1442 
HOPE FARM NOTES 
The Finest Lesson 
Paijt I. 
Tt is tlip privilogo of youth and old age 
to make comparisons. One has little or 
nothing of experience to use as a yard- 
—the other has everything life can 
offer him. One compares with imag¬ 
ination. the other with fact, and youth, 
liaving a wider pasture for thought, usu¬ 
ally finds i)leasanter places for feeding. 
My children have spent nearly every 
(diristmas thus far before this open fire, 
while I have I'anged far and wide, from 
Florida to the (Jreat Lakes, and from 
(’ape Cod to Color.ado. As we sit in 
silence before our fire the boy.s can im¬ 
agine them.selves in some hunter's camp, 
or with the soldiers in France, while 
the girls can drop themselves down from 
the wings of fancy in Cuba or Frazil. 
I might try that, but stern fact drags 
me down to other days, and old-time 
companions come creeping out of the 
past to say “Merry Christma-s” and stand 
here, a little sorrowful that they can¬ 
not give the children something of their 
story. So I must be their spokesman, it 
seems, and the children give me a chance 
when after dreaming a while they come 
and ask me to tell about a real Christ¬ 
mas. “What was the finest Christmas 
lesson you ever had?” They do not put 
it in finite these words, but that is the 
sense of it. So there comes to me a 
great desire to live up to the highest test 
of stoi’y-telling—that is, so to interest 
ynur audience that they will forget to 
eat their apples. 
Hired Max.— The room seems ful of 
the shadowy forms of men and women 
who have stepped out of the pa.st to 
bring back a Christinas memory. Which 
of these old life teachers ever gave me 
the best lesson? They were all good— 
even that big fellow who tried to kick 
me out of a lumber camp—and failed 
or that slimy little fraud who heat me 
out of a week’s wages I I think, how¬ 
ever, that those two women over by the 
window lead all the rest. One is an old 
woman—evidently a cripple; the other 
younger—you cannot sec her face in the 
dim light, but she stands by the older 
woman’s chair. Yes, they represent the 
best Christmas lesson I have had. So 
come up to the fire; forget _ the wind 
roaring outside, and listen to it. I was 
a hired man that Winter in a W estern 
State. Some of the farmers who read 
this will remember me—not for any 
gri'at skill I showed at farm work, but 
because I spent my spare time (that 
meant nights) going around “speaking 
pieces.” I am greatly afraid that as an 
agi'iculturist I did better work at keep¬ 
ing air hot than I ever did at heating 
plowshares through labor. 
Great Days. —You see, it was this 
way. 1 was a freshman at an agricul¬ 
tural college, at a time when these in¬ 
stitutions were struggling hard to live. 
The average freshman thinks he is the 
salt of the earth, forgetting that he is 
salt which has not gained its savor 
through losing its freshness. A man 
gets very little salt in his character until 
he goes out and assaults the world ! At 
any rate, I had no money salted down 
and no fresh supplies coming in. I had 
to get out during the W’inter and earn 
the price of another term at college. I 
tried canvassing for a book. We will 
draw the curtain down over that act. 
There will be no recalls. Some men tell 
me of making small fortunes as book 
agent.s. From my experience I judge 
these men to be supermen or superior 
prevaricators, to put it mildly. I worked 
the job for all I wa.s worth in spite of 
all obstacles, such as the wrath of farm¬ 
ers who had been cheated through sign¬ 
ing jiapers. the laughter of pretty girls 
and the teeth of dogs, and sold four 
books in two weeks! At last I struck a 
farmer who offered me a job iligging a 
ditch. I made him a pre.sent of my 
“.sample copy” and went to work. 
