid among the well-packed fibres of the ensilage material. In my experiments on the ensilage of human food I have encountered the same difficulty as that which has troubled graziers in their experiments, viz. that small-scale results do not fairly represent those obtained with large quantities. There is besides this another element of imperfection in my experiments respecting which I am bound to be candid to my readers, viz. that the idea of thus extending the principle was suggested in the course of writing this series, and, therefore, a sufficient time has not yet elapsed to enable me (with much other occupation) to do practical justice to the investigation. I find that oatmeal-porridge is greatly improved by being made some days before it is required, then stored in a closed jar, brought forth and heated for use. The change effected is just that which theoretically may be expected, viz. a softening of the fibrous material, and a sweetening due to the formation of sugar. This sweetening I observed many years ago in some gruel that was partly eaten one night and left standing until next morning, when I thought it tasted sweeter; but to be assured of this I had it warmed again two nights afterwards, so that it might be tasted under the same conditions of temperature, palate, &c., as at first. The sweetness was still more distinct, but the experiment was carried no further. I have lately learned that my ensilage notion is not absolutely new. A friend who read my Cantor Lectures tells me that he has long been accustomed to have his porridge made some days before eating it, then having it warmed up when required. He finds the result more digestible than newly-made porridge. The classical nine days’ old pease-pudding is a similar anticipation, and I find, rather curiously, that nine days is about the limit to which it may be practically kept in a cool place before mildew—mouldiness—is sufficiently established to spoil the pudding. I have not yet tried a barrel full of pease-pudding or moistened pease-meal, closely covered and powerfully pressed down, but hope to do so.