746 
•Pit RURAL NEW-YORKER 
June 3, 1022 
HOPE FARM NOTES 
Some years ago I had a brief exper¬ 
ience as an actor. I joined a “barn¬ 
storming'’ company, ami we traveled 
through ihe snows of a Northern Winter 
playing “The Lady of Lyons" and similar 
classics. Perhaps the least said about 
these performances the better, though I 
could unfold many a tale of more or less 
dramatic interest. Our loader was a 
versatile man. lie could sell tickets, 
then slip in behind the scenes and dress 
for the hero’s part, then put on a wig 
and beard and play the part of villain, 
act as stage manager and give the leading 
voice in a “inob scene/’ A great actor, 
surely, and I learned one great lesson 
from him in my efforts to please the 
public. 
“The great secret of success for a pub¬ 
lic man,” be said, “is to keep changing 
the scene. People get tired of too much 
of the same thing. They want frequent 
change of background. If you have only 
one back set on your stage, keep chang¬ 
ing it, even if yon have to show it upside 
clown. Change Hour scene!” 
T have found that very wise advice. I 
have seen many excellent actors and 
writers and speakers and newspaper men 
who, after a time, grow monotonous be¬ 
cause they do not change their scene even 
to the extent of turning it upside down. 
* # * * * 
And so this week I think 1 will change 
our scene—away from the fresh beauty 
of our wind-swept lulls to the dust and 
heat of the great city. I have told you 
how little Rose was taken back to the 
city. You can imagine how we felt, 
knowing, as we did, how the bloom would 
fade from the little flower-like face; yet 
we were powerless to change the verdict. 
We just waited. Suddenly there came a 
hurried message for some of us to come 
in, for grim disease had suddenly thrust 
its face into the tenement, with a power 
that could not be denied. An instant de¬ 
cision ivas necessary. Mother and her 
daughter took the car and went to the 
city, and in the late afternoon there came 
a ’phone message for me to come up. If 
was a bright, hot afternoon, and as 1 
turned the corner of a street in the upper 
part of New York I fully realized that 
there was a complete change of scene— 
from our green hills and waving trees. 
The sudden heat had driven hundreds of 
tenement dwellers out into the street. 
Swarms of little children darted about 
on the hot pavements like small birds, 
dodging in and out among the trucks and 
cars with a skill which many an adult 
might envy. Great lines of baby car¬ 
riages stood in the sun. for there is no 
such thing as “race suicide" in this quar¬ 
ter. Groups of women sat in doorways, 
and here and there men lounged in the 
sun. A familiar car, well battered and 
travel-stained, stood before one large 
tenement house. This car was as bright 
and shiny as any of them when it was 
new. but it was bought for use rather 
than parade, and now I imagine the dust 
and wrinkles and wear of its life make 
it look very much as its owners do. 
Three little children were playing in the 
car, and two familiar figures were evi¬ 
dently discussing some great question as 
1 turned the corner. There was a flash 
of a small specimen of humanity out of 
the ear and a rush across the street, and 
little Rose was upon ine. But ii looked 
like a faded little Rose. The bloom had 
left her cheek, her great eyes had dark 
circles about them, and the little hand 
which reached up to me was as thin and 
transparent as a rose leaf. It had indeed 
been a change of scene for little Rose. 
* * * * * 
Down in the basement was a tenement 
of throe small rooms. Two of them con¬ 
tained beds so large that there was 
hardly three feet of open space at the 
side and foot. A kitchen, perhaps 8x10 
feet, served as cooking, eating and living 
room. There could be no sunshine here 
except in front, where a narrow splinter 
of light worked down during the late 
afternoon. The walls were burc. except 
for a covering of loose and wrinkled wall¬ 
paper. The walls of the inner rooms 
Were damp and dingy. The sunlight 
never touched them. In ihe kitchen a 
child's doll, a little bundle of ribbon and 
a few bright pictures showed in the dim 
light—a pitiful effort to add a little 
touch of beauty. And six people were 
living in this place. On a bed in the 
front room lay a woman, white as a 
sheet, the pallid, unhealthy skin drawn 
tightly over her face—so tightly that it 
seemed as if the great eyes had been 
pulled open to twice their size. It needed 
but an instant glance to see that this was 
Rose’s mother. In her youth she must 
have been a beautiful woman. 1 imagine 
that 10 years ago she was a slender, 
dark-haired, vivacious girl—just such as 
Rose will be 12 years from now. But now 
the woman lay there helpless, almost, 
bloodless, as it seemed, and with arras 
and hands reduced to skin and veins and 
bones. 