The Money QrESTiox. —\ dollar 
makes an interrogation point with a barb 
on it. .\bout all a farm produced in 
Winter, those days, was enough to eat 
and drink and something to sell for the 
taxes. The farmer I worked for had a 
red colt that was to settle with the tax 
man, but just before the taxes were due 
the colt ran away and broke his neck. I 
cannot say that my labor was worth 
much, but education is not one of the 
few things which come to us without 
money or price. Then 1 suddenly made 
the discovery that I was “a talented 
young elocutionist.” At least that is 
what the local paper stated, and do we 
not know that all we see in print must 
be true? I suppose I could tell you of 
one Christmas long ago that I spent as 
“supe” in a big theater and what befell 
us behind the scenes. At any rate. I 
could “speak pieces,” and I had a long 
7She RURAL NEW-YORKER 
December 22, 1017' 
string of them in mind. So what was a 
rather poor mimic in a city became a 
“talented elocutionist’’ far back over mud¬ 
dy roads. You want to remember that 
this was a long time before the bicycle 
had grown away from the clumsy “veloci¬ 
pede.” There were few, if any. “good 
roads.” No one dreamed of gasoline en¬ 
gines or automobiles. During an oiien 
Winter the mud was 10 to 20 inches 
deep, and every mile of travel \yas to be 
multiplied by the number of inches of 
mud. Amid such surroundings it is not 
so hard to be known as a “talented elo¬ 
cutionist” when your voice is strong, 
your tongue limber, your memory good 
and you have had a chance to see and 
hear some of the great actors from be¬ 
hind the scenes. 
A Dig Hit. —So that was what I made 
at night, even if I made a small dent in 
that ditch by day. I had audiences all 
the way from four or five up to 2(K). 
When life was dull and blue a neighbor 
would come with his family to our farm 
house and I would sit by the kitchen fire 
and entertain them. Once a farmer had 
a little trouble with his mother-in-law, 
who seemed to hold the mortgage. On 
his invitation I dropped in one night and 
a few of my “funny pieces” made this 
good lady laugh so that she forgave her 
son-in-law. Then I was called into the 
chamber of a very sick man to recite sev¬ 
eral “religious pieces.” I shall not .soon 
forget that scene. The poor sick man 
lying there with eyes closed, the entire 
family and some of the neighbors grouped 
around like a company of mourners, and 
the “talented elocutionist” standing by 
the head of the bed in the gray light of 
the dying day. Yes, sir, the man recov¬ 
ered I They have a famous saying here 
in New I’ork. “It’s a great life if you 
don’t weaken !” I found it so that Win¬ 
ter, and as life was young and full am¬ 
bition had not been severely wounded, I 
did not weaken. 
Limited Income. —But all this, of 
course, was mere practice for larger oc- 
ca.sions. Whenever I could work up a 
crowd I would go aliout to .schoolhouses 
and churches, entertain as best I could 
and then “pass the hat I” What evenings 
they were! They were usually in old- 
fashioned schoolhou.ses with the big iron 
stove in the center of the room. Such 
houses were rarely used at night, and 
there would be no light except as some 
of the audience brought lamps or can¬ 
dles. The room was usually crowded 
and the stove red-hot. In most cases the 
meeting would be opened with prayer 
and .some local politician might make a 
speech. Then the “talented elocutionist” 
would stand up near the stove. He nev¬ 
er was an “impressive figure” at his 
be.st. In tho.se old days the best he could 
afford was a pair of thick cowhide hoots, 
a second-hand coat which came from a 
long, thin man, and trou.sers evidently 
made originally for a fat man. Still, 
the light was dim and the speaker re¬ 
membered hearing .Tames E. Murdock say 
that if you could only put yourself into 
the s/u’n’i of your talk the audience 
would follow you there and forget how 
you looked. I had seen a great actor 
play the part of Fagin in “Oliver 
Tw'i.st,” and at these entertainments I 
tried giving an imitation of him, until a 
big husky farmer tried to whip me. I 
had a job to explain to my friends that 
he was trying to punch Fagin—not me. 
These audiences knew no middle ground. 
They wanted some burlesque or some 
tragedy of their own lives which would 
tear at their heartstrings. Now and then 
as I recited in those hot, dim school- 
houses the keen humor of the thing 
would come to me, or like a flash the 
poverty and pathos of my own struggle 
would" sweep over me with overwhelm¬ 
ing force. Then I could feel that audi¬ 
ence moving with me and for a brief 
moment I got out of the ditch of life and 
knew the supreme joy of the complete 
mastery of one who can separate the 
human imagination from the flesh and 
compel it to walk with him where he 
wills. 
Poor Pay. —These moments were all 
too brief. Back we came finally to the 
dim, stifling room, and the rather ignoble 
and commonplace job of trying to meas¬ 
ure the value of a thrill by a voluntary 
contribution. I have had many a kigk 
hope and many a dream of a new suit of 
clothes blackballed on “passing the hat.” 
