1892 
THE  RURAL  NEW-YORKER. 
699 
“NO  PLACE  LIKE  HOME” 
FOR  SHOWING  A  MAN’S  TRUE  CHARACTER. 
A  Scrub  Home  Breeds  Scrub  Humans. 
Our  home  sermon  this  week  is  found  below.  This 
is  a  photograph  of  an  actual  American  home.  Photo¬ 
graphs  can’t  possibly  lie  ;  they  must  show  just  ex¬ 
actly  what  comes  before  them.  The  inmates  of  this 
home  put  on  their  best  clothes  and  brushed  up  their 
house  and  yard,  in  order  to  make  the  best  possible 
showing.  We  see  the  top-notch  of  their  possibilities  ! 
Look  at  the  picture.  There  is  a  whole  sermon  in 
that  woman’s  face  with  its  hard,  desperate,  hope¬ 
less  expression.  See  that  man  hauling  hay  with  an 
ox  team  and  a  rickety  wagon.  What  a  burlesque 
on  progress  in  this  age  of  steam  and  electricity  !  See 
that  log  house  with  its  broken  chimney,  broken  win¬ 
dows  and  doors,  leaky  roof  and  broken  door  step. 
Very  likely  there  are  hogs  and  chickens  in  that  rattle¬ 
trap  of  an  outbuilding.  , 
Now  where  is  this  home  located  ?  Way  back  in  the 
woods?  “Out  West?”  Down  South  among  the 
premises  didn’t  indicate  a  growth  towards  better  and 
happier  times. 
It  looks  to  us  as  though  this  man  in  the  picture  is 
the  proprietor  of  a  scrub  home.  A  scrub  is  a  degener¬ 
ate — a  melancholy  evidence  of  the  decay  of  a  once 
good  thing.  He  has  bred  for  decay,  trouble  and  deso¬ 
lation  and  he  has  been  successful  in  his  breeding. 
Careful  analysis  of  the  situation  would  probably 
reveal  one  or  all  of  these  things  : ' 
1.  The  members  of  this  family  do  not  read  The  R. 
N.-Y.  or  any  other  live  paper.  If  they  did,  they  would 
realize  how  far  they  are  behind  the  times,  and  make  a 
spurt  of  some  sort  out  of  very  shame. 
2.  For  every  line  on  that  woman’s  face  there  is  a 
cross,  ugly  word.  The  tongue  stung  that  face  out  of 
shape  just  as  Nature’s  tongue  has  scarred  that  tree. 
3.  Tucked  away  in  that  picture — out  of  sight — are 
many  pounds  of  tobacco,  and  perhaps  bottles  of 
whisky.  They  have  eaten  cracks  in  the  roof,  broken 
windows  and  loosened  nails. 
4.  General  Shiftlessness  and  Corporal  Don’t  Care  are 
A  FAIR  CHANCE! 
that’s  all,  any  good  boy  asks. 
Are  You  Mean  Enough  to  Deny  It  ? 
What  is  said  to  be  the  smallest  newsboy  in  New 
York  city  lies  on  the  floor  beside  me  as  I  write — a 
freckled,  cliubby-faced  “kid”  seven  years  old.  In 
speaking  of  the  fresh-air  children,  a  gentleman  said, 
“Poor,  ignorant  children!”  Ignorant!  They  have 
had  more  experience  and  are  better  able  to  care 
for  themselves  than  most  farmers’  children  of  twice 
their  age. 
“  I  have  30  regular  customers  among  the  brokers, 
and  sell  all  I  can  on  the  street.  When  business  is  good 
I  make  a  dollar  a  day,”  said  this  “  mite.” 
“  Where  do  you  get  anything  to  eat  ?” 
“  Why,  at  a  restaurant.  I  get  coffee  and  three  cakes 
for  eight  cents.”  A  broker  gave  him  a  check  for  $50 
for  a  Christmas  present. 
“  What  did  you  do  with  it  ?  ” 
“  Put  it  in  the  bank.  Ma  and  me  is  saving  up  now,” 
was  the  quick  reply.  His  mother  keeps  a  fruit  stand. 
i.* 
i  ;  L 
SI' 
fllPp 
PHOTOGRAPH  OF  THE  OCCUPANTS  OF  ONE  NEW  YORK  STATE  FARMER’S  HOME.  Fig.  270. 
