JULY 4© 
458 THE RURAI HEW-YORKER. 
for % JJmtng. 
THE OLD SCRUB. 
She stands there alone with her hack like a rail, 
Not a beautiful line from her head to her tall. 
With one horn turning In, and the other a stub, 
This bony old creature—The scrubby old scrub. 
She hasn’t an ounce of “blue blood” in her veins, 
She don’t know euougb to go In when it rains; 
Her hide bears the marking of Stone and of club. 
And yet she is patient—the scrubby old scrub. 
Yes. these are her children, they haven't a trace 
Of her serubbiness left—see the scorn on their face 
As they look at the patient old scrub by the gate, 
Aud wouder and wonder what iron-willed fate 
lias thrown such a bundle of bones iu their track. 
Could they turn the great curtain of weary years back’ 
And see how the patient old scrub worked alone. 
Without petting or praise, they would suredy atone 
For their conduct -they hook her and drive her about, 
She is ugly you know—they would soon drive her out, 
When a face shows the deeply cut markings of care 
We arc apt to forget It was once young and fair. 
Aud yet, she's the best of the whole herd to me. 
As I think of her long years of service, you see, 
There’s a soft spot on memory where she can rub; 
She shall live her life out—this poor scrubby old scrub. 
We are having pleasant weather again. 
How the plants enjoy the sunshine! You eau 
almost see them grow. The com seems al¬ 
most alive ami the melons are fairly racing 
with each other. Now is the time to pick out 
a strong melon vme an<l make it earn one of 
the prizes. I hope the weeds are all cut clown. 
It seems a shame to let them grow up and en¬ 
joy this beautiful weather. Now is the Time 
to make the hoe do double work. Work 
counts as it never will again daring the season. 
How did you spend the Fourth of July! 1 I 
hope you all had a good time. I hope the 
cannon did not explode; that the fire crackers 
did not burn anybody and that the rain did 
not spoil the picnic. Somehow everybody 
seems to want to make a great noise on the 
Fourth of July. Why should they? I know 
a boy who used to think the world would all 
go wrong if he did not get a big tin horn to 
blow on the morning of the Fourth. He used 
to sit up all night before the great event aud 
tire himself out, so that he was sure to go to 
sleep just when he wan boil to Vie awake. One 
year he slept out in a barn and never waked 
up uut.il it was broad daylight. Then it 
seemed as if the whole country was lost to 
him, but it never made any difference after 
all. I would gladly have all the tin horns 
thrown out of the celebration. We used to 
have great fun at the Fourth of July picnic. 
There was always a greased pig to chase aud 
a tub race. Sometimes the pig would refuse 
to run aud the tubs would all tip over, but 
that made all the more fun. 
The bootblacks in the city always look at 
your feet. When they see a person with 
muddy shoes coming along, they are after 
him at once. Whenever they ask me if I 
want a “shine' 1 1 always begin to think that 
my shoes are not looking very well. Some of 
the bootblacks make considerable money. If 
they cau save, enough to buy a comfortable 
chair with a thick umbrella over it, so that 
their customers can sit at ease out of the sun. 
they think they have a good business. As in 
every other kind of business, it is the saving 
of the pennies and the little things that give 
them a start. Fortunes are not built up out of 
what we earn as they are saved out of what we 
refuse to spend. Bootblacks tell me that it 
pays well to keep their own shoes well blacked. 
1 notice that they generally do this. Their 
faces aud hands may be dirty, but their boots 
are al ways shining. A good polish acts as a 
line advertisement. It shows that they* under¬ 
stand their business. In any kind of business 
we always feel like trusting our work to those 
• who give evidence that they know what to do. 
Bootblackiug is pretty poor business, but I 
guess we would all do it before we would 
starve. 
THE STORY OF A DISTRICT SCHOOL. 
( Continued .) 
It was to be my first season as a teacher. I 
knew nothing at all about the average district 
school. My own school-days had been passed 
at the East in a graded school where the pupils 
were held down to very strict rules. I had 
applied for tho position in Bear Creek at the 
beginning of tho Fall term, mainly because 
most of the other boys were making applica¬ 
tions. The stories of putting the teacher out 
aud of “ boarding 'round,” that the boys were 
fond of relating, had rather driven me away 
from the project. I had about decided to take 
a position on a stock farm, when the letter 
from the Bear Creek Director captured me. 
