522 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
JULY ii 
NEEDS OF NEW ENGLA.ND AGRI¬ 
CULTURE. 
The market, the man, the woman, 
the land. 
From an address at Barrington, R. I., on 
Arbor Day, 1891, by 
HERBERT W. COLLINGWOOD. 
I have a great reverence for Arbor Day 
and the lessons it teaches. About 25 years 
ago I started a little ceremony of my own, 
planting a tree to commemorate a great 
and startling event. It was on a little, 
rocky farm over in Massachusetts where I 
tried hard to fill the position of “ boy.” 
That little neighborhood represented the 
entire world to my small brain. The sun 
surely rose out of the swamps off to the 
east and it set in those dark woods off over 
the hill to the west. Doesn’t the sun’s ris¬ 
ing and setting compass the world t I had 
been reading about that old Spaniard who 
discovered a new ocean—I forget his name; 
it doesn’t matter much any way—he climbed 
a big hill and raised the flag of Spain where 
he could see the Pacific. I was not to be 
outdone by any old Spaniard, so one spring 
day, I took a stick I found down by the 
brook and started up the hill to discover a 
few new worlds. I got over the top of the 
hill—out of sight of the house—where I 
could look into the dark depths of the 
woods. It frightened me a little, and I 
stuck my stick in the ground to mark the 
latest advance of civilization—and retreated 
in good order. The next year, we took 
that hill side for a potato field. I can still 
remember how, as I stra'ghtened the 
“kink” out of my back—I saw a most 
wonderful thing. That little stick of mine 
had taken root and had grown to a small 
tree. Its roots were stretching out in the 
soil—its branches were expanding into 
the air; it had life, hope, growth and bud¬ 
ding strength. Somewhere, hidden away 
in the old stick, all these things had been 
waiting for a chance to grow and develop. 
The ice, the frost, the most discouraging 
sort of neglect could not kill them. It so 
happened that I, in my boyish search for a 
“ new world, ” gave this stick the chance it 
needed, and, truer than many human beings, 
it grasped the chance—grew and developed. 
I was always proud of that tree—I am still. 
It brings both sad and happy memories to 
mind. The old gentleman I lived with, 
once cut a good switch from it with which 
to give my jacket a needed spring dusting. 
At one time I took leaves from it to help 
decorate the one lonely soldier’s grave that 
was made in our quiet churchyard—the 
one offering our little neighborhood had 
sent to the war. I am sure this brought 
me a truer and clearer understanding of 
what liberty and freedom really mean. 
The lessons of Arbor Day are many and 
varied. We work for the future. The 
trees we plant and the plans we make for 
beautifying our homes and public places 
may not benefit us; we may never live to 
see the fulfillment of our plans. We only 
hope and trust that those who do live to 
see their full beauty will remember us with 
kindly feelings and appreciate ourpurpose. 
We work lor posterity. We owe posterity 
nothing, and yet all history proves that the 
nation or individual that looks to the 
future with the clearest vision has the 
strongest, happiest and truest present. 
Why do I speak of all this ? Because it 
happens that 257 years ago a gentleman 
moved down into Rhode Island who knew 
less about what lay in the dim forests to 
the west of Providence than I did about 
the mysteries of the woods to the west of 
that old farm. This man was a farmer. 
He laid the foundation of Rhode Island 
agriculture. The stick he drove into the 
ground prospered. Some of us have failed 
to read the signs of the times aright, and 
we have been whipped by switches taken 
from this tree, but there are still peace, 
happiness and contentment to be taken 
from it. 
What about the present possibilities of 
the Rhode Island farmer ? I am not going 
to deny the statement that if our present 
railroad and telegraph systems had been 
known in 1634, Roger Williams would prob¬ 
ably not have stopped at Providence. 
