ALBERT R. Xmm yf'lVERSlTY CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 924 080 006 160 DATE DUE i GAVLOHD PRINTED IN US A Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924080006160 Production Note Cornell University Library produced this volume to replace the irreparably deteriorated original. It was scanned at 600 dots per inch resolution and compressed prior to storage using CCITT/ITU Group 4 compression. The digital data were used to create Cornell's replacement volume on paper that meets tiie ANSI Standard Z39.48-1992. The production of this volume was supported by the United States Department of Education, Higher Education Act, Tide II-C. Scanned as part of the A. R. Mami Library project to preserve and enhance access to the Core Historical Literature of the Agricultural Sciences. Tides included in this collection are listed in the volumes published by the Cornell University Press in the series The Literature of the Agricultural Sciences, 1991-1996, Wallace C. Olsen, series editor. THE RURAL COMMUNITY ANCIENT AND MODERN EDITED BY NEWELL LEROY SIMS, Ph.D. PROFESSOR OF RURAL SOCIOLOGY IN UASSACBTTSETTS AGRICULTURAL COLLEGE FORMERLY PROFESSOR OF SOCIOLOGY AND POLITICAL SCIENCE IN THE UNIVERSmr OF FLORIDA AUTHOR OP "a HOOSIER VILLAGE." "ULTIMATE DEMOCBACY AND ITS MAKING," ETC. CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS NEW YORK CHICAGO BOSTON COPTUGBT, 1920, BY CHAIILES SCRIBNER'S SONS !U t.\r TO EDITH SIMS SCATES PREFACE This volume has been compiled with a view of making easily accessible to those interested in the social life of the country a body of excellent material on the rural com- munity. It has been designed for the use of both the col- lege student and the general reader. For the classroom the work is intended to serve either as a convenient hand- book to accompany some manual on rural sociology or for use specifically as a text-book. In the latter capacity this volume will permit the employment of a method of instruction different from that usually followed where standard treatises on rural sociology are adopted. That method is what is known as the case system. The selec- tions here assembled will be found to constitute a mass of community data and experience sufficiently concrete to afford a basis for such classroom analysis, comparison, discussion, and criticism as is required where this system of teaching is pursued. In truth, one motive in the prep- aration of this volume has been a desire to further the use of this method among rural sociologists, for it is the writer's belief that it has special merit when applied in their par- ticular field. The editor's most sincere thanks are tendered all authors and publishers for the many courtesies extended in giving generous consent to the republication of their materials. He acknowledges special obligation to Messrs. Ginn & Company for Borley in Essex, and a Sussex Manor; Alfred A. Knopf for Mutual Aid Among the Barbarians ; Double- day, Page & Company for A Town Owned by Negroes, A New Kind of Country School, The Spread of County Libraries, A New Kind of County Hospital, Ten Years in a Country Church, The New Industrial Order, A Very Real Country School, and "Jim" Caldwell, Co-operator ; the Macmillan Company for Rural Life and Organization in England and IV PREFACE How Shall We Secure Community Life in the Open Coun- try ; Harper & Brothers for The Society of Separatists at Zoar ; the American Book Company for The Rural Group and the Village ; The Pilgrim Press for excerpts entitled "Stages of Development" from The Evolution of the Country Community ; the University of Chicago Press for The Movement of Rural Population in Illinois, The Work of Rural Organization, Rural Life and the Family, Folk De- pletion as a Cause of Rural Decline, and The Rural Com- munity and Church Federation ; The Science Press for A Mental Survey of the School Population of a Village and The Community Fair ; a Factor in Rural Education ; The Missionary Education Movement of the United States and Canada for The Larger Benzonia Parish ; The Survey Associates, Inc., for An Experiment in Community Religion ; The Outlook Company for How One Man Saved a Town and Play Days for Country Schools ; The Curtis Pub- lishing Company for Rallying Round a School and Har- mony Co-operates in Religion, Business, and Pleasure ; The Editorial Board of Johns Hopkins University Studies in History and Political Science for "Black Forest Vil- lages," "Dutch Village Communities on the Hudson River," and "Common Fields in Salem"; The American City for " The Linking of Village and Farm," "The Lyceum ; an Important Factor in Community Betterment," "The 'Movies' as a Rural Community Organizer in North Caro- lina," and "Community Needs and the Community In- stitute" ; Political Science Quarterly for "Agrarian Changes in the Middle West" and maps of two ancient vill^es; The Atlantic Monthly for "The Passing of the Farmer"; The Independent for "Religious Overlapping"; The An- nals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science for "Training for Rural Leadership" and "The Rural School Community Centre"; The Quarterly Journal of Economics for "Co-operation Among the Mormons"; Fruit Grower and Farmer and Rural Manhood for "Build- ing a Bam While You Wait"; The Playground for "The Pageant of Thetford," "Rural Recreation through the Church," and "A Rural Experiment" ; The Board of Home PREFACE V Missions of the Presbyterian Church in the United States for excerpts from "A Rural Survey of Lane County, Oregon," "A Rural Survey in Maryland," "Ohio Rural Life Survey, 'Southeastern Ohio,'" "A Rural Survey in Tennessee," "A Survey in Southwestern Ohio," "A Rural Survey in Indiana," "A Rural Survey of Clermont County, Ohio," and "A Rural Survey in Illinois"; Pro- ceedings National Educational Association for "Organized Recreation" ; Indiana Board of State Charities for excerpts from "Mental Defectives in Indiana; a Survey of Ten Counties"; Wallace's Farmer for "A County with Com- munity Clubs"; The Nebraska Farmer for "How Rural Depopulation Is Affecting a Nebraska County," and to the following institutions for permission to reprint ma- terials from their publications: Ohio State University for "The Rural Population of Ohio" and "Farmers' Clubs"; University of Texas for excerpts from "A Social and Eco- nomic Survey of Southern Travis County, Texas" ; Univer- sity of Minnesota for excerpts from "Social and Economic Survey of a Community in Northeastern Minnesota" and "Social and Economic Survey of a Community in the Red River Valley"; University of Iowa for excerpts from "Social Surveys of Three Townships in Iowa"; Uni- versity of California for "The Farm Centre High School" and "The County Farm Bureau"; University of Kansas for excerpts from "Community Welfare in Kansas," and Massachusetts Agricultural College for excerpts from "Mobilizing the Rural Community." In even greater measure the editor wishes to express his thanks to the authors of the several papers herein re- printed. He is greatly indebted to them all for their hearty co-operation in making this work possible, and especially so to Professors E. L. Morgan, A. G. Arvold, Warren H. Wilson, Walter Burr, and B. H. Crocheron. For many helpful suggestions, encouragements, and criticisms of- fered from time to time by my own students, fellow workers in the rural field, and above all Professor Franklin H. Gid- dings, a very deep sense of obligation is here acknowl- edged. Finally, a full measure of gratitude is hereby ac- VI PREFACE corded my wife, who with great care and much toil has excerpted the articles and prepared the manuscript for the publishers. In offering this volume to the public the editor can only hope that its usefulness will prove sufficient to justify its being, and in so doing more fully recompense the gen- erosity of all who in any way have contributed to its pro- duction. Newell L. Sims. Gainesvili-e, Florida. CONTENTS PAGE Introduction xi PART I.— THE ANCIENT COMMUNITY CHAPTER I. The Primitive Village 3 I. Obigik and Nature (page 3). i. The Village Community, by C. F. Keary, from The Dawn of History (3). 2. Mutual Aid Among the Barbarians, by P. Kropotkin, from Mutual Aid (is). n Examples and Sueveys (page 42). i. Malmesbury, by George Lawrence Gomme, from The ViUage Communily (42). 2. Black Forest Villages, by Herbert B. Adams, from Johns Hopkins University Studies in Historical and Political Science, vol. U, pp. 13-18 (51). II. The Mediaeval Manor 58 I. Descsiptiok (page 58). i. Rural Life and Organization in England, by Edward P. Cheyney, from An Introduction to the Industrial and Social History of England (58). n. Examples and Surveys (page 73). i. Borley in Essex, and a Sussex Manor, by Edward P. Cheyney, from Readings in English History Drawn from the Original Sources (73). III. The Village Community in America .... 80 I. Description (page 80). i. Dutch Village Communities on the Hudson River, by Irving Siting, from Johns Hopkins University Studies in Historical and Political Science (80). 2. Common Fields in Salem, by Herbert B. Adams, Ph.D., from Johns Hopkins University Studies in Historical and Political Science, vol. I, no. 9-10; "Village Communities of Cape Aim and Salem," from the Historical Collections of the Essex Institute, Baltimore, 1883 (94)- IV. The Disintegration of the Village Community 113 I. History and Theory (page 113). 1. Communal Disintegration, by Newell L. Sims (113). PART II.— THE MODERN COMMUNITY V. The Modern Community Defined 133 I. Description (page 133). i. The Modern Rural Community, by Newell L. Sims (133). VI. Types of Communities ...... -153 I. The Ethnic Community (page 153). 1. A Town Owned by Negroes, by Booker T. Washington, from The World's Work, July, 1907 (133). n. The Immigrant Communitv (page 167). i. Tontitown, Ark., North Italian Fruit- Growers and General Farmers, from Reports of the Immigration Commission Sixty-first Congress — Recent Immigrants in Agriculture, part 24, vol. I (167). VIU CONTENTS m. The "Rurban" Commtjottv (page i8i). i. The Linking of Village and Farm, by M. T. Buckley, from The American City, T. and C. edition, January, 1915 (181). rv. The Idealistic Community (page 186). i. The Society of Separatists at Zoar, by Charles NordhoS, from The Communistic Societies 0} the Unitei States (186). V. The Religious Community (page 198). i. Quaker Hill, by Warren H. Wilson, adapted from Quaker Bill (198). VI. The School Community (page 223), from A Rural Survey of Lane County, Oregon, Country Church Work Board of Home Missions Presbyterian Church in the U. S. A., 1916. I. Pleasant Hill (223). Vn. The "ExcEPnoNAi" Community (page 227), from A Rural Survey in Mary- land, by Department of Church and Country Life Board of Home Missions of the Presby- terian Church in the U. S. A., 1912. i. Sandy Spring Neighborhood (227). VII. Institutions of the Community 244 I. The Family (page 244). i. Rural Life and the Family, by President Kenyon L. Butterfield, Amherst, Mass., from The American Journal of Sociology, May, 1909 (244). n. The Church (page 249). i. Ten Years in a Country Church, by Matthew B. McNutt, from The World's Work, December, 1910 (249). m. The School (page 260). i. A New Kind of Country School, by O. J. Kem, Superintendent of Winnebago County Schools, Rockford, HI., from The World's Work, September, 1908 (260). IV. The Library (page 265). i. The Spread of County Libraries, by Walter A. Dyer, from The World's Work, September, 1915 (26s). V. The Hospital (page 274). 1. A New Kind of County Hospital, by Walter A. Dyer, from The World's Work, September, 1915 (274). VIII. Evolution of the Community 284 I. Stages of Development (page 284). i. Evolution of the Community, by Warren H. Wilson, from The Evolution of the Country Community (284). 2. The Rural Group and the Village, by Small and Vincent, from An Introduction to the Study of Society (323). n. Factors op Change (page 348). i. Agrarian Changes in the Middle West, by Joseph B. Ross, from The Political Science Quarterly, December, 1910 (348). 2. The New Industrial Order, by Wilbert L. Anderson, from The Country Town (362). 3. The Passing of the Farmer, by Roy Hinman Holmes, from The Atlantic Monthly, October, 1912 (371). in. Population (page 382). i. The Rural Population of Ohio, by L. H. Goddard, from Ohio Agricultural Experiment Station, Circular No. 116, Wooster, Ohio, September i, 191 1 (382). 3. The Movement of Rural Population in Illinois, by H. £. Hoagland, from The Journal of Political Economy, November, 1912 (390). PART III.— COMMUNITY RECONSTRUCTION IX. The Problem 409 I. Institutional Conditions (page 409). i. The Church — (o) Religious Overlap- ping, by Albert J. Kennedy, from The Independent, April 9, 1908 (409); (J) Religious Ac- tivity in Southern Travis County, Texas, by R. B. Woods, from Bulletin of the University of Texas, No. 65, entitled Social and Economic Survey of Southern Travis County (418); (c) Religious Conditions in IlUnois Communities, from A Rural Survey in Illinois, by the Department of Church and Country Life of the Presbyterian Church in the U. S. A. (424); (d) Religious Conditions and Activities in Southeastern Ohio, from Ohio Rural Life Survey, Southeastern Ohio, Department of Church and Country Life, Board of Home Missions of the Presbyterian Church in the U. S. A., 1913 (429); (e) Churches and Religious Condi- tions in Gibson County, Tennessee, from A Rural Survey in Tennessee, by Department of Church and Country Life, Board of Home Missions of the Presbyterian Church in the U. S. A., 1912 (450). 2. The School — (o) Educational Conditions in Montgomery County, Maryland, by H. N. Morse, E. Fred Eastman, and A. C. Mohahan, from An Educational CONTENTS IX Survey of Montgomery County, Md., V. S. Bureau of Education Bulletin, No. 32, igi3 (458); lb) The Rural School in Southwestern Ohio, from A Rural Survey in Southwestern Ohio, by Paul L. Vogt, Miami University, 1913 (482). n. SociAi Activities (page 498). i. Social Life in Southern Travis County, by George S. Wehrwein, from Bulletin oj the University of Texas, No. 65, entitled A Social and Eco- nomic Survey of Southern Travis County, igi6 (498). 2. Social Agencies in Two Indiana Counties, from A Rural Survey in Indiana, by the Department of Church and Country Life of the Presbyterian Church in the U. S. A., 191 1 (509). 3. Recreation and Social Life in Northeastern Minnesota, by Gustav P. Warber, from Social and Economic Survey of a Community in Northeastern Minnesota, by Gustav P. Warber, Bulletin of the University of Minnesota, March, 191 5 (517). 4. Recreation, Amusement, and Social Life in Three Iowa Townships, by Paul S. Pierce, from Social Surveys of Three Rural Toumships in Iowa, University of Iowa Monographs (527). 5. Social and Recreational Life in Clermont County, Ohio, from A Rural Life Survey of Clermont County, Ohio, by the Department of Church and Coimtry Life, Board of Home Missions of the Presbyterian Church in the U. S. A.. 1914 (533). III. PoFuiATiON Status (page 540). i. Folk Depletion as a Cause of Rural Decline, by Edward Alsworth Ross, from Fublications of the American Sociological Society, vol. XI, March, 1917 (540). 2. A Mental Survey of the School Population of a Village, by Rudolf Pintner, from School and Society, \M^y 19, 1917 (549). 3. How Rural Depopulation Is Afiecting a Nebraska County, by Arnold Martin, from The Nebraska Farmer, January 24, 1912 (557). 4. Mental Defectives Among Rural People, excerpts from Mental Defectives in Indiana, a Survey of Ten Counties (560). IV. OxGAmZATiON Pkobleus (page 581). The Work of Rural Organization, by T. N. Carver, from The Journal of Political Economy, November, 1914 (581). V. Village Conditions (page 588). How the Village People Live, by L. D. H. Weld, from Social and Economic Survey of a Community in the Red River Valley, Research publica- tions of the University of Minnesota (588). X. The Programme 605 I. How Shall We Secure Community Life in the Open Country? by L. H. Bailey, from The Country-Life Movement in the United Stales (page 605). 2. Rural Sodalization, by Newell L. Sims (621). XI. The Agencies 646 I. Educational (page 646). i. Rallying Round a School, by Alice Mary Kimball, from The Country Gentleman, January 19 and January 26, 1918 (646). 2. A Very Real Country School, by B. H. Crocheron, from The World's Work, January, 1912 (666). 