Somehow the long, formal sentences and 
the legal rhetoric gave me an exalted idea of 
the position. I knew nothing about. Bear 
Creek. A friend some 50 miles away had told 
me about the school, and I had sent my appli¬ 
cation without serious thought. To my eyes, 
viewed from the frame-work of this letter, the 
place seemed like an ideal community. No 
pupil capable of putting the teacher out could 
live in a district containing a man who could 
write such a letter as I had received. The boys 
had shown me letters from their school officers 
filled with dreadful writing and mis-spelled 
words. This pompous letter appeared to indi¬ 
cate a high state of education. I had yet to 
learn a valuable lesson that Bear Creek did 
much to crowd into my mind. 
My acceptance of the position brought out 
another eloquent letter from Mr. Forest. He 
informed me that the school would open on 
Monday following the closing of our Fall 
term, Examinations would lie finished Fri¬ 
day night, and by taking the night train I 
could reach Bear Creek on Saturday morning. 
This would give me time to “qualify myself 
as required by law” before taking up the reins 
of authority in Bear Creek. It was necessary 
for teachers in those days to pass an examina¬ 
tion in the various townships in the State. 
The office of School Inspector being a. political 
one, was frequently held by men totally unfit 
for the position. Some old schoolmaster, with 
ideas of 50 years before, which had grown 
rusty in his inactive brain, was the ideal can¬ 
didate in many instances. The great delight 
of such au examiner was to have some smart 
young college boy appear before him for an 
examination. All the old questions that had 
puzzled the brains of teachers for years were 
brought out to hurl at the head of the hapless 
college boy. 
It was the crowning eveut of a life with one 
of these old fellows to “tie up” a college boy 
with questions that no living person could 
answer satisfactorily and thus prove the great 
superiority of the old style system of education 
over the newer college trainiu g. These defend¬ 
ers of the old times were painted in their black¬ 
est colors and used as bugbears to frighten 
freshmen into hard study. Many* a poor fel¬ 
low worked far into the night for weeks in 
order to prepare himself for the great exam¬ 
ination. I was a little frightened myself at 
the thought of running against an antiquated 
education in Bear Creek, in spite of the great 
letter I had received. 
It was standing information at the college 
that we would surely be expected to prove 
that the earth is round. I have never been 
able to do that satisfactorily to a person who 
had fully decided that the earth is fiat. I 
have found many such. We had hard study¬ 
ing at the end of the term. I found a whole 
room full of freshmen one night hopelessly 
tangled over the meaning of the words “con¬ 
crete” and "abstract.” 
Frank and 1 talked matters over consider¬ 
ably. I was glad to get his views, for he hail 
had considerable experience. His district, I 
thought, was sure to fall behind mine in intel¬ 
ligence, for his director spelled school “skool,” 
and the letters ran up and dowu all over the 
page, yet in my superiority, I was glad to lis¬ 
ten to his experience. 
“The teacher’s side of district school teach¬ 
ing,” said Frank, “is about like this. His first 
business is to get his money’. That is what he 
does his work for. He has no idea of follow¬ 
ing the work up for a living, and he simply 
does it because he can make ready* money at 
it. He would like well enough to have his 
pupils make good men and women, but he 
knows that whatever good he may do them in 
foui 1 months may lie entirely overcome in the 
following term. His great object is to make 
things pleasant for all hands nud keep his 
place. 
Suppose, for example, I have some great 
brute of a boy come to school—very likely the 
son of one of the school officers. I’m a small 
man aud I would have no chance with him in 
a fight if he wanted to be unruly. If he whips 
me aud puts me out of school I lose my money 
and all chance of coming back here next year. 
What am I to do—fight him aud ruin my 
chances or humor him and thus get 
through the terra? In my present con¬ 
dition, I’ll make sure of the money first, and 
then start out to reform the world. ” 
“But a teacher ought to have higher aspir¬ 
ations” I suggested secure in the thought of 
my literary friend the director and his prob¬ 
able influence in Bear Creek. “Of course he 
had, but he won’t find it in most of our district 
schools, as you will soon find out. If you 
don’t come back here in the Bpring with your 
“high aspirations” toned dowu, I’ll give you 
my pie for a month. 
About the only species of gambling our 
finances would (>emnt ns to indulge in, con 
sistingin wagering the dessert which was Served 
in the college dining hall. Each day we were 
served with a piece of pie, a dish of sauce and 
a slice of cake. These were wagered on every 
base ball game or other exciting event. 1 re¬ 
member once, how, after an exciting game of 
base ball, the entire junior class went without 
pie for a month. 