He would have gone deeper into the coun¬ 
try. Doubtless he thought he had come 
pretty close to the other side when he 
halted heie. But permit me to say that if 
Roger Williams had been wise enough to 
“go on,” he would have made the great 
mistake of his life. Here was the place 
that needed him. All he asked was a 
chance to grow. He had the sturdy strength 
of mind and body needed to forge these 
chances and possibilities into real facts. In 
spite of the solemn cry that New England 
larming is a failure, in spite of all the free, 
fertile lands of the West, in spite of all the 
talk about abandoned farms and depre¬ 
ciated values, I assert that there are agri¬ 
cultural possibilities in the State of Rhode 
Island to-day equal to tbo e in any State 
of the Union. The possioillti s are greater 
than they ever were—shall I say that the 
descendants of Roger Williams lack the 
ability to master them ? Shall I say that 
New England agriculture languishes be¬ 
cause New England people with all their 
accredited wisdom have not been strong 
enough to stand up loyally and fearlessly 
for the dignity and true worth of farm life 
or smart enough to see all the possibilities 
farming offered ; in short, to know a good 
thing when they see it ? You may not 
relish these statements. That I cannot 
help. Nobody can dodge a fact without 
huiting himself. 
The ideal farm needs a market, a man, a 
woman and a piece of ground. The Garden 
of Eden had all these things except the 
market—that was provided for them. 
Markets. —The cotton plant is the most 
remarkable bit of veg* tation in the world. 
It has to do with the national destiny. It 
brings the curse of poverty, speculation, 
pride and social distinction upon the land 
where it is grown. Men cannot be equal 
in the cotton field. It brings money, skill 
and power to the land where it is manu¬ 
factured. It is impossible to grow a boll 
of cotton in New England and yet it has 
done more than any other plant to give 
her power and greatness in national affairs. 
The Puritan first used cotton as an armor 
against Indian arrows. A little practice 
taught him the speed of an arrow. He 
learned that a jacket stuffed with cotton 
kept off a stone arrow head as well as an 
iron kettle tied around his body. The 
cotton was lighter than the iron, and your 
Puritan objected to carrying any extra 
load. But after the Indians had all been 
killed off and the people got numerous 
enough to spread out and see the country, 
other and more dangerous foes came with 
the weapons of peace and trade. Other sec¬ 
tions were opened up with stories of better 
climate, better soil and better general at¬ 
tractions. And the Puritan still stuck to 
his cotton-lined jacket for defence—only 
this time it was a factory that kept off 
the arrows of competition. Every factory 
man had a stomach, and his mill work took 
so much of his time that he could not till 
the soil, and gradually he came to rely 
upon the farmer for his food. And the 
factories grew, and the handlers, lawyers, 
and others gradually became a class of 
non-producers because the economy of 
business made it cheaper for them to 
stick to their trade and let others feed 
them. Thus the home market was formed. 
Now, the closer a farmer gets to a home 
marktt—the better farmer he is ? No, sir ; 
but the greater are his possibilities for suc< 
cess and the harder must he work his head. 
The Rhode Island farmer is within easy 
reach of the best market on this continent. 
Better yet, that market is destined to grow 
permanently better and better, a statement 
that cannot be made so positively about any 
other section of the country. I know that 
those whose desire is father to their 
thoughts tell us that all this cotton spin¬ 
ning, this woolen and wood working must 
go to the cotton fields, the sheep pens and 
the forest. What will they do after they 
get there f Come back again, for the 
very simple reason that Nature never in¬ 
tended that cotton should be grown and 
spun in the same climate. There are cer¬ 
tain conditions of humidity and tempera¬ 
ture needed to spin the best grades of cot¬ 
ton goods, that are as distinct and certain 
as fate. The northern shore of Long Is 
land Sound from Buzzard’s Bay to the New 
York line, is better favored by Nature for 
the spinning of fine cotton goods than any 
other portion of America. It is nearest in 
natural conditions to the country around 
Manchester, England, where the English 
cotton spinning business has centered. You 
cannot fight successfully against natural 
forces. It is written on the stars that light 
New England that she must become and 
remain the headquarters for American cot¬ 
ton manufacturing. The market is assured; 
we want the man to take advantage of it. 
And what a man he must be ! Strong, 
earnest, independent and hopeful; full of 
faith in himself and in his farm. Rhode 
Island agriculture wants no man to go to 
the farm just because he guesses he can 
make a living there anyway. We want 
men who are willing to say: “I’ll take 
this land to live and die with it—it repre¬ 
sents my home, my business, my life.” 