3. The Lyceum: An Important Factor in Community Betterment, by W. Frank McClure, from The American City, T. and C. edition, October, 1914 (680). 4. Community Needs and the Community Institute, by Paul Walton Black, from The American City, T. and C. edition. May, 1913 (68s). n. Religious (page 692). i. The Larger Benzonia Parish, by Harlow S. Mills, from The Church and Country Life (692). 2. An Experiment in Community Religion, by Charles L. Cole, from The Survey, December 20, 1913 (703). 3. The Churdi Lea!ds the Way, by John £. Pickett, from The Country Gentleman, August 3, 1918 (706). III. Reckeational (page 714). i. Organized Recreation, by Warren Dunbar Foster, from Proceedings National Education Association, vol. LIV, pp. 49-54 (714). 2. The Com- munity Fair — a Factor in Rural Education, by S. G. Rubenow, from School and Society, July 28, 1917 (722). 3. The Pageant of Thetford, by William Chauncy Langdon, from The Playground, December, 191 1 (731). 4. The Little Country Theatre, by Alfred G. Arvold (746). $. Play Days for Country Sdiools, by Myron T. Scudder, from The Outlook, August 28, 1909 (754). 6. Rural Recreation Through the Church, by Rev. Silas E. Per- sons, from The Playground, March, 1913 (763). 7. Building a Bam While You Wait, by H. Winslow Fegley, from Rural Manhood, 1915 (77s). 8. The "Movies" as a Rural Community Organizer in North Carolina, by Colonel Fred A. Olds, from The American City, T. and C. edition, November, 1918 (781). rv. Envhonmental (page 78s). Co-operation Among the Mormons, by Hamilton Gardner, from The Quarterly Journal of Economics, May, 1917 (78s). X CONTENTS V. DmEcnvE (page 795). i. Training for Rural Leadership, by John M. Gillette, from The Annals, September, 1916 (795). 2. How One Man Saved a Town, by George Holley Gilbert, from The OuOook, April 18, 1908 (806). 3. "Jim" Caldwell, Co-operator, by Frank Pjirker Stockbridge, from The World's Work, March, 1913 (816). XII. The Agencies {Continued) — Community Organ- ization 826 I. The Centre (page 826). i. A Rural Experiment, by Rev. Ernest Bradley, from The Playground, September, igir (826). 2. The Rural Sciool Community Centre, by L. J. Hanifan, from The Annals, September, 1916 (834). 3. The Farm Centre High School, by B. H. Crocheron, from The University of California Journal of Agriculture, September, 1916 (844). II. Clubs (page 852). i. A County with Community Clubs, from Wallace's Farmer, Des Moines, la., June 9, 1916 (852). 2. Farmers' Clubs, by L. O. Lantis, from Extension Bulletin, Agricultural College, Ohio State University, 1917-191S (859). III. The CoOTraL (page 869). i. Forms of Organization, by Walter Burr, from "Community Welfare in Kansas," Extension BuUelin, No. 4, The Kansas Agricultural Collie, 191S (869). 2. The Community Council, by E. L. Morgan, from Massachusetts Agricultural College, Extension Bulletin, No. 23, "Mobilizing the Rural Community," September, 191 8 (874). IV. Federation (page 894). i. The Rural Community and Church Federation, by John Robert Hargreaves, from The American Journal of Sociology, September, 1914 (894). V. The Farm BusEAn (page 904). i. The County Farm Bureau, by B. H. Crocheron, from Circular No. 166, University of CaUfomia, College of Agriculture, Berkeley (904). INTRODUCTION BY NEWELL L. SIMS In the preface to his book entitled Community, R. M. Maciver says: "Community resembles a country recently discovered — or rediscovered and overrun by explorers." But he adds: "Of this country no comprehensive chart is yet available." Especially true are these observations of the rural com- munity. It is indeed being discovered anew. Rural sociologists are turning to it as a chief field of exploration. While it may not yet be said of them that they have over- run it, nevertheless they have come to feel the need of a comprehensive chart which shall serve to guide them into this country and to enable them to show it to others. The first to venture in and spy out the land necessarily made only the most hasty and general observations of American rural conditions. Their roughly constructed maps were little more than outlines wanting most of the essential features which are needed to give value to works of social cartography. Upon subsequent explorers the real, if less spectacular, task of refining and reconstructing these early sketches has fallen. And noteworthy progress has been made; many detailed and fairly complete sur- veys are now at hand as the result of their labors. Much, however, remains to be done before we shall have a really comprehensive chzut of rural community. Moreover, its completion is being delayed on account of the all too com- mon inclination of students of rural society to take the much-trodden pathways of superficial description and easy generalization instead of turning aside to survey the wilder- ness itself. From the broad, the universal, and the com- monplace to the local and the particular, attention must be directed if results really worth while are to be obtained. Xll INTRODUCTION Meanwhile the demand for a body of reliable knowledge such as will give a clear and definite understanding of the rural community is daily becoming more imperative. Rural social life in the final analysis always reduces to the problem of locality, neighborhood, community. There is no escaping this fact. And there is no successful study, understanding, or redirection in this field save it be in these terms. To be sure, community is said to be wanting in the country; and there is much truth in the statement. But the fact of its absence does not lessen its importance nor justify any neglect of its consideration. On the contrary, it would seem to offer a challenge to find out just its extent, to determine its nature, to rediscover its forces, and to organize its interests in every locality. For in truth the ultimate goal of all efforts toward rural social uplift is the development of the social unities, or, in other words, the achievement of community. About what nuclei or centres the unifying forces of the country are playing and are tending to crystallize is the foremost question involved in the rural problem. It is contended by some that the villages, towns, and small cities form natural centres and that they are to be the focal points of communization for the farm districts. This claim is not without justification, for it is at once apparent to the observer that country life in a consider- able measure does revolve about such places. As evidence that the present development is largely if not altogether favorable to the town-centring process, attention is called to the changes being effected by good roads, more adequate and rapid means of transportation, and facilities for quicker communication. Outstanding among these changes is the resulting approachment between town and country along the lines of a closer affiliation of church, school, family, lodge, and club life, as well as in more intimate business relations. But whether this tendency affords sufficient proof that the country will eventually define its areas of common life with respect to the village and town as the centre may well be questioned. For it is held by other students of INTRODUCTION XlU rural society that the rural community pertains to the open country, that it must be described in the midst of the broad fields. This view looks away from the village and town; it talks about decentralization. It would find the nucleus, if the community really must be thought of in relation to one, outside of any aggregations of popula- tion. The grounds upon which this conception is based are, first of all, that the rural and urban groups are naturally inharmonious, and, second, that their communities have hitherto been distinct and, regardless of any tendency that would seem to indicate a possible mergence of the two, will continue to demand separate communal organiza- tion. Which of these two types is eventually to be the domi- nant one no one, of course, can say with any certainty. Doubtless the open-country type will continue to exist and the town-centred type go on developing. However, there are certain sociological principles which, if taken into consideration in this relation, make it seem rather improbable that the town-centred community is going to supplant the open-country type. It is worth while here to call attention to these. Social psychologists are accustomed to speak of the psychosis of a people. They mean thereby the complex of mental reactions, including the customs and social habits resulting therefrom, which comes to characterize any group of people. The chief factor in determining any group's psychosis is its way of getting a living or its basic industry. This is due to the fact that the "subsistence mores," being absolutely essential to existence, are all-powerful and con- sequently supreme in giving color and character to all the other or secondary reactions of the group. According to their economic stage of development, therefore, people are said to have a hunting and fishing, an agricultural, a commercial, or an industrial psychosis. There are, of course, modified and combined forms of these more general ones to be found under present-day conditions. Rural dwellers are agriculturalists. Only a few of those com- posing the average country community are engaged in XIV INTRODUCTION any other occupation. The psychosis of the country is therefore agricultural in contrast to that of the town or city, which is commercial and industrial. We have, then, to deal with the existence of a fundamental difference be- tween rural and urban society. This difference cannot be ignored; and it may be sufficient to preclude any con- siderable growth of town-centred rural communities. While there is obviously a certain community of in- terest between all the component groups of the larger social whole called the state, including, of course, a unity between the commercial and industrial town and its rural environs or the open-country agricultural districts, there are also fundamental antagonisms between these groups. In so far as common interests concern the particular groups with which we are dealing, a town-centring force is in operation. But to the degree that a natural antagonism exists, the country and the town will remain apart. Hither- to the antagonisms have played the leading role and the separation has been fairly complete. And with the cause of these anteigonisms still existing, that separation is likely to continue. The chance that it will come to an end ex- cept under unusual conditions is practically negligible. Where the village or town psychosis is preponderately agricultural, as it sometimes is, no serious antagonism be- tween it and that of the strictly farming districts round about will likely be encountered. And in such cases the social life of the two groups will tend to merge into one vital community, especially under the very favorable con- ditions for such development which are rapidly coming to prevail. But it is asserted that the country is becoming urbanized and that this will further the town-centring tendency of rural life. There is no gainsaying the fact that urbaniza- tion is taking place, but that it is of such a nature as will remove the differences between the two groups is extremely doubtful. All depends upon what urbanization is con- ceived to be. If it be only the process of modifying a few superficial and inconsequential customs of the country in accordance with town standards to which some have INTRODUCTION XV called attention, then it signifies little or nothing. For no alteration of the basic attitudes and mores are involved and none can possibly take place as a result. The sub- sistence mores must first be changed before anything of a far-reaching nature can follow; and urbanization is cer- tainly not effecting change in this direction. Real ur- banization has to do with the growing ascendancy of the town and city mind in our political affairs. The rising influences of town-made opinions and policies over the state and nation and the approaching domination of the urban will is what it means. It implies the enthronement of the urban group as the arbiter of our destinies. In this sense and only in this is any urbanization apparent or of much significance, and it touches our problem, if at all, only remotely. A further consideration of rural community approached from the standpoint of the factors making it is needed and may be touched upon here. As already suggested, the maintenance mores are exceedingly important forces in this sphere. But to declare them to be the sole factors would be tantamount to postulating an economic deter- minism, and this without qualifications would be claiming too much. Telic or purposeful factors play a part along with the economic, though perhaps their rdle is always conditioned by the latter as the more basic and effective agency. Very likely our consciousness that there is a rural- community problem at all and our efforts toward its solu- tion are themselves due to the impulse coming from eco- nomic changes. The mills of the gods, as we are wont to say, are slowly grinding. Their workings have made us aware that essential alterations are going on and have turned our energies into aids to the process. This fact is too liable to escape the sociologist. He needs to become more aware that we are enmeshed in a natural, living, growing thing called society, whose process is perhaps as much that of nature as of human will. Professor I. W. Howerth has said so well what I have in mind that a some- what lengthy quotation from an essay of his may be par- doned : XVI INTRODUCTION "Obviously," says he, "the method of nature applies to all movements and to the creation of all products in which intelligence is not involved. Such, for instance, are the creation and movements of the planets, of the clouds, of the waves of the sea, of the earth and the con- vulsions in its crust, and the creation and development of all plants and animals in a state of nature. It should be equally obvious that it applies, also, to all incidental, that is, all unintended, results of intelligent action. But much that happens in human life is incidental to the pur- suit of conscious end; it falls outside of the purposive; it is fortuitous, accidental, and belongs, therefore, in the realm of nature; and anything resulting from it is achieved by nature's method. "With this understanding it is easy to see that many, if not most, of the movements of society, whether progres- sive or regressive, take place in accordance with the method of nature; they are unintended, wholly incidental to the pursuit of other ends. For it is an obvious fact that in- dividuals in pursuit of strictly personal ends, and corporate bodies in the pursuit of corporate ends, may affect society for good or ill. So far as society is thus affected it is under the control of nature. Social movements thus produced, social products thus created, are without conscious intent on the part of anybody. As a matter of fact, most social movements, most of the social progress of the past, and much of that of to-day are, socially considered, uncon- scious, and unintended." * But we are something more than mere puppets dancing on the social platform which is being moved by an economic mechanism. We are a part of the social process itself. And as such we are truly primary agencies adapting our- selves to the other and maybe greater agencies, but at the same time co-operating with them as a whole in giving trend to social movements. If, as we are arguing, the initial push and direction to purposeful endeavor comes from economic disturbances, it does not follow that telic effort ^The Scientific Monthly, October, 1918, pp. 353-354, article on "The Method of Nature." INTRODUCTION XVU may not within the course taken and partially prescribed for it by existing conditions become dominant. Having attempted to state the relationship between the personal and impersonal factors of communization, we may now turn to the work of these forces themselves. Without any thought of minimizing personal effort, we must nevertheless face the fact that much of it may often be expended to little or no purpose toward community build- ing in the country. Meagre and impermanent results are apt to be the only gains. In the face of every precaution, perfectly good plans are likely to miscarry. The cause of failure in general may be one of at least two things : namely, the unwisdom of a given programme or adverse