•  indolent  “Crackers?”  No  sir,  right  here  in  New 
York  State  within  easy  distance  of  a  large  manufac¬ 
turing  town  in  a  county  celebrated  for  its  dairy  pro¬ 
ducts  where  live  some  of  the  happiest  and  most  pros¬ 
perous  farmers  in  the  world. 
Now,  with  these  facts  before  you,  figure  out  your 
own  conclusions  and  draw  your  own  lessons.  Why 
does  an  American  citizen  live  in  such  a  place  ?  Why 
doesn't  he  fix  up,  have  a  new  roof  on  that  house,  a 
clean  yard  and  a  decent  home  generally  ?  Is  there 
any  valid  reason,  social,  moral,  physical  or  political, 
why  a  man  of  ordinary  intelligence  is  obliged  to  live 
in  this  way?  The  hope  and  ambition  of  that  man 
must  be  as  dead  as  the  tree  in  his  front  yard.  What 
killed  them,  and  is  he  forced  to  conclude  that  there 
is  no  possible  resurrection  ?  These  are  questions  we 
want  answered.  Lots  of  our  greatest  men  were  born 
ami  reared  in  log  houses.  They  didn’t  stay  there, 
however,  but  grew  into  something  better.  And  while 
they  did  live  in  the  log  house  they  kept  it  patched  up 
and  cleaned  up.  It  didn’t  turn  into  a  shower  bath 
with  e/ery  rain  and  there  wasn’t  a  time  when  their 
permanent  officeholders  in  that  little  community.  They 
levied  a  prohibitive  tariff  on  ambition,  hope  and  pride, 
and  then  convinced  the  inhabitants  that  apathy  and 
sloth  are  just  as  valuable.  The  problem  is  to  smuggle 
in  ambition.  Those  boys  and  girls  are  ready  for  it. 
How  can  we  get  it  to  them  ? 
Fifty  years  ago  there  would  not  have  been  anything 
very  remarkable  about  a  big  family  in  a  log  house. 
As  we  said,  many  great  and  noble  characters  have 
been  made  in  such  places.  It  was  a  part  of  their 
strength  that  they  didn’t  stay  there  but  made  growth 
and  progress  come  to  them.  We  make  the  statement 
that  in  this  age  and  time  no  New  York  State  farmer 
has  any  business  to  rear  a  family  in  such  a  place  as  is 
here  pictured.  He  is  not  living  up  to  his  possibilities 
who  lets  a  house  tumble  down  over  his  head.  One  of 
the  old-time  pioneers  who  fought  and  won  against  the 
forest  would  have  that  house  put  in  shape  so  that  in¬ 
side  of  a  month  you  wouldn’t  know  the  place.  Why 
doesn’t  the  man  in  the  picture  do  it  ?  What  is  he 
dreaming  about  anyway  ?  What  has  he  taken  into  his 
system  that  makes  “  bad  luck  ”  break  out  all  over  him? 
“  I  never  sell  a  boy  anything  unless  he  planks  down 
the  change  first,”  said  he. 
Father !  mother  !  call  your  little  boy  of  seven  and 
think  of  him  in  Broad  street  striving  to  earn  a  living. 
Could  he?  No.  Probably  he  does  not  know  one  coin  from 
another.  Nor  has  he  the  least  idea  in  regard  to  bar¬ 
gains  or  the  value  of  money.  He  cannot  stand  gr'ef  or 
pain  without  howling.  If  asked  a  question  about 
something  he  is  not  familiar  with,  he  is  “  stuck.”  A 
lady  friend  left  her  boy  of  11  at  a  neighbor’s  with  in¬ 
structions  to  come  to  our  house  at  night.  After  sup¬ 
per  she  began  to  fidget  and  go  to  the  door.  At  dusk  I 
had  to  hitch  up  and  go  after  him,  reaching  home  be¬ 
fore  it  was  very  dark.  The  mother  hugged  him  and 
rocked  him  and  “  babied  ’’  him. 
“  I  did  not  come  because  I  was  afraid,”  bawled  the 
big  coward. 
The  newsboy  is  rolling  on  the  floor  doubled  up  with 
the  stomachache.  He  ate  so  many  of  those  big  Aga¬ 
wam  blackberries  on  top  of  a  hearty  dinner  that  he  is 
ready  to  burst,  but  not  a  whimper. 
“  Oh,  my  !  ”  he  says  to  himself,  with  a  resolute  little 
