Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1905-07-23
LOST ILLUSI Ms
GOOD MILK SCARCE IN RURAL
ENGLAND.
The Sweets Of the Country Now AL
Reserved for London-Afraid
Of Fresh Air.

From the London Express
How delightful to breathe the fresh pure
air untainted by the smoke OF towns, to
| live the quiet. uneventful life of the coun-
| try.
| So thinks the jaded Londoner when the
summer sun, beating down upon the pave
ment. turns the streets into fiery furnaces
when the Row is a miniature Sahara. and
man longs for himself and his drinks to
| pc iced At such a time the thought of
| Few short weeks to be spent in delightful
| fdleness in some far-from-t the madding-
| crowd little hamlet, where the river runs
drowsily between wooded banks and the
wild flowers star the green meadows where
'trespassers-will- represented boards are
unknown, seems unutterabIe bliss.
But. alas! a day or two's actual expert
ence OF those Self-same rustic charms rudely
dispels number of fondly cherished illu-
sions. That Arcadia is a land which flows
with new milk where the inhabitants live
on a diet of curds and whey. and strawber
RES and cream is one of the pretty faneies
OF the town.
Milk, new and good with cream thick
upon 1t, can be bought In any dairy In any
London street. MIX in the country is
precious fluid of price. OF course there
are cows in the country-they gaze reprov-
fngly at strangers out of mild, brown eyes
and milkmaids, too, though not the pretty
nt-frocked maidens with milking pals
10 wnom poets have written sonnets, but
PRACTICAL young people with county council
diplomas, well primed in the science of
milking, Nor is there any doubt about the
milk being there. For at night and morn
ing the visitor may have the 'mournful
pleasure or seeing 1t stand on the railway
platform in great shining cans. waiting
tor the train to take it to London.
Cali Wanted for the Towns"
ITS all wanted for the towns the VIII
layers will tell you cheerfully and II you
knock at the open. rose-covered door of
one of the little cottages where a neatly
printed card invites you to take tea, you
Will make the pleasing discovery that tin
OF condensed milk has become a necessary
adjunct to the village tea tray.
cream, the best that Devonshire can sup
ply. Is yours In town. In the country they
nave almost forgotten It's taste. while fresh
country butter Is another native product
olmcuit TO obtain. Not that English butter
making is lost art, but all the butter is
wanted for the market, and the maker eats
the imports from Brittany and Denmark
Inc mutton Is New Zealand the beef from
Argentina, the cheese Canadian, and the
spring chickens arrive frozen. The nearest
approach to eggs used by the village cooks
Is mysterious yellow powder sold in penny
packets. Blue smoke curls round great
sioes OF home-fed bacon and hams in white
ceiling, where they are being slowly
brought to perfection for the London mar
ket In the larder hang dismembered por-
tons OF the Chicago hog.
Fresh fruits and green peas are stacked
IN hampers awaiting dispatch to the town
me villagers have to content themselves
with the canned variety. Tomatoes ripen
on the walls, but the timed species are
deemed best suited to the native palate
while fresh vegetables are a forbidden lux
ury, and the village shop. with a stock-in-
trade of half dozen. has a corner" in
caooages 1t Is the same with new DO
yhtN oh 4
in the district where they are grown. The
roses. too, like the fruit In the orchard.
were all bought up last spring by the mid
dleman.
Lost Simplicity.
With somewhat of shock the town vis-
itor notices that the village green is lighted
by electricity, and hears that electric cars
are possibility of the very near future
He learns, too, perhaps for the first time,
that the faded finery of towns filters into
the imposing plate-glass windows of the
village shop, and that the simple village
maidens are as fond of feathers and gaudy
colors as any East End factory girl.
The fresh air, at least. cannot be turned
into money you may say If you want
fresh air, pray stay in London, where
wide-open French windows do allow it to
enter in. In the country the scented air
from the billy moors and spreading dales
seems to be as carefully guarded against
as though it were a foreign invader armed
with powers of destruction, and even in
summer the windows are Theoretically
sealed at night by the closing of the outer
shutters.
And when the rain comes, as come It
must even in Arcadia. and churns the road
into swamp, the ceaseless patter on the
leaves and swish among the corn. though
they may appeal to the artistic sense, be-
come a trifie monotonous when observed
for six solid hours from the little window
of a low-ceilinged apartment for which
your landlady exacts weekly toll the size
of which the manager of a fashionable
town hotel could not afford to despise.