economic and environmental conditions. Where it is the latter, perhaps the best effort will be to stand and wait until con- ditions of themselves are altered. Human planning and preaching will at least be largely futile so long as basic things are unfavorable. The efficacy of personal effort will be sufficiently stressed in the body of this work, and we may therefore omit further discussion of it in this place. The impersonal forces at work in rural society have initiated a movement which to the writer seems destined to foster community on a scale hitherto unknown in Amer- ican country districts. These forces and their operation can be seen only in the effects produced by them. A little backward look, however, will bring them to light. View- ing rural life as it was a generation or so ago, we discover a local agricultural economy almost everywhere. Farming neighborhoods were largely sufficient unto themselves; they were microcosms. The market Wtis local. Produc- tion, consumption, and distribution were phenomena al- most entirely of local range and significance. Neighbor- hoods of that day enjoyed a fair degree of community. Meanwhile the industrial revolution has taken place and its influence has become wide-spread. Rural society has not escaped its transforming power. The local economy that once existed has been destroyed. World markets have come in. Almost imperceptibly and unawares, the country has been slipping into the new order. It now XVlll INTRODUCTION finds itself in the midst of a great agricultural revolution induced by the industrial revolution and as profoundly transforming to the country as the latter was to the town. Production is undergoing change. World markets mean world-wide competition for the producer. The task of the agriculturalist is no longer the simple one of supplying the demands of neighbors, but of satisfying the wants of an impersonal and exacting public instead. Consequently, new and more efficient methods and standards of produc- tion have become necessary and are being introduced. Specialized farming is coming into vogue. The old tradi- tions of planting, cultivating, harvesting, breeding, feed- ing, preparing produce for market, etc., are being modified. Consumption as well as production is taking new form. The farmer of to-day buys extensively in the world markets, whereas once he had little or no access to them nor any need for most of their wares. But now goods of every kind from the ends of the earth find their way to the farm as necessities. Upon them the farmer has come to rely. A new sense of relationship to and dependence upon the outside world has resulted and is beginning to supplant the narrow provincialism and independence which prevailed under the old economy. More far-reaching than either of the foregoing is the alteration with respect to distribu- tion. Here the old-time farmer has met the new order face to face and has been compelled either to make radiceJ revision of his ways or to go to the wall. He has found that he can no longer sell advantageously on his own initiative alone, irrespective of his neighbors and other producers of like commodities. To attempt to do so, he has discovered, means glutted markets, low prices, loss, and ruination for both himself and others. A recent sur- vey of an Ohio community has the following to say con- cerning the ancient order and the forces working for its overthrow: "Each farmer is for himself. 'If I were planning to go to market to-morrow with a load of apples,' said one farmer, 'and any one of my neighbors were to find it out, INTRODUCTION XIX he would get up before daylight, load his waigon, and beat me to town, in order to sell his stuff ahead of me.' Middle- men take advantage of this individualism. Within a radius of four miles there was found a variation of sixty cents per barrel in the price of approximately the same kind of apples, marketed at the same place at about the same time. 'Now don't tell any one around here, but I think I got a little more than my neighbors,' said the man who got the lowest price. The self-reliant individualism of these farmers, inherited from their pioneer fathers, is, under new conditions, the greatest weakness of the sons of the men it once strengthened. "At present there are some levelling influences at work against the stubborn individualism of these communities. The pressure of unjust combinations, which control the markets and against which the individual farmer is help- less, is tending to force the farmers to work together." ' Thus through bitter experiences and out of critical situations in connection with distribution under the pres- ent-day economy the countryman is being turned toward co-operation. Arising very naturally first in the more highly specialized fields of agriculture, such as fruit and vegetable growing, and dairying, the impulse to union and co-operative marketing is already spreading to the more general lines of farming, such as grain and stock selling. A very decided trend toward organized distribu- tion is now manifesting itself everywhere. Thus the busi- ness mores of the rural group are undergoing change and reformation. A whole new body of customs is growing up, being taught, and established among agriculturalists. The rise of the new agricultural economy with its ma- chinery, its extensive means of communication, and its unparalleled facilities for transportation, is accompanied by and partly responsible for a general exodus of rural population, with a consequent unsettling of the institutional and social life of the countryside. Apart from their very significant direct effects upon the mores of the group, these secondary changes are also reacting directly upon the ■ "Ohio Rural Life Survey" — Southeastern Ohio. XX INTRODUCTION agricultural situation itself. They are giving a spur to the modification of the maintenance mores which has its initial impulse from other sources. Thus, both directly and indirectly, the industry of the country is being revolu- tionized. The old economy was thoroughly individualistic in its interests and ideals. It was wholly congenial to com- petition. Farming was a pursuit carried on in isolation in the broadest sense. All the mores of the group were consistent with that mode of living. The community of the old order was at best narrow and very simple. The new economy is necessarily more or less communistic. It is conducive to co-operation. Organization and mu- tual aid are vital to its existence. The get-together mores of self-maintenance are as a consequence being forced upon the farming population. Any such fundamental change as this is bound to make itself felt from the bottom to the topmost levels of social customs. The secondary along with the primary ways of the group will take on new form. A wider, deeper, stronger, more enduring, more vital, and more satisfying community than ever the old was or could be seems, therefore, to be in store for rural society. To this end, as we have tried to show, the impersonal forces of the age are striving. With them we may join hands and hasten the consummation. The present moment in the rural world is essentially transitional. We are perplexed by its maladjustments, its instability, its restlessness, its change, and decay. Which- ever way we turn problems confront us in this field. The way out is not plain. Whether there is any way may often be questioned. In the face of this situation there is need that we orient ourselves, take account of the dip of the strata, and follow the natural courses that appear, whither- soever they are leading. Behind us we are aware of a past with a community life that has had its day. Sufficient unto that day was that life, but the day is no more. A new day is at hand. Before us lies a future with a com- munal order probably far superior to anything that has been. That order will no doubt be as fully adequate to INTRODUCTION XXI the new conditions when once it has fully come as the community of the past was to the economy of that day. Our immediate duty, it would then appear, is to system- atize and utilize the knowledge of the past communal order, both ancient and modem, for the shaping and per- fecting of the order that is to be. The materials of this book have been gleaned, brought together, and organized with the object just indicated in view. No comprehensive chart of community has been attempted and none is here presented. Much as such an instrument would serve us and is desired, the materials of which to construct it are simply not available as yet. This social map, incomplete as it is, ought, nevertheless, to be of some use to those who are trying to get their bear- ings with reference to the rural community. Not that almost any student of rural sociology might not make one equally good, but that this will be ready at hand to spare him much labor in assembling materials widely scattered and not always convenient of access, and will thus enable him more expeditely to push on to other objectives. Until something better is produced, it will at least conserve time and be a convenient guide for those who for the first time seek to enter the country to which it pertains. The first part of the work deals with the ancient and mediaeval agricultural community. To some this may seem a very roundabout and unnecessary way of approach- ing the rural community of America as a present-day prob- lem. But let it be remembered that it is quite impossible to get a clear understanding of modem social conditions apart from the light of the past. Let it be emphasized, moreover, that it is only by comparing and contrasting existing communal life with its antecedent forms that we are enabled to criticise it and to plan wisely for its recon- struction. Otherwise we lose the sense of historic con- tinuity, miss the lessons of past experience, and foster an inarticulate and probably an impoverished social existence. In fact, we are compelled to seek in part our standards in other ages, if we are to make use of any at all. The primitive village and the mediaeval manor are therefore XXll INTRODUCTION profitable objects of study in relation to the rural com- munity of the United States. Part Two of the work is concerned with the modem community. An attempt is made to define and describe it as to the various types. The leading institutions are set forth, and the evolution of the community together with some of the factors involved in the process are treated. Thus the way is paved for the third part, which is devoted to community reconstruction. The problem is presented and the programme of reformation outlined. Then the socializing agencies are indicated and community organi- zation is described. The method adhered to throughout in so far as possible is what the lawyers call the case system. With some satis- faction the writer has employed it in teaching classes in rural sociology. He is inclined to believe that to acquaint the student with a little actual concrete data concerning community experience is far more useful and instructive than to give him a great deal of theory and generalization. The validity of the method for the purposes of instruction suggested the criterion for selecting and editing the con- tents of this volume. The aim throughout has been to assemble, in so far as it was expedient and practical to do so, a body of concrete community experience to serve for either a text-book or a book of readings. Unfortunately, it has not always been possible to secure such materials. There is a poverty of literature of this sort. Much of a gen- eral nature has been written about rural life, but of actual rural communities and their activities little has been set down. For these reasons the results are not altogether satisfactory. They come far short of the ideal set up at the outstart. The materials composing this work conform to but one standard. From the records found choice has been made of such accounts as were thought best to serve our purpose, irrespective of all else. Literary merit has been ignored; they are therefore good, bad, and indifferent when judged from that standpoint. No effort has been made to seek the new and unfamiliar; the well known along with the INTRODUCTION XXIU less familiar and the new will therefore be found in these pages. The one standard of selection has been whether or not the material has value to illuminate and to con- tribute to the understanding of the rural community and its reconstruction. Social conditions, needless to say, differ greatly over the wide reaches of rural America. For this reason it will not be thought strange if some should question whether typical cases have been presented or whether, indeed, it is even possible to select any body of community experi- ences that will be considered fairly representative of the whole country or any group of local instances that will have universal application. But it must be frankly con- fessed that as a rule no effort has been made to find the typical or universally valid as such. That aim has not entered into our plans, for it is firmly believed that the fundamentals, the functions, the reactions, and the prob- lems of community are essentially one and the same every- where. If that were not true, there would be no possibility of a science of society. But this being so, there is no need for us to focus upon the normal or typical, for the general will be found in the particular and the universal will ap- pear in the concrete without difficulty. PART I THE ANCIENT COMMUNITY CHAPTER I THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE I. ORIGIN AND NATURE 1. THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY BY C. F. KEARY (From The Dawn of History) So long as people continued to lead a wandering shep- herd life, the institution of the patriarchal family af- forded a sufficient and satisfactory basis for such cordial union as was possible. It was a condition of society in which the relations of the different members to each other were extremely simple and confined within very narrow boundaries ; but these habits of life prevented the existence of any very complicated social order, and at the same time gave a peculiar force and endurance to those customs and ties which did exist. For while the different tribes had no settled dwelling-places, the only cohesion possible was that produced by the personal relations of the different members one to another. Those beyond the limits of the tribe or household- cOuld have no permanent connection with it. They were simply "strangers," friends, or enemies, as circumstances might determine, but having no common interests, connected by no abiding link, with those who were not members of the same community. When a family became so numerous that it was necessary for its members to separate, the new family, formed under the influence of this pressure, would at first remember the parent stock with reverence, and perhaps regard the patriarch of the elder branch as entitled to some sort of obedience from, and possessing some indefinite kind of power over, it after separation. It would, however, soon wander__away_and 3 4 THE RURAL COMMUNITY lose all connection with its relatives, forgetting perhaps in the course of time whence it had sprung, or inventing a pedigree more pleasing to the vanity of its members. But when men began to learn to till the soil, by degrees they had to abandon their nomadic life and to have for a time fixed dwelling-places, in order that they might guard their crops, and gather, in the time of harvest, the fruits of their labor. Cattle were no longer the only means of subsistence nor sufficiency of pasture the only limit to migration. A part of the wealth was, for a time, bound up in the land which they had tilled and sowed, and -to obtain that wealth they must remain in the neighborhood of the cultivated soil. Thus a new relationship arose be- tween different families. They began to have neighbors — dwellers on and cultivators of the land bordering their own — so that common interests sprang up between those who hitherto had nothing in common, new ties began to con- nect together those who had formerly no fixed relationship. The adoption of agriculture changed likewise the re- lation of men to the land on which they dwelt. Hitherto the tracts of pasture over which the herdsman had driven his flocks and cattle had been as unappropriated as the open sea, as free as the air which he breathed. He neither