At first, when a man got up and said: 
“Gents, this show is worth a dollar, and 
I will pass the hat.” I took him at his 
word and expected a hat full of bills. 
Yet even when I shook out the lining I 
could find nothing larger than a dime. 
During that Winter I made <a fine collec¬ 
tion of buttons. It may be that most 
men want to keep the left hand from 
knowing what the right hand is. up to, 
but evidently you must have one hand or 
the other under public observation if you 
expect much out of the owner. I have 
learned to have no quarrel with human 
nature, and I imagine after all that the 
hire fitted the value of the laborer’s efforts 
fairly well. 
Christmas. —It came to us in that val¬ 
ley with the same beautiful message which 
was carried to all. It was a cold Christ¬ 
mas, and as we went about our chores be¬ 
fore day and at night the stars were bril¬ 
liant. The crinkle of the ice and snow and 
the hum of the wind over the fences and 
through the trees came to me like the 
murmur of a faraway song. It touched us 
all. We saw each other in something of a 
new light of glory. The woman of the 
house had, I think, regarded me as a sort 
of awkward hired man. Now she seemed 
to see a boy, far from home, struggling 
with rather feeble hands against the flood 
which swept him away^from the ambition 
to earn an education. I am sure that it 
came to her that the Christmas spirit 
must be capitalized to help me on my way. 
So she organized a big gathering for 
Christmas Eve at which I was to “speak’’ 
and accept a donation. It was to be over 
in the next district, and that good woman 
took the sleigh and drove all over that 
county drumming up an “audience.” I 
am sure that there never was a “star" be¬ 
fore or since who had such an advance or 
advertising agent as I did on that occa¬ 
sion. She was a good trainer, too. The 
day before Christmas I • husked corn in 
the cold barn, and this delicate wom.an 
ran thi’ough the snow with two hot bis¬ 
cuits and a piece of meat. There I 
worked through the day husking corn with 
my hands while I “rehearsed” a few new 
ones with my brain and sent my heart 
way back to N^ew England, where I knew 
the folks were thinking of me. Ii. w. c. 
(To be continued.) 
m 
T he American .Hi 
Farmers have 
been repeatedly urged 
to “stand behind our Army.” 
They need no patriotic instruction 
for the proof of their patriotism is 
on every page of American history. 
Today they are quietly doing their full 
share to help win this war. 
Every farmer can help hold the front line 
trenches and “stand in front of our boys.” Thousands 
of sandbags are required “somewhere in France’ 
to repair the great shell holes which are torn in the 
trenches by the German fire. The soldiers must slip 
out at night and fill the holes with sandbags which 
are prepared during the day. Bags mean burlap; 
burlap is scarce and difficult to secure. 
•r-'. 
Do your share to help conserve the slender stock by ordering all of your fertilizer in 200-lb. bags. 
No real American would jeopardize the life of one of “our boys” for his own comfort. There is 
not enough burlap to go around and it is our privilege and our duty to sacrifice our convenience 
and use all 200-lb. bags this year. 
There is little hope of further supplies for there is a shortage of ships and the Indian natives de¬ 
mand payment for all burlap in silver coin. Fifteen yards of burlap will carry a ton of fertilizer in 
200-lb. bags. It takes from 1 to 7 yards extra to carry the same ton of goods in small bags. 
Save the burlap by using all big bags. 
All branches of industry and indeed all activities of life are affected by this war. The shortage of 
labor is causing hardship to both farmers and manufacturers. We are facing a national crisis more 
vast than any we have ever faced before. We shall all be called upon to sacrifice for this great 
cause; each must do his full share. Our burdens may seem greater than we can bear, but when 
we consider the supreme sacrifice which “our boys” are making, we who remain at home must 
feel humble. Each of us should be willing to do what he can to help win this war. 
Every farmer should plan to secure “a greater yield from every field. ” Now is the time to 
order your supply of fertilizer for immediate shipment in 200-lb bags. Perhaps our crop books 
will help you. We will mail a copy free if you will tell us the crops which you expect to raise 
next year. Ask for the name of our nearest agent. We want new agents in unoccupied territory. 
Address Crop Book Department 
THE COE-MORTIMER COMPANY 
Subsidiary of The American Agricuhiiral Chemical Company 
51 Chambers Street Ne’w York City 
E FRANK COE’S FERTILIZERS 
Reg. U. S. Pat. Off. 