Examinations were over at last, and after 
an hour spent at singing college songs we 
shook hands and scattered for our winter's 
work. 
(To be continued.) 
LETTERS FROM THE COUSINS. 
Dear Uncle Mark: I did wish to try and 
get the plow; but I was afraid that, some one 
of the Cousins could spell out more words 
than I could and I would fail, so I did not try. 
I do not think that I shall ever try to escort 
one of the Cousins home from spelling school, 
for fear she'd refuse, and that I could not en¬ 
dure. I hope the Cousins will all write to 
Uncle Mark, aud write the best letters they 
can, aud help to clear our page of those long 
advertisements. It seems too bad that we 
cannot have one page for so large a club of 
young farmers who are doing so much to help 
carry on a great many farms and to make the 
Rural interesting every week. Let us write 
about how Father manages his farm, and tell 
us what you think about his way, I wish to 
know more about tho Cousins—what they do 
and how they do it. I have a bed of onions, 
carrots, beets, Swiss chard and a lot of peas, 
aud 1 sell them for 50 cents a peck in the pod. 
Besides, I have several kinds of potatoes that 
must grow very large, as they must show 
themselves at the County Fair next Autumn. 
I have some early sweet corn, the earliest 
grown. You must all get some seed ami raise 
a good lot next year; it is the Cory Corn, aud 
the. very best. Now, write to U uele Mark 
such good letters that he will keep that page 
clean for us. Your nephew on the farm. 
Osage, Iowa. lewis smith. 
[That's right. I want to drive all the ad¬ 
vertisements off the page. Write again, 
Lewis.—U. M.] 
Dear Uncle Mark: I thought it about 
time to write another letter to the Rural. 
We think the Alaska Peas are all that is 
claimed for them. The Garden Treasures (lid 
not do well. The corn is looking well. W r e 
have a good Sulky Plow, so I thought 1 would 
not run opposition to the rest of the Cousins. 
My Sister Olive thinks Uncle Mark answered 
her question (is there any Aunt Mark!) when 
he wished there was an Aunt Mark to help 
count. A golden robin saved an apple tree 
for us from caterpillars. It killed them all. 
Your nephew, mont. van fleet. 
[That bird is worth its weight in gold, 
surely.—u. M.] 
Dear Uncle Mark: Once upon a time, 
(that’s the way to begin, isn’t it?) many years 
ago, I belonged to the Y. II. C., but it has 
been so long ago I am afraid 1 am forgotten. 
W r e have a large fruit farm here, principally 
of pears, though we have neurly every kind of 
fruit. Now, I know Uncle Mark is not par¬ 
tial to the LeConte pear, but we think them 
the great pear for the South. This place is 
only 14 miles from Galveston and on a rail¬ 
road, which makes it a desirable Summer re¬ 
treat. Our home is beautifully laid off with 
walks, trees, flowers, fountains and fish-ponds. 
During the Summer girls and boys from Gal¬ 
veston come up to enjoy a breath of fresh air 
and roll down the hay-stacks. One young 
lady who was visiting us, tumbled down and 
nearly broke her neck. I don’t thiuk she will 
try it soon again. Right behind our place is 
a beautiful bayou, with the trees hanging 
over the water and covered with long waving 
moss. The hanks of this tropical stream are 
covered with palmetto fan palms, feres, 
etc. Everyone bus boats and hath houses: I 
have a beautiful yacht aud skiff. So, Uncle 
Mark, 1 think I am justified in inviting you 
aud all the cousins to come aud have a picnic. 
Your Nephew, 
“TEXAS BOY.” 
Hitchcock Station, Texas. 
[Wouldn’t we like to come? We would not 
roll off the hay stack either.—u. m ] 
Dear Uncle Mark ; The Cousins’ letters are 
very interesting, i thought 1 would write. I 
live iu central New York. It is very pleas¬ 
ant, only a mile from Skeueateles Lake, There 
is a water cure and new hotel at the head, and 
a villuge at the foot. It is very pleasant to go 
around the lake on the large steamer. I put 
the melon seeds iu cake boxes; they wore 
about three inches high, the middle of May. 
We have a peach orchard containing300 trees. 
I have some peach trees; they had some peacli- 
es last year that were very good. 1 raised 
them from the Stump the World pit. 1 buve 
one grape vine, 1 drove in some posts and 
nailed on some boards aud tied it up. 
Mandana, New York. kva bowker. 