claimed any property in the land himself nor acknowl- edged any title thereto in another. He had spent no labor on it, had done nothing to improve its fertility; and his only right as against others to any locality was that of his temporary sojourn there. But when agriculture began to require the expenditure of labor on the land and its enclosure so as to protect the crops which had been sown, a new distinct idea of the possession of these enclosed pieces of land began to arise, so that a man was no longer simply the member of a particular family. He had ac- quired new rights and attributes, for which the patriarchal economy had made no provision. He was the inhabitant of a particular locality, the owner and cultivator of a par- ticular piece of land. The effect of this change was neces- sarily to weaken the household tie which bound men together by introducing new relations between them. THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 5 The great strength of that early bond had consisted in its being the only one which the state of society rendered possible; and its force was greatly augmented by the iso- lation in which the different nomadic groups habitually lived. The adoption of a more permanent settlement thus tended in two ways to facilitate the introduction of a new social organization. By increasing the intercourse, and rendering more permanent the connection between different families, it destroyed their isolation, and there- fore weakened the autocratic power of their chiefs; and at the same time, by introducing new interests into the life of the members of a family, and new relations between different families, it compelled sometimes the adoption of regulations necessarily opposed to the principles of patriarchal rule. We must remember, however, that the change from a nomadic to a settled state took place very gradually, some peoples being influenced by it much more slowly than others. Agriculture may be practised to a certain extent by those who lead a more or less wandering life, as is the case with the Tartar tribes, who grow buck- wheat, which only takes two or three months for its pro- duction; so that at the end of that time they are able to gather their harvest and once more wander in search of new pastures. And it is from its use by them that this grain has received in French the name of ble sarrasin (Saracen com) , or simply sarrasin. We may suppose that the earliest agriculture practised was something of this rude description; and even when tribes learnt the ad- vantage of cultivating more slowly germinating crops, they would not readily abandon their nomadic habits, which long continuance had rendered dear to them; but would only become agriculturists under the pressure of circumstances. The hunter tribes of North American Indians and the gypsies of Europe serve to show us how deeply rooted in a people may become the love of wander- ing and the dislike to settled industry. It was probably to the difficulty of supporting existence produced by the increase of population that the more continuous pursuit of agriculture was due; and it would 6 tHE RURAL COMMtJNlTY therefore be first regularly followed by the less warlike tribes, whose territory had been curtailed by the incur- sions of their bolder neighbors. No longer able to seek pasture over so extended an area as formerly, and with perhaps an increasing population, they would find the necessity of obtaining from the land a greater propor- tionate supply of subsistence than they had obtained hitherto. Agriculture would therefore have to be pur- sued more regularly and laboriously, and thus the habit of settlement would gradually be acquired. Under this influence we may discern a change taking place in the social state of the Aryan tribes. Gradually they became less nomadic and more agricultural; and as this takes place, there arises also a change in the relations of peoples to each other. We should naturally expect considerable variety in the effects produced on different nations by the adoption of a settled life. The results depend upon climate and locality, upon the kind of civilization chosen, and the special idiosyncrjisies of the people who adopt it. All these elements had their share in moulding the life of the Aryans when they became an agricultural people. Yet we find, nevertheless, one special type of society to have been the prevailing type among them. This form of society is called the "N^Uage Community. It possesses some features apparently so peculiarly its own that it would be difficult to decide on the cause of its adoption or growth. It will be safer with our present limited knowl- edge to be satisfied with noting the more marked char- acteristics of this form of society and the localities in which it may be traced, and not attempt to determine whether it is to be regarded as a natural resultant of the settlement of patriarchal families, or as inherited or evolved by some particular groups of tribes. The village community in its simplest state consisted of a group of families, or households, whose dwellings were generally collected together within an enclosure. To this group belonged a certain tract of land, the cultivation and proprietorship of which were the subject of minute regulations. The regulations varied in different localities THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE ^ to a certain extent, but they were based on the division of the land into three principal parts, viz.: (i) the land immediately in the neighborhood of the dwellings, (2) an- other part specially set aside for £^;ricultural purposes, and (3) the remaining portion of the surrounding open country, which was used only for grazing. Each of these divisions was regarded as in some sort the common property of the village; but the rights of the individuals in some of them were more extensive than in others. That part of the land which was annexed especially to the dwell- ings was more completely the property of the different inhabitants than any other. Each head of a house was entitled to the particular plot attached to his dwelling, and probably these lots, and the dwelling to which they were annexed, remained always practically in the owner- ship of the same family. The area of this section, however, was very insignificant when compared with the remainder of the communal estate. In this the arable land was divided into a number of small plots, each or several of which were assigned to particular households. The mode of division was very various; but, generally speaking, either each household had an equal share assigned to it, or else a share in proportion to the number of its males. Redistributions of the shares took place either at stated periods or whenever circumstances had rendered the exist- ing division inequitable. E^ch household cultivated the particular share assigned to it, and appropriated to its own use the crops produced ; but individuals were never allowed themselves to settle the mode of cultivation that they might prefer. The crops to be sown, and the part of land on which they were to be sown, were all regulated by the common assembly of the whole village, as were also the times for sowing and for harvest, and every other agricultural operation; and these laws of the assembly had to be implicitly followed by all the villagers. The third portion, open or common land of the village, was not divided between the households at all; but every member of the community was at liberty to pasture his flocks and herds upon it. 8 THE RURAL COMMUNITY In their relations to each other the villagers seem to have been on a footing of perfect equality. It is probable that there existed generally some sort of chief, but his power does not appear to have been very great, and for the most part he was merely a president of their assem- blies, exercising only an influence in proportion to his per- sonal qualifications. The real lawgivers and rulers of this society were the different individuals who constituted the assembly. These, however, did not comprise all the inhabitants of the village. Only the heads of the different families were properly included in the villeige assembly. But the household had no longer the same extended circle as formerly, and, so far as we can gather, there seems to have been little check on the division of families and the fomiation of new households. It must be borne in mind, however, that we have no existing institutions exactly resembling the villeige com- munity, such as we may suppose it to have originally been. As with the patriarchal family, we meet with it only after it has undergone considerable modification, and we have to reconstruct it from such modified forms and traditions as remain to us. Many minor details of its nature are therefore necessarily matters of speculation. The com- munity, however, may still be found in a changed form in several localities; notably among the peasantry in Rus- sia, where it bears the name of the mir, and among the native population of India. Its former existence among the Teuton tribes is attested by the clearest evidence. With each of these peoples, however, the form is some- what varied from what we may conclude to have been its original nature; in each country it has been subject not only to the natural growth and development which every institution is liable to, but to special influences aris- ing from the events connected with the nation's history, and from the nature and extent of its territory. But be- fore we inquire what these different influences may have been, let us notice first certain leading characteristics of this group, and consider how they "probably arose. The first thing that we notice is the change in the source THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 9 of authority in the Village Community as compared with that which existed in the patriarchal family. The ruling power is no longer placed in the hands of an individual chief, but is vested in an assembly of all the householders. The second marked peculiarity is the common possession of nearly all the land by the village, combined with the individual possession of goods of a movable nature by the different members. These may be said to be the two essentials of a true village community. Now the change from the patriarchal to this later social form may have taken place by either of two processes — the extension of an individual family into a community, or the amalgama- tion of various families. Probably both processes took place; but whenever anjrthing like the formation of a village community has been actually observed, and the process has occasionally been discernible even in modem times in India, it is due to the former of the two causes indicated. This mode of formation also appears to have left the most distinct impress on society, and we will there- fore notice first how it probably cicted. When a family had devoted itself to agricultural pur- suits, and settled in a fixed locality, one of those divisions of its members might take place which probably were of frequent occurrence in the nomadic state. Although theoretically we speak of the patriarchal family as united and indivisible, yet as a matter of fact we know that it could not always have been so, and that families must frequently have either split up, or else sent off little colonies from their midst. Now, we have seen how marked an effect the settlement of the family must have had in preserving a permanent connection between that family and the households which sprang out of it. The sepeu-a- tion between the older and the younger households would be by no means so complete as formerly. The subsidiary family would continue in close intercourse with the elder branch, and would enjoy with it the use of the land which had been appropriated. In course of time it might happen that a whole group of families would thus become settled near each other, all united by a common origin and en- 10 THE RURAL COMMUNITY joying in common the land surrounding the settlement. The desire for mutual protection, which would often be felt, would alone be strong inducement to preserve the neighborhood between those who through kinship were allies by nature and tradition. Thus, though each sepa- rate family would continue in its internal relations the peculiarities of the patriarchal rule, the heads of the dif- ferent families would be related to each other by quite a new tie. They would not be members of one great family all subservient to a common chief. They would be united simply by the bond of their common interests. In this way, no doubt, sprang up a new relationship between the family chiefs, a relationship not provided for in the construction of the patriarchal family. We might expect perhaps that a special pre-eminence would be accorded to the original family from which the others had separated, and possibly some traces of this pre- eminence may here and there be discovered. Why we have not more traces of it may be difficult to explain. For upon the whole the relationship among the different heads of households seems generally to be one of equality. As we do not know exactly by what process families became divided, it is useless to speculate how this equality arose. Alongside of this new reign of equality among the differ- ent patriarchs or heads of households went a decrease in the power of the patriarch within his own circle. The family had ceased to be the bond of union of the com- munity at large, albeit the units composing the new combination were themselves groups constructed on the patriarchal type; so that the fact that they were now only parts of Icirger groups had the effect of weakening the force of patriarchal customs. When the household was the only state of which an individual was a member, to leave it was to lose all share in its rights and property, to become an outlaw in every possible sense. But when the family became part of the village, the facilities for separating from it were necessarily increased. House- holds would more readily subdivide, now that after sepa- rating their component parts continued united in the com- THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE II munity. Thus by degrees the old patriarchal life decayed, and gave place to this new and more elastic social forma- tion. The importance of an individual's relation to the family became less, that of the family to the community became greater; so that in time the community took to itself the regulation of many affairs originally within the exclusive power of the patriarch. With these changes in social life came new theories of rights and obligations. A new lesson was learnt with re- gard to property. It is difficult to discern whether, in the older, the patriarchal society, the property was re- garded as exclusively that of the chief, or as belonging to the family collectively. The truth seems to be that the two ideas were blended, and neither was conceived with any clearness or completeness. In the village com- munity for the first time the two forms of property, per- sonal and communal, became fully distinguished; each kind, by defining and limiting, producing a clearer idea of the other. The land, the bond of union, and the limit of the extent of the community, remained the common property of all; in part, no doubt, because the idea of possessing land was still so new that it had not been thor- oughly grasped. The produce of the land, whether com or pjisture, was, on the other hand, rather regarded as a proper subject of private possession. At first, perhaps, in obedience to the habits of an earlier life, even this may have been looked upon as common property. But it did not long continue so, as the separation of the households remained too complete to permit of any community with regard to the possessions of the individual homestead, or of the produce required for the support of each house- hold; and this enforced separation of household goods soon extended to the live stock and to the produce of the harvest.^ The effects produced by their new relation to each other • Cattle were probably originally communal property, and were ap- propriated to individuals at a later stage than other movable goods. In the Roman law we find that they could only be transferred by the same forms as were required for the conveyance of land, being classed amongst the "re; mancipi." 