***** 
Well, there were four children—one a 
baby of less than a year. A woman sat 
beside the bed holding this little infant— 
feeding it milk. They wanted us to take 
all four of the children, but that was 
impossible, so we offered to take Rose 
and her little sister. The woman who 
sat beside the bed had offered to take the 
baby for a time, and keep an eye on the 
older boy. As I sat and watched this 
kindly woman who, in addition to all her 
work and poverty, had volunteered to 
care for this baby, I realized how it is 
given even to the humblest of us to rise 
up to deeds of (rue nobility. For this 
plain woman in her simple working 
dress, sitting there with that helpless 
baby in her arms, was giving, out of her 
hard life, the most glorious offering to 
God. And the beauty of it all was that 
Ibis kindly woman was doing it uncon¬ 
sciously —with no thought of advertise¬ 
ment or reward. Do you wonder that as 
I watched her with that baby my mind 
wandered away from that dim. drab tene¬ 
ment to a great picture gallery where, 
years before, I had stood, strangely af¬ 
fected, before a copy of Raphael’s great 
painting, “The Madonna and Child?” 
Here it was once more—a plain face 
glorified by love and sacrifice. 
***** 
The woman was to he taken to the 
hospital that night, and the little home 
was to be broken up and abandoned. It: 
is a long ride from Harlem to Hope 
Farm, and little Rose and Rita must bid 
their mother good-bye. Rita is young 
and healthy, and in the joy of going to 
the country she did not fully realize 
what this parting meant. Rose is older, 
both in years and in character—and l 
think she knew. She came and stood by 
the bed and pul her little hand on her 
mother's forehead. They just looked at 
each other for a moment—mother and 
daughter. They just looked into each 
other's eyes, and I think that all the 
gentleness—all the nobility in that 
woman’s sad and wasted life—-rushed for 
the moment into her soul and looked out 
upon her child. And little Rose stood 
there, biting her little rosebud of a mouth 
to make it assume a smile, and then 
turned and ran lightly from the room. 
But I saw her little face as she ran It 
was twitching and struggling to keep 
from crying, for she knew that her 
mother must not go to the hospital with 
a troubled heart. And then I under¬ 
stood! This brave little girl had been 
going through this tenement life without 
complaint in the hope that she might 
help her mother. She had love for ns, 
and she knew that our life was better 
for her, but it was just one of those cases 
where blood is thicker than water, and 
this little girl, with a woman’s character, 
was willing to sacrifice comfort, health, 
home, in the thought that, she must show 
affeetiou for her mother. 
***** 
The news of trouble spreads quickly 
through the tenements, and as we packed 
into the car I saw a group of sympa¬ 
thizers lined up on the sidewalk. There 
were a dozen women, each with a well- 
filled baby carriage, and all of them fully 
understanding what it would mean to go 
to the hospital and separate from their 
children. This group of women and baby 
wagons seemed to me like a group of 
human artillery throwing little shells of 
life into the future. As I looked at little 
Rose I realized what it will mean to 
future generations if these shells are 
loaded with the spirit of revolution and 
bitterness. The car finally puffed ami 
groaned a bit and then started off west. 
My daughter held the wheel and 1 sat be¬ 
side her holding little Rose on ray knee. 
Behind sat Mother and Rita. Off we 
went to the ferry. The sun was going 
down, and there were shadows on (lie 
east side of Fort Leo as we crossed the 
river, but the face of good old New Jer¬ 
sey seemed bright and fair as we sped 
over the road and slowly climbed the 
hills above tbe liver. Tl\e entire family 
were waiting for us, and it was a fine 
homecoming for the little girls. Rita is 
a strong, “chunky,’’ solid little thing, 
active and amiable. Rose is slender and 
delicate—more silent and thoughtful for 
her month ill the tenement. She lost 
five pounds, and had too little to lose at 
best. The doetor smiles hopefully and 
tells us to let her play all she can in the 
sunshine, take plenty of sleep and eat 
what she will of cream, milk, butter, fat 
meat, fruit and vegetables. You may be 
sure there will lie no “oleo” for little 
Rose. You may be sure that we are 
working hard to produee a good crop of 
tine fruit this year. We need it badly, 
but most of all we desire to grow a fine 
crop of little girl. We must bring the 
bloom back to that little face, replace 
that lost flesh—and add to it. and wipe 
out the hollows under those little eyes. 
It will be done, too. II. W. C. 
Shade Trees In Virginia 
I noticed the advice on page 0.14 as to 
flic most desirable lawn or shade trees. 
About 20 years ago, "Arbor Day,” the 
property owners of this town transplant¬ 
ed several hundred trees, maple and Car¬ 
olina poplar. Tbe maple trees are the 
most beautiful shade trees I ever saw, the 
foliage remains green until frost, and 
after frost the most beautiful blond of 
colors you ever saw, mostly golden, re¬ 
maining on the trees until late in the 
Fall. The poplar trees have grown very 
tall, with short branches, and commence 
to shed in August. These trees are un¬ 
sightly. Most of the maple trees have 
been felled by property owners. 