The curse of the world In all branches of 
business is half-hearted work, weak, scat¬ 
tered effort and misapplied en gy. It is 
discouraging to be called upon to compete 
with careless labor, poor ciops, unskillful 
service and the grumbling that comes from 
unpardonable blunders. Keep away from 
the farm, all you misfit people who think 
you are conferring a great favor upon 
Mother Nature by getting close to her- 
She doesn’t like you ; you only make her 
weary, and some day she will just take you 
over her broad knee and spank some sense 
into you. When I hear one of these happy, 
calm, clear-eyed, contented farmers asked 
to tell the secret of his success—how he 
makes farming pay—I have to think of the 
old story of the king who thought he was 
sick. The doctors told him he mu-t sleep 
in the shirt of a perfectly happy man before 
he could be cured. When he found the 
perfectly happy man, why, he hadn’t a shirt 
to his back—he was happy in spite of pov¬ 
erty, want, and what we call trouble, and 
he couldn’t tell what made him happy 1 It 
is so with your successful farmer. He has 
grown into his success ; that’s all there is 
to it. Does anybody understand what 
growth is ? Can you tell how you grew 
from four feet eight inches to five feet eight 
iDche3 ? No. You just ate and drank and 
slept and kept well, washed off your con¬ 
science now and then, and trusted to Na¬ 
ture to make you as strong, tall and hand¬ 
some as your neighbor. And mite by mite, 
atom by atom you grew and developed. In 
the same way, your successful man, be he 
farmer, meichant or mechanic, grew to his 
greatness and did the growing himself! 
And he can’t tell you hou> he grew except 
that he worked, thought, studied, kept 
true to 'himself and to his art, watched his 
chances, and before he knew it, got there j 
So I say this man we want must have the 
elements of growth in him, and that sub¬ 
lime faith that leads one on up the road that 
others have walked through doubt and dis¬ 
appointment to the light of rest and hap¬ 
piness. Show me a successful farmer and 
I will show you a farm that is not fer sale 1 
And this man must be matched by a 
woman. I can discuss men without fear or 
favor; I am not at all afraid to tell my 
opinion about their conduct; but when it 
comes to women 1 retire in favor of imagi¬ 
nation as being a good deal stronger than I 
am to handle the subject. But I do wish 
to say, in all seriousness, that the young 
women of to day could do much for Ameri¬ 
can agriculture if they would. Young men 
will follow them anywhere—as naturally 
as cotton manufacturing will seek the 
South. Where you find the young woman 
leading, there you will find the young men 
following. That is a settled law of nature. 
But where are they leading ? Is it towards 
the sin-laden, heart-breaking, merciless 
city, where, when a man stumbles and falls 
in the cruel race, no one has time to reach 
out a hand to help him up ? I regret to say 
that it too often is. I regret to fay that 
too many young women have a scorn and a 
contempt for country life and a craving for 
an empty, meaningless life in the town, 
that is to me incomprehensible, and I see 
in it one of the greatest evils that threaten 
our republic. 
We are becoming too much a nation of 
towns and cities. Every thoughtful man 
knows that society is not truly balanced, 
and that the wrong class of people are 
going to the country to take the place of 
deserting Americans. If 30 years hence 
this country gets the wrench she had 30 
years ago, she will be too vs eak in the back 
to stand it unless we can breed the right 
sort of country people ! The true, patriotic 
and lovable young women of to-day can 
turn the tide that is draining the heart out 
of our rural districts by leading back to 
peaceful and happy country lives men for 
whom the city has only trouble, disappoint¬ 
ment and ill health. There are thousands 
of men who would gladly go, but I do not 
think they ever will until the women who 
are nearest and dearest to them lead the 
way or march side by side. I have the 
most profound respect for the man who 
ignores himself when hi^ wife’s comfort is 
discussed. I would supremely honor the 
woman who looks to her husband’s best 
interests. 
This, however, is about as far as I have 
to go in this direction. I will drive these 
statements in like my old stick of boyhood 
and trust that they will grow and start a 
crop of thoughts. Those who are fortunate 
enough to trace back to the farm, may see 
in imagination, the sweet, calm, tender face 
of their mother. Hopeful, trusting and 
true—she represents to them the highest 
type of womanhood. I wish that young 
American women might understand what 
men truly revere and cherish in women 
and where these qualities are best culti 
vated. 
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vide ice cream 
for his fami¬ 
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once a week, 
does not live 
up to his priv¬ 
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Injurious Insects, with preventives and remedies. 
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