12 THE RURAL COMMUNITY upon the individual members of this group were very im- portant. Hitherto such idea of law as existed was con- fined to the mandates or traditional regulations of the patriarchs. Law was at first inseparably connected with religion. It was looked upon £is a series of regulations handed down by some ancestor who had received the regu- lations by Divine inspiration. This notion of the origin of law is so general that it is to be met with in the tradi- tions of almost every nation. Thus we find the Egyptians reputing their laws to the teachings of Hermes (Thot); while the lawgivers of Greece, Minos, and Lycurgus are inspired, the one by Zeus, the other by Apollo. So, too, the Iranian lawgiver Zoroaster is taught by the Good Spirit; and Moses receives the commandments on Mount Sinai. Now, though this idea of law is favorable to the procuring obedience to it, it produces an injurious effect on the law itself, by rendering it too fixed and unalterable. Law, in order to satisfy the requirements and changes of life, should be elastic and capable of adaptation; other- wise, regulations which in their institution were beneficial will survive to be obnoxious under an altered condition of society. But so long as laws are regarded as Divine commands they necessarily retain a great degree of rigidity. The village community, in disconnecting the source of law from the patriarchal power, tended to destroy this association. The authority of the patriarch was a part of the religion of the early Aryans; he was at once the ruler and the priest of the family; and though this union between the two characters long continued to have great influence on the conception of law, the first efforts at a distinction between Divine and human commands sprang from the regulations adopted by the assembly of the vil- lage. The complete equality and the joint authority exercised by its members was an education in self-govern- ment, which was needed to enable them to advance in the path of civilization, teaching them the importance of self-dependence and individual responsibility. Those who learnt that lesson best displayed in their history the greatness of its influence, having gained from THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 1 3 it a vigor and readiness to meet and adapt themselves to new requirements such as was never possessed by those absolute monarchies which sprang out of an enlarged form of the principle of patriarchal government. The history of the various states which arose in Asia, each in its turn to be overwhelmed in a destruction which scarcely left a trace of its social influence, exhibits in a very striking manner the defects which necesseuily ensue when a people ignorant of social arts attempts to form an extensive scheme of government. The various races who have risen to temporary empire by the chances of war in the East have been in very many instances nomadic tribes whose habits had produced a hardihood which enabled them to conquer with ease their effeminate neighbors of more settled districts, but whose social state was not sufficiently advanced to allow them to carry on any extended rule. Used only to their simple nomadic life, they were suddenly brought face to face with wants and possessions of which they had hitherto had no experience, and which lay be- yond the bounds of their customs or ideas. They con- tented themselves with exacting from the conquered such tribute as they could extort, leaving their new subjects to manage their own affairs much as they had done be- fore till the conquerors, gradually corrupted by the luxuries which their position afforded, and having failed to make for themselves any firm footing in their new empire, were in their turn overwhelmed by fresh hordes of nomadic invaders. Such, indeed, may be the fate of any nation. Such was the fate of Rome; her mighty empire, too, fell; but how different a record has she left behind from that of the short- lived monarchies of the East ! Having learnt in her earliest infancy, better perhaps than any other nation, how to reconcile the conflicting theories of the household and the community, she never flagged in her study of the arts of government. Early imbued with a love of law and order, her people discovered in due time how to accom- modate their rule to the various conditions of those which came under their sway. Her laws penetrated to the re- 14 THE RURAL COMMUNITY motest boundaries of her state, and the rights of a Roman citizen were as clearly defined in Britain as in Rome it- self. Thus the Romans have left behind them a system of law the wonder and admiration of all mankind, one which has left indelible marks on the laws and customs, the arts and civilization, of every country which once formed part of their dominions. Such were among the changes resulting from the adop- tion of the village community; but their influences only gradually asserted themselves, and the extent of their development was very various among different peoples. In India, the religious element in the household had al- ways a peculiar force, and its influence continued to effect to a great extent the formation of the community. There this organization never lost sight of the patriarchal power, and has exhibited a constant tendency to revert to that more primitive social form. Among the Slavonic tribes the community seems to have found its most favorable conditions, and some of the reasons for this are not difficult to discern. The Slavs in Russia have for a long time had open to them an immense tract of thinly inhabited coun- try, their only rivals to the possession of which were the Finnish tribes of the north. Now, the village community is a form peculiarly adapted for colonization, and this process of colonizing fresh country by sending out de- tachments from overgrown villages seems to have gone on for a long time in Russia; so that the communities which still exist there present a complete network, all bound by ties of nearer or more distant relationship to each other; every village having some "mother village" from which it has sprung.^ Having practically a bound- less territory awaiting their settlement, none of those difficulties in obtaining land which led to the decay of the village in western Europe affected the Russians in their earlier history. With the Teutons the vill^e had a somewhat different history. It is difficult to determine exactly to what ex- ' The same connection between "mother" and "daughter'' villages also once existed to a large extent in Germany. THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 15 tent it existed among them; but traces of its organization are still discoverable among the laws and customs of Ger- many and England. The warlike habits of the German tribes, however, soon produced a marked effect on this organization. The chief of the village, whether hereditary or elective, was under normal conditions possessed of but little power. Among a warlike people, however, the neces- sity for a captain or dictator must have been much greater than with peaceful tribes; for war requires, more than any other pursuit, that it should be directed by an in- dividual mind. Among the peaceful inhabitants of India or Russia the village head man Wcis generally some aged and venerable father exercising a sort of paternal influence over the others through the reverence paid to his age and wisdom. The habits of the Teutons gave an excessive importance to the strength and vigor of manhood, and they learnt to regard those who exhibited the greatest skill in battle as their natural chieftains. 2. MUTUAL AID AMONG THE BARBARIANS BY P. KROPOTKIN (From Mutual Aid) Men of science have not yet settled upon the causes which some two thousand years ago drove whole nations from Asia into Europe and resulted in the great migrations of barbarians which put an end to the West Roman Em- pire. One cause, however, is naturally suggested to the geographer as he contemplates the ruins of populous cities in the deserts of Central Asia, or follows the old beds of rivers now disappeared and the wide outlines of lakes now reduced to the size of mere ponds. It is desiccation: a quite recent desiccation, continued still at a speed which we formerly were not prepared to admit.' Against it man ' Numberless traces of post-pliocene lakes, now disappeared, are found over Central, West, and North Asia. Shells of the same species as those now found in the Caspian Sea are scattered over the surface of the soil as far E^st as half-way to Lake Aral, and are found in recent deposits as far north as Kazan, Traces of Caspian Gulfs, formerly tak?n for old beds of the Amu, 1 6 THE RURAL COMMUNITY was powerless. When the inhabitant of Northwest Mon- golia and East Turkestan (the "Great Sea" of the ancient Chinese) saw that water was abandoning them, they had no course open to them but to move down the broad valleys leading to the lowlands, and to thrust westward the in- habitants of the plains. Stems after stems were thus thrown into Europe, compelling other stems to move and to remove for centuries in succession, westward and east- ward, in search of new and more or less permanent abodes. Races were mixing with races during those migrations, aborigines with immigrants, Aryans with Ural-Altayans ; and it would have been no wonder if the social institutions which had kept them together in their mother countries had been totally wrecked during the stratification of races which took place in Europe and Asia. But they were not wrecked; they simply underwent the modification which was required by the new conditions of life. The Teutons, the Celts, the Scandinavians, the Sla- vonians, and others, when they first came in contact with the Romans, were in a transitional state of social organi- zation. The clan unions, based upon a real or supposed common origin, had kept them together for many thou- sands of years in succession. But these unions could answer their purpose so long only as there were no sepa- rate families within the gens or clan itself. However, for causes already mentioned,' the separate patriarchal family had slowly but steadily developed within the clans, and in the long run it evidently meant the individual accumu- lation of wealth and power, and the hereditary transmis- intersect the Turcoman territory. Desiccation is evident, and it progresses at a formerly unexpected speed. The level of Lake Aral sinks by a couple of inches every year (Dorandt), and several of its gulfs have dried up in our own lifetime. Even in the relatively wet parts of southwest Siberia, the suc- cession of reliable surveys, recently published by M. YadrintsefT, shows that villages have grown up on what was, eighty years ago, the bottom of one of the lakes of the Tchany group; while the other lakes of the same group, which covered hundreds of square miles some fifty years ago, are now mere ponds. In short, the desiccation of Northwest Asia goes on at a rate which must be measured by centuries, instead of by the geolo^cal units of tinje of yfhidi we formerly used to speak. > Nineteenth CetUury, April, 189;. THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE I7 sion of both. The frequent migrations of the barbarians and the ensuing wars only hastened the division of the gentes into separate families, while the dispersing of stems and their mingling with strangers offered singular facilities for the ultimate disintegration of those unions based upon kinship. The barbarians thus stood in a position of either seeing their clans dissolved into loose aggregations of families, of which the wealthiest, especially if combining sacerdotal functions or military repute with wealth, would have succeeded in imposing their authority upon the others; or of finding out some new form of organization based upon some new principle. Many stems had no force to resist disintegration: they broke up and were lost for history. But the more vigorous ones did not disintegrate. They came out of the ordeal with a new organization — the village community — ^which kept them together for the next fifteen centuries or more. The conception of a common territory, appropriated or protected by common efforts, was elaborated, and it took the place of the vanish- ing conceptions of common descent. The common gods gradually lost their chariv^ter of ancestors and were en- dowed with a local territorial character. They became the gods or saints of a given locality; "the land" was identified with its inhabitants. Territorial unions grew up instead of the consanguine unions of old, and this new organization evidently offered many advantages under the given circumstances. It recognized the independence of the family and even emphasized it, the village com- munity disclaiming all rights of interference in what was going on within the family enclosure; it gave much more freedom to personal initiative; it was not hostile in prin- ciple to union between men of different descent, and it maintained at the same time the necessary cohesion of action and thought, while it was strong enough to oppose the dominative tendencies of the minorities of wizards, priests, and professional or distinguished warriors. Con- sequently it became the primary cell of future organiza- tion, and with many nations the village community has retained this character until now. 1 8 THE RURAL COMMUNITY It is now known, and scarcely contested, that the village community was not a specific feature of the Slavonians, nor even of the ancient Teutons. It prevailed in England during both the Saxon and Norman times, and partially survived till the last century;' it was at the bottom of the social organization of old Scotland, old Ireland, and old Wales. In France, the communal possession and the communal allotment of arable land by the villsige folk- moot persisted from the first centuries of our era till the times of Turgot, who found the folkmoots "too noisy" and therefore abolished them. It survived Roman rule in Italy, and revived after the fall of the Roman Empire. It was the rule with the Scandinavians, the Slavonians, the Fins (in the pittayd, as also, probably, the kihlakunta), the Coures, and the Lives. The village community in India — past and present, Aryan and non-Aryan^s well known through the epoch-making works of Sir Henry Maine; and Elphinstone has described it among the Afghans. We also find it in the Mongolian otUous, the Kabyle thaddart, the Javanese dessa, the Malayan iota or tofa, and under a variety of- names in Abyssinia, the Soudan, in the interior of Africa, with natives of both Americas, with all the small and large tribes of the Pacific archipelj^oes. In short, we do not know one single human race or one single nation which has not had its period of village communities. This fact alone disposes of the theory according to which the village community in Europe would have been a servile growth. It is anterior to serfdom, and even servile submission was powerless to break it. It was a universal phase of evolution, a natural outcome of the ' If I follow the opinions of (to name modern specialists only) Nasse, Kovalevsky, and Vinogradov — whose work we hope will soon be published in English — and not those of Mr. Seebohm (Mr. Denman Ross can only be named for the sake of completeness), it is not only because of the deep knowl- edge and concordance of views of these three writers, but also on account of their perfect knowledge of the village community altogether — a knowledge the want of which is much felt in the otherwise remarkable work of Mr. See- bohm. The same remark applies, in a still higher degree, to the most elegant writings of Fustel de Coulanges, whose opinions and passionate interpreta* Upns of old texts ar? confjned to himself, THE PRIMITIVE VtLLAGfi 19 clan organization, with all those stems, at least, which have played, or play still, some part in history.' It was a natur£il growth, and an absolute uniformity in its structure was therefore not possible. As a rule, it was a union between families considered as of common descent and owning a certain territory in common. But with some stems, and under certain circumstances, the families used to grow very numerous before they threw oflF new buds in the shape of new families; five, six, or seven generations continued to live under the same roof, or within the same enclosure, owning their joint house- hold and cattle in common, and taking their meals at the common hearth. They kept in such case to what eth- nology knows as the "joint family," or the "undivided household," which we still see all over China, in India, in the South Slavonian zadruga, and occasionally find in Africa, in America, in Denmark, in North Russia, and West France.