Virginia. h. j. arkington. 
Cultivation Up To the 
Last Minute 
Successful gardeners realize the 
advantages shown in increased 
crops and better produce that 
would come from frequent culti¬ 
vation up to the time of harvest. 
The excessive cost of hand and 
wheel hoeing usually make this 
impractical. 
But with the SPRYWHEEL 
TRACTOR this can be accom¬ 
plished at a ridiculously low 
cost and up to the very moment 
of harvest. 
One man and a SPRYWHEEL 
will do the work of five men 
with hand hoes at a fuel cost 
of about 30 cents a day. 
No rows too close, no crops too high 
to use the SPRYWHEEL. Changed 
from a cultivator to a power lawn 
mower in a jiffy. Strong, sturdy, and 
practically fool-proof. 
Price, $150, F. O. B. Boston. 
H. C. DODGE, Inc. 
34 Alger Street - Boston, Mass. 
125-22 
SPRYWHEEL 
[ When you write advertisers mention 
The Rural New-Yorker and you’ll get 
a quick reply and a "square deal. " See 
guarantee editorial page. : : : 
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Do You Want Duty-Free POTASH? 
Recently a United States Senator, who is 
actively engaged in trying to defeat the 
“joker”in the Free List which puts a 100 per 
cent duty on agricultural Potasn, asked why 
the farmers were not represented at the 
hearings before the Senate Finance Com¬ 
mittee when the subject was under consider¬ 
ation. A man, who attended these hearings, 
called the Senator’s attention to thefaetthat 
three owners of farms had appeared, repre¬ 
senting New Jersey, Missouri and Indiana; 
that the New Jersey Federation of County 
Boards of Agriculture, and the Representa¬ 
tive of the New Jersey State Grange ap- 
E eared; that the Representative of the 
fational Grange made a statement; that the 
National Farm Bureau Federation and the 
Representative of the National Bureau of 
Farm Organizations had been actively work- 
ingforfree Potash, and that the Washington 
Representatives of these Agricultural Or¬ 
ganizations represented millions of real far¬ 
mers, who paid good money to belong to these 
organizations and to support their repre¬ 
sentation in Washington, upon whom they 
depended to look after legislation affecting 
farmers’ interests. 
Later on it developed that other Senators 
had this same thought—that the farmers 
were not asking that Potash remain on the 
Free List. There can be no question that all 
farmers most strongly object to paying two 
dollars for a dollar’s worth of Potash. 
Ten people, representing farmers, fertilizer 
manufacturers, producers of imported pot¬ 
ash, and former producers of American 
potash, appeared before the Senate Finance 
Committee, or filed briefs on the subject. 
Of these, nine asked that Potash remain on 
the Free List and one asked for the duty. 
Why then have the Senators come to believe 
that farmers are indifferent about the 
matter? 
The explanation is to be found in the fact that 
the “United States Potash Producer s’Asso¬ 
ciation” maintains in Washington an organ¬ 
ization which is very active in urging a duty 
on the farmers’ Potash. At the hearing 
their propagandist shouted: “Where was 
the American farmer yesterday? Where 
was the farmer of the South, who uses more 
Potash than any other farmer in the coun¬ 
try? . . . Where was the American Farm 
Bureau Federation, which has its offices in 
Washington? Where was the National Bu¬ 
reau of Farm Organizations, representing 
thousands of farmers?” 
This was clear bluff , for these organizations 
were represented and they have taken their 
stand squarely for Free Potash. 
But the bluff, constantly repeated, seems to 
have made an impression that will be costly 
to the consumers of Potash, unless imme¬ 
diate steps are taken to show the Senators 
that farmers are very much in earnest about 
the matter. The farmers’ representatives 
in Washington must be supported by the 
farmers at home. 
Th c only effective way to do this is for farmers 
to write to both of their United States Senators 
at Washington , urging them to see that the. 
"joker" at the end of Paragraph be struck 
out a nd that Potash used, m fertilizers remain 
on the Free List, where it always has been. 
The Senate is now considering the Tariff 
Bill. Write your Senators today. 
During the time when foreign Potash could 
not be obtained. Potash sold at more than ten 
times the prewar or the present prices. Then 
the American producers, some of whom are 
called the “Borax Brigade”, had the oppor¬ 
tunity of profiteering to the limit, and of 
selling at very high prices Potash of an in¬ 
ferior, and sometimes injurious kind. 
Now they ask for “protection” in the form 
of one of the most excessive duties in the 
whole Tariff Act. Unless the farmers act 
promptly, they are likely to get it. 
SOIL AND CROP SERVICE, POTASH SYNDICATE 
H. A. HUSTON, Manager 
42 Broadway New York 
liuut- 
