Jan. 7.—That fool weasel or ermine was in the trap this morning. You needn't tell me that they are cunning or anything of that sort. By the way, working a crosscut saw isn't nearly so bad a job on the second day. One can get used to anything.
Jan. 11.—My move, is it? Where did you move? Oh!—well, why didn't you say so? I've been waiting for you to move for the past week.
A checker epidemic is now raging in the country. It is affecting people in much the same way as tarantism, or the dancing sickness, affected the Italians in the middle ages. We speak the language of checkers, act the actions of checkers, and even in our sleep we try to make moves on the patchwork quilts. When the boys go to do the chores they jump the swill-buckets over the pigs, and when the girls make pancakes they jump them around the pan instead of turning them. The storekeepers jump the pennies over the quarters when making change, and the bakers jump the buns with the cookies when filling orders. Even the snowflakes seem to be jumping one another as they fall, and then they drift in zigzags towards some mysterious king-row beyond the horizon. The present state of the public mind is shown by the following clipping from the Appin news of The Glencoe Transcript:—"Ed. Laughton and John McMaster have chosen sides for another checker match. Each side has thirteen players, and over 500 games must be played in the next two weeks. The losers must provide an oyster supper and concert in the Town Hall. Every available space in town is covered by a checkerboard."
The outbreak is by no means local. This week some one sent me a copy of The Grimsby Independent, and marked a letter which overflows with Gargantuan mirth and Homeric defiance. It is humorous to the point of libel:—
"A CHALLENGE TO THE FIVE SCOTCH-IRISH JOHNS OF CAISTOR
"There are so many contests now going on, some fool and some legitimate, that the writer thought it would be unique to have one on the checkerboard here in Grimsby. Now, if the Five Johns of Caistor, who have had a checkered career living out in the jungles, viz.: John Young, John Deans, John Warner, John Jackson, and John Leslie, could be induced to leave their lairs for a short time to make some moves on the magic squares (and, by the way, it is the only time some of them do move) we will trim them to a peak. There will be in this contest no houses and lots, pianos, trips to the Falkland Islands, moon, etc., but they will get their paunches well filled with 'Scotch haggis' and potatoes boiled with the hides on; the liquid refreshments men from that burg always carry on or in their person. If they should win, perhaps our other John might give us a trophy out of his rare collection to turn loose in their swamps—"
"'A Hip-pa-con-da-hare
Or a High-ta-ton-ta-toose
A Wolver-ine-achipmunk,
Or Tam-a-ram-a-goose.'—D. Jackson."If the Grimsby-Caistor match is pulled off I hereby issue a challenge to the victors on behalf of the winners of the Appin tournament. I pin my faith to our local talent. We have some of the most sedentary players in this vicinity that the country has ever produced. They are wearing the bottoms out of the chairs playing checkers, and if a fire broke out when a game was in progress they have their minds so completely concentrated on the moves that they would have to be carried out with the checkerboard on their knees, and they would finish the game in a snowdrift, without noticing that anything had happened. Bring on your champions.
As far as I am concerned, I am forced to confess that I am not making the progress I should. I have too many things to take my mind off the game, and a man can never hope to be a great checker-player if he ever thinks of anything else. The boys have got used to all my tricky moves, and have developed new ones of their own, so that when we play my kings and men are all the time being caught on level crossings.
Jan. 14.—The editorials in the papers urging the farmers to produce more and better foodstuffs, so that they will make more money and reduce the cost of living in the cities, are being read by the farmers with growing wonder. The answer to these eloquent appeals is simply, "What's the use?" Is it possible that the economic writers of the cities have not discovered that the good old law of Supply and Demand is as dead as Competition? The trusts and mergers killed Competition and gave us wasteful methods and high prices of monopoly instead, and now the transportation companies and the middlemen have strangled our old friends Supply and Demand. A point has been reached where our historical societies should be erecting brass tablets sacred to the memory of the economic laws that once governed trade and commerce. It would be a good idea to have these tablets put up on the walls of our parliament buildings, so that our representatives might have constant reminders of the results of granting special privileges to favoured persons and corporations.
But it is hardly exact to say that Supply and Demand are dead. They are simply handcuffed and fettered. According to the papers, Demand is very noisy in the cities, but his twin brother, Supply, cannot rush to his assistance. What's the use? If Demand could only find some way of offering to the farmers those wonderful prices that we hear about it would be surprising to see how Supply would wax strong. When H. H. Vreeland was traffic manager for one of the Hudson River railways that feed into New York he worked out a scheme by which the farmers could reach the city markets with their produce at the least possible expense. The immediate result was that the district through which his railway passed at once became one of the greatest dairying sections in the country. When Demand expressed his needs to the farmers in terms of higher prices, instead of newspaper reports, they adopted better methods at once and doubled and trebled their products. That one act by the traffic manager did more to promote the best methods than could be done by an agricultural college, and his railway reaped the reward in the form of increased freight at a reasonable rate. I am inclined to think that if something were done to enable the farmers to market their products profitably more would be done to promote scientific agriculture than any one dreams. The farmers would then go after education instead of waiting to have it carried to them. It is no answer to say that the farmers should co-operate. They are already co-operating in a Government that should look after their interests. What is the use of telling farmers that they should feed only the best stock when they know that, taking things year in and year out, about all they can hope to get by feeding the best stock is more fertiliser to enrich their land? Once do away with the restrictions that keep Supply and Demand apart, and you will solve both the problem of cheap living and the spread of agricultural education.
Jan. 15.—When one is prepared for it, this zero weather is as delightful in its way as the balmiest season of spring or summer. At no other time of the year is the air so pure and stimulating. Yesterday I had a walk in the forenoon and another at night. In the forenoon the sun was reflected from millions of fresh snowflakes that had sifted down in the night and had not been blown away by the wind. But though the sunlight was dazzling there was not enough warmth in it to start the growth of an icicle on the south side of the house. At first I thought I was not going to see a trace of a living thing except occasional mouse-tracks, but Sheppy, the collie, made a sudden rush and for a moment I saw a black squirrel making a flying leap from one tree to another, where it disappeared into a hole. A little farther on we started a flock of quail, and instead of alighting in scrub of some kind they lit in the tops of the tallest maples. While searching for them where they were perched on the branches I was surprised to see a highholder busily hunting for insects in the rough bark of a maple.
At night I went for another walk and saw the snowflakes glisten by moonlight. As the thermometer stood at nine below zero, I had to maintain a lively pace to keep from being nipped by the frost. Not even an owl hooted and not a sound was to be heard except the rhythmic "gling-glong" of sleigh-bells a couple of miles away. There were as many stars in the snow as in the sky, and the silver moon presided over both with still serenity. In spite of the loneliness and the silence I am not sure but the walk by night was more enjoyable than the walk by day.
Jan. 20.—The January thaw has arrived, and up to the time of writing it has proven itself an entirely competent thaw. It has its work cut out for it, however, and only time will tell whether it is equal to its task. That last snowstorm piled the drifts as high as the fences, choked all the drains and watercourses, and brought everything in the country to a standstill for some days. There was no doubt but winter was with us, and then came signs of a change, though the weather-wise were unable to say with certainty just what the change would be.