* With other stems, or in other circum- ^ The literature of the village community is so vast that but a few works can be named. Those of Sir Henry Maine, Mr. Seebohm, and Walter's Das aUe Wallis (.Bonn, 1859), are well-known popular sources of information about Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. For France, P. Viollet, Pricis de I'histoire du droit franfais: Droit privl, 1886, and several of his monographs in Bibl. de I'Ecole des Charles; Babeau, Le Village sous I'ancien rigime (the mir in the eighteenth century), third edition, 1887; Bonnemire, Doniol, &c. For Italy and Scandinavia, the chief works are named in Laveleye's Primitive Property, German version by K. Biicher. For the Finns, Rein's FSrelSsningar, I, 16; Koskinen, Finnische Geschichte, 1874, and various monographs. For the Lives and Coures, Prof. Lutchitzky in Severnyi Veslnik, 1891. For the Teutons, besides the well-known works of Maurer, Sohm {Altdeutsche Reichs- und Ge richts- Verfassung), also Dahn (Vrzeit, VUkerwanderung, Langobardische Stu- dien), Janssen, Wilh. Arnold, &c. For India, besides H. Maine and the works he names. Sir John Phear's Aryan Village. For Russia and South Slavonians, see Kavelin, Posnikoff, Sokolovsky, Kovalevsky, Efimenko, IvanishefT, Krauss, &c. (copious bibliographical index up to 1880 in the Sbornik svedeniy oh ob- schinye of the Russ. Geog. Soc.). For general conclusions, besides Laveleye's Propriitt, Morgan's Ancient Society, Lippert's KuiturgeschickU, Post, Dargun, &c., also the short lectures of M. Kovalevsky (Tableau des origines et de I'ivolu- tion de la famiUe et de la propriiti, Stockholm, 1890). Many special mono- graphs ought to be mentioned; their titles may be found in the excellent lists given by P. Viollet in Droit privt and Droit public. For other races, see sub- sequent notes. ' Several authorities are inclined to consider the joint household as an inter- mediate stage between the clan and the village community; and there is no 20 THE RURAL COMMUNITY stances, not yet well specified, the families did not attain the same proportions; the grandsons, and occasionally the sons, left the household as soon as they were married, and each of them started a new cell of his own. But, joint or not, clustered together or scattered in the woods, the families remained united into village communities; several villages were grouped into tribes; and the tribes joined into confederations. Such was the social organization which developed among the so-called "barbarians," when they began to settle more or less permanently in Europe. A very long evolution was required before the gentes, or clans, recognized the separate existence of a patriarchal family in a separate hut; but even after that had been recognized, the clan, as a rule, knew no personal in- heritance of property. The few things which might have belonged personally to the individual were either destroyed on his grave or buried with him. The village community, on the contrary, fully recognized the private accumulation of wealth within the family and its hereditary transmission. But wealth was conceived exclusively in the shape of mov- able property, including cattle, implements, arms, and the dwelling-house which — "like all things that can be de- stroyed by fire" — belonged to the same category.* As to private property in land, the village community did not, and could not, recognize anything of the kind, and, cis a rule, it does not recognize it now. The land was the com- mon property of the tribe, or of the whole stem, and the village community itself owned its part of the tribal terri- doubt that in very many cases village communities have grown up out of un- divided families. Nevertheless, I consider the joint household as a fact of a different order. We find it within the gentes; on the other hand we cannot ai&nn that joint families have existed at any period without belonging either to a gens, or to a village community, or to a Gau. I conceive the early village communities as slowly originating directly from the gentes and consisting, according to racial and local circumstances, either of several joint families, or of both joint and simple families, or (especially in the case of new settle- ments) of simple families only. If this view be correct, we should not have the right of establishing the series: gens, compound family, village community — the second member of the series having not the same ethnological value as the two others. ' Stobbe, BeitrUg zur Geschichte des deutschen Rechles, p. 62. THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 21 tory SO long only as the tribe did not claim a redistribu- tion of the village allotments. The clearing of the woods and the breaking of the prairies being mostly done by the communities or, at least, by the joint work of several families — always with the consent of the community — the cleared plots were held by each family for a term of four, twelve, or twenty years, after which term they were treated as parts of the arable land owned in common. Private property, or possession "forever," was as incompatible with the very principles and the religious conceptions of the village community as it was with the principles of the gens; so that a long influence of the Roman law and the Christian Church, which soon accepted the Roman prin- ciples, were required to accustom the barbarians to the idea of private property in land being possible.* And yet, even when such property, or possession for an unlimited time, was recognized, the owner of a separate estate re- mained a coproprietor in the waste lands, forests, and grazing-grounds. Moreover, we continually see, espe- cially in the history of Russia, that when a few families, acting separately, had taken possession of some land be- longing to tribes which were treated as strangers, they very soon united together, and constituted a village com- munity which in the third or fourth generation began to profess a community of origin. A whole series of institutions, partly inherited from the clan period, have developed from that basis of common ownership of land during the long succession of centuries which was required to bring the barbarians under the dominion of States organized upon the Roman or By- zantine pattern. The village community was not only a union for guaranteeing to each one his fair share in the common land, but also a union for common culture, for ' The few traces of private property in land which are met with in the early barbarian period are found with such stems (the Batavians, the Franks in Gaul) as have been for a time under the influence of Imperial Rome. See Inama-Stemegg's Die Ausbildung der grossen Grundherrschaften in Deutsch- land, Bd. I, 1878. Also, Besseler, Neubrttch nach dem Slleren deutschen Rechl, pp. II-I2, quoted by Kovalevsky, Modern Custom and Ancient Law, Moscow, 1886, I, 134. 22 THE RURAL COMMXTOITY mutual support in all possible forms, for protection from violence, and for a further development of knowledge, national bonds, and moral conceptions; and every change in the judicial, military, educational, or economical manners had to be decided at the folkmoots of the village, the tribe, or the confederation. The community being a continuation of the gens, it inherited all its functions. It was the universitas, the mir — a world in itself. Common hunting, common fishing, and common cul- ture of the orchards or the plantations of fruit-trees was the rule with the old gentes. Common agriculture be- came the rule in the barbarian village communities. True, that direct testimony to this effect is scarce, and in the literature of antiquity we only have the passages of Dio- dorus and Julius Caesar relating to the inhabitants of the Lipari Islands, one of the Celt-Iberian tribes, and the Sueves. But there is no lack of evidence to prove that common agriculture was practised among some Teuton tribes, the Franks, and the old Scotch, Irish, and Welsh.' As to the later survivals of the same practice, they simply are countless. Even in perfectly Romanized France, com- mon culture was habitual some five and twenty years ago in the Morbihan (Brittany).' The old Welsh cyvar, or joint team, as well as the common culture of the land al- lotted to the use of the village sanctuary are quite common among the tribes of Caucasus the least touched by civili- zation,' and like facts are of daily occurrence among the Russian peasants. Moreover, it is well known that many tribes of Brazil, Central America, and Mexico used to cultivate their fields in common, and that the same habit is widely spread among some Malayans, in New Cale- donia, with several Negro stems, and so on.* In short, ' Maurer's Markgenossenschaft ; Lamprecht's "Wirthschaft und Recht der Franken zur Zeit der Volksrechte," in Hislor. Taschenbuch, 1883; See- bohm's The English Village Community, ch. VI, VII, and IX. ' Letourneau, in Bulletin de la Soc. d'Anthropologie, 1888, vol. XI, p. 476. 'Walter, Das alte WalUs, p. 323; Dm. Bakradze and N. Khoudadoff in Russian Zapiski of the Caucasian Geogr. Society, XIV, Part I. * Bancroft's Native Races; Waitz, Anlhropologie, III, 423; Montrozier, in Bull. Soc. d'Anthropologie, 1870; Post's Studien, etc. THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE i^ communal culture is so habitual with many Aryan, Ural- Altayan, Mongolian, Negro, Red Indian, Malayan, and Melanesian stems that we must consider it as a universal — though not as the only possible — form of primitive agriculture. Communal cultivation does not, however, imply by necessity communal consumption. Already under the clan organization we often see that when the boats laden with fruits or fish return to the village, the food they bring in is divided among the huts and the "long houses" in- habited by either several families or the youth, to be cooked separately at each separate hearth. The habit of talcing meals in a narrower circle of relatives or associates thus prevails at an early period of clan life. It became the rule in the villcige community. Even the food grown in common was usually divided between the households after part of it had been lEiid in store for communal use. How- ever, the tradition of communal meals was piously kept alive ; every available opportunity, such as the commemo- ration of the ancestors, the religious festivals, the beginning and the end of field work, the births, the marriages, and the funerals, being seized upon to bring the community to a common meal. Even now this habit, well known in this country as the "harvest supper," is the last to dis- appear. On the other hand, even when the fields had long since ceased to be tilled and sown in common, a variety of agricultural work continued, and continues still, to be performed by the community. Some part of the com- munal land is still cultivated in many cases in common, either for the use of the destitute or for refilling the com- munal stores, or for using the produce at the religious festivals. The irrigation canals are digged and repaired in common. The communal meadows are mown by the community; and the sight of a Russian commune mowing a meadow — the men rivalling each other in their advance with the scythe, while the women turn the grass over and throw it up into heaps — is one of the most inspiring sights ; it shows what human work might be and ought to be. The hay, in such case, is divided among the separate house- 24 THE RURAL COMMUNITY holds, and it is evident that no one has the right of taking hay from a neighbor's stack without his permission; but the limitation of this last rule among the Caucasian Os- setes is most noteworthy. When the cuckoo cries and announces that spring is coming, and that the meadows will soon be clothed again with grass, every one in need has the right of taking from a neighbor's stack the hay he wants for his cattle.' The old communal rights are thus reasserted, as if to prove how contrary unbridled indi- vidualism is to human nature. When the European traveller lands in some small island of the Pacific, and, seeing at a distance a grove of palm- trees, walks in that direction, he is astonished to discover that the little villages are connected by roads paved with big stones, quite comfortable for the unshod natives, and very similar to the "old roads" of the Swiss mountains. Such roads were traced by the "barbarians" all over Eu- rope, and one must have travelled in wild, thinly peopled countries, far away from the chief lines of communication, to realize in full the immense work that must have been performed by the barbarian communities in order to con- quer the woody and marshy wilderness which Europe was some two thousand years ago. Isolated families, having no tools, and weak as they were, could not have conquered it; the wilderness would have overpowered them. Villeige communities alone, working in common, could master the wild forests, the sinking marshes, and the endless steppes. The rough roads, the ferries, the wooden bridges taken away in the winter and rebuilt after the spring flood was over, the fences and the palisaded walls of the villages, the earthen forts and the small towers with which the territory was dotted — all these were the work of the barbarian communities. And when a com- munity grew numerous it used to throw off a new bud. A new community arose at a distance, thus step by step bringing the woods and the steppes under the dominion of man. The whole making of European nations was such a budding of the village communities. Even nowadays * Kovalevsky, Modem Custom and Ancient Law, I, 115. THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 2$ the Russian peasants, if they are not quite broken down by misery, migrate in communities, and they till the soil and build the houses in common when they settle on the banks of the Amur. And even the English, when they first began to colonize America, used to return to the old system; they grouped into village communities.* The vill£^e community was the chief arm of the bar- barians in their hard struggle against a hostile nature. It also was the bond they opposed to oppression by the cunningest and the strongest which so easily might have developed during those disturbed times. The imaginary barbarian — the man who fights and kills at his mere caprice — existed no more than the "bloodthirsty" savage. The real barbarian was living, on the contrary, under a wide series of institutions, imbued with considerations as to what may be useful or noxious to his tribe or confedera- tion, and these institutions were piously handed down from generation to generation in verses and songs, in proverbs or triads, in sentences and instructions. The more we study them the more we recognize the narrow bonds which united men in their villages. Every quarrel arising between two individuals was treated as a com- munal affair — even the offensive words that might have been uttered during a quarrel being considered as an offense to the community and its ancestors. They had to be repaired by amends made both to the individual and the community;* and if a quarrel ended in a fight and wounds, the man who stood by and did not interpose was treated as if he himself had inflicted the wounds.' The judicial procedure was imbued with the same spirit. Every dispute was brought first before mediators or ar- biters, and it mostly ended with them, the arbiters play- ing a very important part in barbarian society. But if the Ccise was too grave to be settled in this way, it came ■ Palfrey, History of New England, II, 13; quoted in Maine's Village Com- munities, New York, 1876, p. 201. * KSnigswarter, Etudes sur le dfmioppement des socifUs humaines, Paris, 1850. * This is, at least, the law of the Kalmucks, whose customary law bears the closest resemblance to the laws of the Teutons, the old Slavonians, &c. 26 THE RURAL COMMUNITY before the folkmoot, which was bound "to find the sen- tence," and pronounced it in a conditional form; that is, "such compensation was due, if the wrong be proved," and the wrong had to be proved or disclaimed by six or twelve persons confirming or denying the fact by oath; ordeal being resorted to in case of contradiction between the two sets of jurors. Such procedure, which remained in force for more than two thousand years in succession, speaks volumes for itself; it shows how close were the htonds between all members of the community. More- over, there was no other authority to enforce the decisions of the folkmoot besides its own moral authority. The only possible menace was that the community might declare the rebel an outlaw, but even this menace was reciprocal. A man discontented with the folkmoot could declare that he would abandon the tribe and go over to another tribe — a most dreadful menace, as it was sure to bring all kinds of misfortunes upon a tribe that might have been unfair to one of its members. A rebellion against a right decision of the customary law was simply "incon- ceivable," as Henry Maine has so well said, because "law, morality, and fact" could not be separated from each other in those times.