known the formula.

We encourage children to raise vegetables; a little child can learn
_how_ to raise vegetables, but no grown person understands the mystery
that is wrapped up in every vegetable that grows. Let me illustrate: I
am fond of radishes; my good wife knows it and keeps me supplied with
them when she can. I eat radishes in the morning; I eat radishes at
noon; I eat radishes at night; I eat radishes between meals; I like
radishes. I plant radish seed--put the little seed into the ground, and
go out in a few days and find a full grown radish. The top is green,
the body of the root is white and almost transparent, and around it I
sometimes find a delicate pink or red. Whose hand caught the hues of a
summer sunset and wrapped them around the radish's root down there in
the darkness in the ground? I cannot understand a radish; can you? If
one refused to eat anything until he could understand the mystery of its
growth, he would die of starvation; but mystery does not bother us in
the dining-room,--it is only in the church that mystery seems to give us
trouble.

In travelling around the world I found that the egg is a universal form
of food. When we reached Asia the cooking was so different from ours
that the boiled egg was sometimes the only home-like thing we could find
on the table. I became so attached to the egg, that, when I returned to
the United States, for weeks I felt like taking my hat off to every hen
I met. What is more mysterious than an egg? Take a fresh egg; it is not
only good food, but an important article of merchandise. But loan a
fresh egg to a hen, after the hen has developed a well-settled tendency
to sit, and let her keep the egg under her for a week, and, as any
housewife will tell you, it loses a large part of its market value. But
be patient with the hen; let her have it for two weeks more and she will