Dear Uncle Mark: As you made me a 
member of the Y. H. C., 1 will try my best to 
make the club as bright as imssible. Thauks 
for the sweet j teas you sent me. 1 gave them 
to my sister Fern to try her luck with them. 
She may write this Sunuuer to tell how they 
are coming along. She wants to bo a member 
of the Y. H. C. The freeze of Junuary 7th, 
when the thermometer showed from four to 
six degrees below zero, killed the tender roses 
and fruit buds, but the later freeze, with mer¬ 
cury at 35 degrees above zero, killed most of 
the fruit buds that were remaining. When I 
entered school this Winter, for the first time, 
I entered the third grade, and I am now in the 
sixth grade. I will write again this Fall and 
send a report of my vegetable garden. I won¬ 
der how many of the cousins cau write phono¬ 
graphy or short-hand. I can write some—I am 
learning. Your nephew, 
WILLIE B. MUNSON. 
Dennison. Texas. 
[You made pretty good work in school. I 
wish more of the cousins could write short¬ 
hand. It is a valuable art, aud will be very 
useful to our coming farmers,]—u. m. 
Dear Uncle Mark: I have not written for 
a loug time, but I have been so busy going to 
school aud helping in the house, and making 
my flower lied, that I have hardly had time 
to write before. I received the sweet peas, 
and thank you for them, but I did not get 
them planted very early: so they are only one 
or two inches high. My sister is 14 years old 
aud I am 11, aud we intend to keep house our¬ 
selves this Summer, for our house keeper is 
going home, and our Mamma died a year ago 
last March. My little brother Frank has not 
missed one day nor been tardy this Summer, 
his first term of school. Your Niece, 
Rockland, Pa. katie jack. 
[1 think you will make very nice little house¬ 
keepers. We all want to know how you suc¬ 
ceed.—U. M.] 
Dear Uncle Mark: I would like to join 
the Y. H. C., if you will let me. I live in the 
Judith Basin, M. T., about 170 miles from the 
Capital. Papa received the seed you so kind¬ 
ly sent him. The Alaska peas are in bloom 
and look very nicely. I see by the Rural, 
May 39, it wall soon tie time to fight potato 
bugs. I think I can tell you a better way to 
kill them than knocking them into pans. R.un 
a furrow with a shovel plow by the side of the 
potatoes. Take a bunch of weeds and knock 
the bugs into it. As the bugs try to crawl 
out (the earth, which will be dampl will roll 
from under them aud the hot sun will soon 
kill them. There will be a few to get back, 
but this must be done two or three times on 
hot sun-shiny days. We have 35 head of cattle, 
two horses, six pigs, aud three pet lambs. We 
planted part of the Garden Treasures, but they 
never came up to do any good. We have two 
plants about five inches high, dark-green 
leaves, and are very thorny; can anyone tell 
me what they are? 1 have a new kind of peas; 
the}’ are a cross between the marrowfat field 
pea aud a garden pea 1 do not know the 
name of; they look like the Prince of Wales— 
only they are about a week earlier, but the 
new kind has a vine like the Prinee of Wales, 
a flat light-green pod, and large fiat smooth 
peas. If Uncle Mark would like to try some 
of them, I will send them this Fall when they 
get ripe, if the frost or bugs or something else 
do not take them. They are growing nicely 
now. We have ubout 30 seedling gooseberries, 
aud one seedling strawberry. 
Your Niece FLORA MONTGOMERY. 
Philbrook, Montana. 
[I will gladly plant the peas. I think it 
will be handier to poison the bugs.—u. m.] 
Dear Uncle Mark; I’m a little girl nine 
years old, and I would like to be one of the 
Cousins. I live on a farm and l’a keeps a 
dairy. We keep 33 cows. We raise a great 
many chickens. We have three colts and two 
old horses. Wo have three little kittens just 
big enough to piny. The woods are right iu 
front of our house, and I can go in them uuy 
time I want to, and I can have lots of fun. 1 
like to read the letters very much. We have 
a big dog named Jack. My sister w ould like 
to know whether you are a young or au old 
man. She would like to have you come out 
here so she could look ut you. 
FLORENCE CAMPBELL. 
Dansville, New York. 
[What do you think about it—am I old or 
young? A great many people don’t like to 
tell then - age. I guess 1 am both old aud 
young. I have an idea that people would bo 
disappointed somewhat iu looking at me, so I 
had better keep out of sight.—u. m.] 
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