^ The moral authority of the com- mune was so great that even at a much later epoch, when the village communities fell into submission to the feudal lord, they maintained their judicial powers; they only permitted the lord, or his deputy, to "find" the above conditional sentence in accordance with the customary law he had sworn to follow, and to levy for himself the fine (the fred) due to the commune. But for a long time, the lord himself, if he remained a coproprietor in the waste land of the commune, submitted in communal affairs to its decisions. Noble or ecclesiastic, he had to submit to the folkmoot — Wer daselbst Wasser und Weid genussi, muss gehorsam sein — "Who enjoys here the right of water and pasture must obey" — was the old saying. Even when the peasants became serfs under the lord, he was bound * YUhtf Communities, pp. ^s-^ and 199, THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 27 to apj)ear before the folkmoot when they summoned him.* In their conceptions of justice the barbarians evidently .did not much differ from the savages. They also main- tained the idea that a murder must be followed by putting the murderer to death; that wounds had to be punished by equal wounds, and that the wronged family was bound to fulfil the sentence of the customary law. This was a holy duty, a duty toward the ancestors, which had to be accomplished in broad daylight, never in secrecy, and rendered widely known. Therefore the most inspired passages of the sagas and epic poetry altogether are those which glorify what was supposed to be justice. The gods themselves joined in aiding it. However, the predominant feature of barbarian justice is, on the one hand, to limit the numbers of persons who may be involved in a feud, and on the other hand to extirpate the brutal idea of blood for blood and wounds for wounds, by substituting for it the system of compensation. The barbarian codes — which were collections of common-law rules written down for the use of judges — "first permitted, then encouraged, and at last enforced," compensation instead of revenge.* The compensation has, however, been totally misunderstood by those who represented it as a fine, and as a sort of carte blanche given to the rich man to do whatever he liked. The compensation money (wergeld), which was quite dif- ferent from the fine or fred,^ was habitually so high for all kinds of active offenses that it certainly was no encourage- ment for such offenses. In case of a murder it usually exceeded all the possible fortune of the murderer. " Eigh- ' Maurer (Gesch. der Markverfassung, § 29, 97) is quite decisive upon this subject. He maintains that "All members of the community . . . the laic and clerical lords as well, often also the partial copossessors (Markberechtigte), and even strangers to the Mark, were submitted to its jurisdiction" (p. 312). This conception remained locally in force up to the fifteenth century. ' KSnigswarter, loc. cit., p. 50; J. Thrupp, Historical Law Tracts, London, 1843, p. 106. ' KSnigswarter has shown that the fred originated from an offering which had to be made to appease the ancestors. Later on, it was paid to the com- munity, for the breach of peace; and still later to the judge, or king, or lord, when they had appropriated to themselves the rights of the community. 28 THE RURAL COMMUNITY teen times eighteen cows" is the compensation with the Ossetes who do not know how to reckon above eighteen, while with the African tribes it attains 800 cows or 100 camels with their young, or 416 sheep in the poorer tribes.'. In the great majority of cases, the compensation money could not be paid at all, so that the murderer had no issue but to induce the wronged family, by repentance, to adopt him. Even now, in the Caucasus, when feuds come to an end, the offender touches with his lips the breast of the oldest woman of the tribe, and becomes a "milk-brother" to all men of the wronged family.* With several African tribes he must give his daughter, or sister, in marriage to some one of the family; with other tribes he is bound to marry the woman whom he has made a widow; and in all cases he becomes a member of the family, whose opinion is taken in all important family matters.' Far from acting with disregard to human life, the bar- barians, moreover, knew nothing of the horrid punish- ments introduced at a later epoch by the laic and canonic laws under Roman and Byzantine influence. For, if the Saxon code admitted the death penalty rather freely, even in cases of incendiarism and armed robbery, the other barbarian codes pronounced it exclusively in cases of be- trayal of one's kin, and sacrilege against the community's gods, as the only means to appease the gods. All this, as seen, is very far from the supposed "moral dissoluteness" of the barbarians. On the contrary, we cannot but admire the deeply moral principles elaborated within the early village communities which found their expression in Welsh triads, in legends about King Arthur, in Brehon commentaries, in old German legends and so ' Post's Bausteine and Afrikanische Jurisprudent, Oldenburg, 1887, vol. I, p. 64 sq.; Kovalevsky, loc. cit., II, 164-189. ' O. Miller and M. Kovalevsky, " In the Mountaineer Communities of Kabar- dia," in Vestnik Evropy, April, 1884; also Markoff, in appendix to t\ic Zapiski of the Caucasian Geogr. Soc., XIV. • Poet, in Afrik. Jurisprudent, gives a series of facts illustrating the concep- tions of equity inrooted among the African barbarians. The same may be said of all serious examinations into barbarian common law. THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 29 on, or find still their expression in the sayings of the modem barbarians. In his introduction to The Story oj Burnt Njal, George Dasent very justly sums up as follows the qualities of a Northman, as they appear in the sagas. — To do what lay before him openly and like a man, without fear of either foes, fiends, or fate; ... to be free and daring in all his deeds; to be gentle and generous to his friends and kinsmen; to be stem and grim to his foes [those who are under the lex talionis], but even towards them to fulfil all bounden duties. . . . To be no truce-breaker, nor tale-bearer, nor back- biter. To utter nothing against any man that he would not dare to tell him to his face. To turn no man from his door who sought food or shelter, even though he were a foe.' The same or still better principles permeate the Welsh epic poetry and triads. To act "according to the na- ture of mildness and the principles of equity," without regard to the foes or to the friends, and "to repair the wrong," are the highest duties of man; "evil is death, good is life," exclaims the poet legislator.^ And the humble Shamanist Mordovian, after having praised the same qualities, will add, moreover, in his principles of customary law, that "among neighbors the cow and the milking- jar are in common"; that "the cow must be milked for your- self and him who may ask milk"; that "the body of a child reddens from the stroke, but the face of him who strikes reddens from shame";* and so on. Many pages might be filled with like principles expressed and followed by the "barbarians." One feature more of the old village communities de- serves a special mention. It is the gradual extension of the circle of men embraced by the feelings of solidarity. Not only the tribes federated into stems, but the stems as well, even though of different origin, joined together in confederations. Some federations were so close that, for instance, the Vandals, after part of their confederation » Introduction, p. xxxv. • Das altc Wallis, pp. 343-350. • MaynofiF, "Sketches of the Judicial Practices of the Mordovians," in the ethnographical Zapiski of the Russian Geographical Society, 1883, pp. 236, 257- 3© THE RURAL COMMUNITY had left for the Rhine, and thence went over to Spain and Africa, respected for forty consecutive years the land- marks and the abandoned villages of their confederates, and did not take possession of them until they had ascer- tained through envoys that their confederates did not intend to return. With other barbarians, the soil was cultivated by one p«irt of the stem, while the other part fought on or beyond the frontiers of the common terri- tory. As to the leagues between several stems, they were quite habitual. The Sicambers united with the Cherusques and the Sueves, the Quades with the Sarmates; the Sar- mates with the Alans, the Carpes, and the Huns. Later on, we also see the conception of nations gradually de- veloping in Europe, long before anything like a State had grown in any part of the continent occupied by the bar- barians. These nations — for it is impossible to refuse the name of a nation to the Merovingian France, or to the Russia of the eleventh and twelfth century — ^were nevertheless kept together by nothing else but a com- munity of language, and a tacit agreement of the small republics to take their dukes from none but one special family. Wars were certainly unavoidable; migration means war; but Sir Henry Maine has already fully proved in his remarkable study of the tribal origin of International Law, that " Man has never been so ferocious or so stupid as to submit to such an evil as war without some kind of effort to prevent it," and he has shown how exceedingly great is "the number of ancient institutions which bear the marks of a design to stand in the way of war, or to provide an alternative to it." ^ In reality, man is so far from the warlike being he is supposed to be, that when the barbarians had once settled they so rapidly lost the very habits of warfare that very soon they were compelled to keep special dukes followed by special scholce or bands of warriors, in order to protect them from possible in- truders. They preferred peaceful toil to war, the very peacefulness of man being the cause of the specialization ' International Law, London, 1888, pp. 1 1-13, THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 3 1 of the warrior's trade, which specialization resulted later on in serfdom and in all the wars of the "States period" of human history. History finds great difficulties in restoring to life the insti- tutions of the barbarians. At every step the historian meets with some faint indication which he is unable to explain with the aid of his own documents only. But a broad light is thrown on the past as soon as we refer to the institutions of the very numerous tribes which are still living under a social organization almost identical with that of our barbarian ancestors. Here we simply have the difficulty of choice, because the islands of the Pacific, the Steppes of Asia, and the table-lands of Africa are real historical museums containing specimens of all possible intermediate stages which mankind has lived through, when passing from the savage gentes up to the States' organization. Let us, then, examine a few of those specimens. If we take, for instance, the village communities of the Mongol Buryates, especially those of the Kudinsk Steppe on the upper Lena which have better escaped Russian influence, we have fair representatives of barbarians in a transitional state, between cattle-breeding and agriculture.* These Buryates are still living in "joint families"; that is, al- though each son, when he is married, goes to live in a sepa- rate hut, the huts of at least three generations remain within the same enclosure, and the joint family work in common in their fields, and own in common their joint households and their cattle, as well as their "calves' grounds" (small fenced patches of soil kept under soft grass for the rearing of calves). As a rule, the meals are taken separately in each hut; but when meat is roasted, all the twenty to sixty members of the joint household feast together. Several joint households which live in a cluster, as well as several smaller families settled in the same village — mostly dibris of joint households accidentally broken up — make the oulous, or the village community; > A Russian historian, the Kazan Professor Schapoff, who was exiled in 1862 to Siberia, has given a good description of their institutions in the laiestia of the East-Siberian Geographical Society, vol. V, 1874. 32 THE RURAL COMMUNITY several oulouses make a tribe; and the forty-six tribes, or clans, of the Kudinsk Steppe are united into one confedera- tion. Smaller and closer confederations are entered into, as necessity arises for special wants, by several tribes. They know no private property in land — the 'land being held in common by the oulous, or rather by the confedera- tion, and if it becomes necessary, the territory is reallotted between the different oulouses at a folkmoot of the tribe, and between the forty-six tribes at a folkmoot of the con- federation. It is worthy of note that the same organiza- tion prevails among all the 250,000 Buryates of East Si- beria, although they have been for three centuries under Russian rule, and are well acquainted with Russian in- stitutions. With all that, inequalities of fortune rapidly develop among the Buryates, especially since the Russian Govern- ment is giving an exaggerated importance to their elected taishas (princes), whom it considers as responsible tax- collectors and representatives of the confederations in their administrative and even commercial relations with the Russians. The channels for the enrichment of the few are thus many, while the impoverishment of the great number goes hand in hand, through the appropriation of the Buryate lands by the Russians. But it is a habit with the Buryates, especially those of Kudinsk — and habit is more than law — that if a family has lost its cattle, the richer families give it some cows and horses that it may recover. As to the destitute man who has no family, he takes his meals in the huts of his congeners; he enters. a hut, takes — by right, not for charity — his seat by the fire, and shares the meal which always is scrupulously divided into equal parts; he sleeps where he has taken his -evening meal. Altogether, the Russian conquerors of Siberia were so much struck by the communistic practices of the Bury- ates, that they gave them the name of Bratskiye — "the Brotherly Ones" — and reported to Moscow: "With them everything is in common; whatever they have is shared in common." Even now, when the Lena Buryates sell their wheat, or send some of their cattle to be sold to a THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 33 Russian butcher, the families of the oulous, or the tribe, put their wheat and cattle together, and sell it £is a whole. Each oulous has, moreover, its grain store for loans in case of need, its communal baking oven (the four banal of the old French communities), and its blacksmith, who, like the blacksmith of the Indian communities,^ being a member of the community, is never paid for his work within the community. He must make it for nothing, and if he utilizes his spare time for fabricating the small plates of chiselled and silvered iron which are used in Buryate land for the decoration of dress, he may occasionally sell them to a woman from another clan, but to the women of his own clan the attire is presented as a gift. Selling and buying cannot take place within the community, and the rule is so severe that when a richer family hires a laborer the laborer must be taken from another clan or from among the Russians. This habit is evidently not specific to the Buryates; it is so widely spread among the modern bar- barians, Aryan and Ural-Altayan, that it must have been universal among our ancestors. The feeling of union within the confederation is kept alive by the common interests of the tribes, their folk- moots, and the festivities which are usually kept in con- nection with the folkmoots. The same feeling is, how- ever, maintained by another institution, the aba, or com- mon hunt, which is a reminiscence of a very remote past. Every autumn, the forty-six clans of Kudinsk come to- gether for such a hunt, the produce of which is divided among all the families. Moreover, national abas, to assert the unity of the whole Buryate nation, are convoked from timje to time. In such cases, all Buryate clans which are scattered for hundreds of miles West and East of Lake Baikal, are bound to send their delegate hunters. Thou- sands of men come together, each one bringing provisions for a whole month. Every one's share must be equal to all the others, and therefore, before being put together, they are weighed by an ekcted elder (always "with the hand": scales would be a profanation of the old custom). ' Sir Henry Maine's Village Communities, New York, 1876, pp. 193-196. 34 THE RURAL COMMUNITY After that the hunters divide into bands of twenty, and the parties go hunting according to a well-settled plan. In such abas the entire Buryate nation revives its epic traditions of a time when it was united in a powerful lejigue. Let me add that such communal hunts are quite usual with the Red Indians and the Chinese on the banks of the Usuri (the kada)} With the Kabyles, whose manners of life have been so well described by two French explorers,* we have bar- barians still more advanced in agriculture. Their fields, irrigated and manured, are well attended to, and in the hilly tracts every available plot of land is cultivated by the spade. The Kabyles have known many vicissitudes in their history; they have followed for some time the Mussulman law of inheritance, but, being adverse to it, they have returned, 150 years ago, to the tribal customary law of old. Accordingly, their land-tenure is of a mixed character, and private property in land exists side by side with communal possession. Still, the basis of their pres- ent organization is the village community, the thaddart, which usually consists of several joint families (kharoubas), claiming a community of origin, as well as of smaller fami- lies of strangers. Several villages are grouped into clans or tribes (arch); several tribes make the confederation (thak'ebilt); and several confederations may occasionally enter into a league, chiefly for purposes of armed defense. The Kabyles know no authority whatever besides that of the djemtnda, or folkmoot oTf the villj^e community. All men of age take part in it, in the open air, or in a special building provided with stone seats, and the decisions of the djemmda are evidently taken at unanimity: that is, the discussions continue until all present agree to accept, or to submit to, some decision. There being no authority in a village community to impose a decision, this system has been practised by mankind wherever there have been village communities, and it is practised still wherever they continue to exist, i. e., by several hundred million men all over the world. The djetnmda nominates its executive ' Nazaroff, The North Usuri Territory (Russian), St. Petersburg, 1887, p. 65. ' Hanoteau et Letourneux, La KahyUe, 3 vols., Paris, 1883. THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 35 — the elder, the scribe, and the treasurer; it assesses its own taxes; and it maneges the repartition of the common lands, as well as all kinds of works of public utility. A great deal of work is done in common: the roads, the mosques, the fountains, the irrigation canals, the towers erected for protection from robbers, the fences, and so on, are built by the village community; while the high- roads, the larger mosques, and the great market-places are the work of the tribe. Many traces of common cul- ture continue to exist, and the houses continue to be built by, or with the aid of, all men and women of the vil- lage. Altogether, the "aids" are of daily occurrence, and are continually called in for the cultivation of the fields, for harvesting, and so on. As to the skilled work, each community has its blacksmith, who enjoys his part of the communal land, and works for the community; when the tilling season approaches he visits every house, and repairs the tools and the ploughs, without expecting any pay, while the makipg of new ploughs is considered as a pious work which can by no means be recompensed in money, or by any other form of salary. As the Kabyles already have private property, they evidently have both rich and poor among them. But like all people who closely live together, and know how poverty begins, they consider it as an accident which may visit every one. "Don't say that you will never wear the beggar's bag, nor go to prison," is a proverb of the Rus- sian peasants; the Kabyles practise it, and no difference can be detected in the external behavior between rich and poor; when the poor convokes an "aid," the rich man works in his field, just as the poor man does it reciprocally in his turn.^ Moreover, the djetnmdas set aside certain gardens and fields, sometimes cultivated in common, for the use of the poor. Many like customs con- tinue to exist. As the poorer families would not be able to buy meat, meat is regularly bought with the money ' To convoke an "aid," some kind of meal must be offered to the community. I am told by a Caucasian friend that in Georgia, when the poor man wants an "aid," he borrows from the rich man a sheep or two to prepare the meal, and the community bring, in addition to their work, so many provisions that he may repay the debt. A similar habit exists with the Mordovians. 36 THE RURAL COMMUNITY of the fines, or the gifts to the djemmda, or the payments for the use of the communal olive-oil basins, and it is dis- tributed in equal parts among those who cannot afford buying meat themselves. And when a sheep or a bullock is killed by a family for its own use on a day which is not a market-day, the fact is announced in the streets by the vil- lage crier, in order that sick people and pregnant women may take of it what they want. Mutual support permeates the life of the Kabyles, and if one of them, during a journey abroad, meets with another Kabyle in need, he is bound to come to his aid, even at the risk of his own fortune and life; if this has not been done, the djemmda of the man who has suffered from such neglect may lodge a complaint, and the djemmda of the selfish man will at once make good the loss. We thus come across a custom which is familiar to the students of the mediaeval merchant guilds. Every stranger who enters a Kabyle village has right to housing in the winter, and his horses can always graze on the com- munal lands for twenty-four hours. But in case of need he can reckon upon an almost unlimited support. Thus, during the famine of 1867-68, the Kabyles received and fed every one who sought refuge in their villages, without distinction of origin. In the district of Dellys, no less than 12,000 people who came from all parts of Algeria, and even from Morocco, were fed in this way. While people died from starvation all over Algeria, there was not one single case of death due to this cause on Kabylian soil. The djemmdas, depriving themselves of necessaries, organised relief, without ever asking any aid from the Government, or uttering the slightest complaint; they considered it as a natural duty. And while among the European settlers all kind of police measures were taken to prevent thefts and disorder resulting from such an in- flux of strangers, nothing of the kind was required on the Kabyles' territory: the djemmdas needed neither aid nor protection from without.^ > Hanoteau et Letourneux, La Kabylit, II, 58. The same reapect to strangers is the r-ule with the Mongols. The Mongol who has refused his roof to a stranger pays the full blood-compensation if the stranger has suffered there- from. (Bastian, Der Mensch in der Geschiehte, III, 231.) THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 37 I can only cursorily mention two other most interesting features of Kabyle life; namely the anaya, or protection granted to wells, canals, mosques, market-places, some roads, and so on, in case of war, and the qofs. In the anaya we have a series of institutions both for diminishing the evils of war and for preventing conflicts. Thus the market- place is anaya, especially if it stands on the frontiers and brings Kabyles and strangers together; no one dares dis- turb peace in the market, and if a disturbance arises, it is quelled at once by the strangers who have gathered in the market-town. The road upon which the women go from the village to the fountain also is anaya in case of war; and so on. As to the gof, it is a widely spread form of association, having some characters of the mediaeval BUrgschaften or Gegilden, as well as of societies both for mutual protection and for various purposes — intellectual, political, and emotional — which cannot be satisfied by the territorial organization of the village, the clan, and the confederation. The gof knows no territorial limits; it recruits its members in various villages, even among strangers; and it protects them in all possible eventualities of life. Altogether, it is an attempt at supplementing the territorial grouping by an extraterritorial grouping intended to give an expression to mutual affinities of all kinds across the frontiers. The free international associa- tion of individual tastes and ideas, which we consider as one of the best features of our own life, has thus its origin in barbarian antiquity. The mountaineers of Caucasia offer another extremely instructive field for illustrations of the same kind. In studying the present customs of the Ossetes — their joint families and communes and their judiciary conceptions — Professor Kovalevsky, in a remarkable work on Modern Custom and Ancient Law, was enabled step by step to trace the similar dispositions of the old barbarian codes and even to study the origins of feudalism. With other stems we occasionally catch a glimpse into the origin of the vil- lage community in those cases where it was not tribal but originated from a voluntary union between families of distinct origin. Such was recently the case with some 38 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Khevsoure villages, the inhabitants of which took the oath of "community and fraternity."^ In another part of Caucasus, Daghestan, we see the growth of feudal rela- tions between two tribes, both maintaining at the same time their village communities (and even traces of the gentile "classes"), and thus giving a living illustration of the forms taken by the conquest of Italy and Gaul by the barbarians. The conquering race, the Lezghines, who have conquered several Georgian and Tartar villages in the Zakataly district, did not bring them under the dominion of separate families; they constituted a feudal clan which now includes 12,000 households in three vil- lages, and owns in common no less than twenty Georgian and Tartar villages. The conquerors divided their own land among their clans, and the clans divided it in equal parts among the families; but they did not interfere with the djetnmdas of their tributaries which still practise the habit mentioned by Julius Caesar; namely, the djemmda decides each year which part of the communal territory must be cultivated, and this land is divided into as many parts as there are families, and the parts are distributed by lot. It is worthy of note that although proletarians are of common occurrence among the Lezghines (who live under a system of private property in land, and com- mon ownership of serfs*) they are rare among their Georgian serfs, who continue to hold their land in common. As to the customary law of the Caucasian mountaineers, it is much the same as that of the Longobards or Salic Franks, and several of its dispositions explain a good deal the judicial procedure of the barbarians of old. Being of a very impressionable character, they do their best to prevent quarrels from taking a fatal issue; so, with the Khevsoures, the swords are very soon drawn when a quarrel ' N. KhoudadofT, " Notes on the Khevsoures," in Zapiski of the Caucasian Geogr. Society, XIV, i, Tiflis, 1890, p. 68. They also took the oath of not marrying girls from their own union, thus displaying a remarkable return to the old gentile rules. ' Dm. Bakradze, "Notes on the Zakataly District," in same Zapiski, XIV, I, p. 264. The "joint team" is as common among the Lezghines as it is among the Ossetes. THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 39 breaks out; but if a woman rushes out and throws among them the piece of linen which she wears on her head, the swords are at once returned to their sheaths, and the quarrel is appeased. The head-dress of the women is anaya. If a quarrel has not been stopped in time and has ended in murder, the compensation money is so considerable that the aggressor is entirely ruined for his life, unless he is adopted by the wronged family; and if he hcis resorted to his sword in a trifling quarrel and has inflicted wounds, he loses forever the consideration of his kin. In all dis- putes, mediators take the matter in hand ; they select from among the members of the clan the judges — six in smaller affairs, and from ten to fifteen in more serious matters — and Russian observers testify to the absolute incorruptibil- ity of the judges. An oath has such a significance that men enjoying general esteem are dispensed from taking it: a simple affirmation is quite sufficient, the more so as in grave affairs the Khevsoure never hesitates to recog- nize his guilt (I mean, of course, the Khevsoure untouched yet by civilization). The oath is chiefly reserved for such cases, like disputes about property, which require some sort of appreciation in addition to a simple statement of facts; and in such cases the men whose affirmation will decide in the dispute, act with the greatest circumspec- tion. Altogether it is certainly not a want of honesty or of respect to the rights of the congeners which characterizes the barbarian societies of Caucasus. The stems of Africa offer such an immense variety of extremely interesting societies standing at all intermediate stages from the early village community to the despotic barbarian monarchies that I must abandon the idea of giving here even the chief results of a comparative study of their institutions.* Suffice it to say, that, even under the most hon^d despotism of kings, the folkmoots of the village communities and their customary law remain sover- eign in a wide circle of affairs. The law of the State allows 'See Post, Afrikanische Jurisprudem, Oldenburg, 1887; Miinzinger, Ueber das Recht und Sitten der Bogos, Winterthur, 1859; Casalis, Les Bassoutos, Paris, 1859; Maclean, Kafir Laws and Customs, Mount Coke, 1858, &c, 40 THE RURAL COMMUNITY the king to take any one's life for a simple caprice, or even for simply satisfying his gluttony; but the customary law of the people continues to maintain the same network of institutions for mutual support which exist among other barbarians or have existed among our ancestors. And with some better-favored stems (in Bomu, Uganda, Abys- sinia), and especially the Bogos, some of the dispositions of the customary law are inspired with really graceful and delicate feelings. The village communities of the natives of both Americas have the same character. The Tupi of Brazil were found living in "long houses" occupied by whole clans which used to cultivate their com and manioc fields in common. The Arani, much more advanced in civilization, used to cultivate their fields in common; so also the Ouca^cis, who had learned under their system of primitive com- munism and "long houses" to build good roads and to carry on a variety of domestic industries,^ not inferior to those of the early mediaeval times in Europe. All of them were also living under the same customary law of which we have given specimens on the preceding peiges. At another extremity of the world we find the Malayan feudcilism, but this feudalism has been powerless to unroot the negaria, or village community, with its common owner- ship of at least part of the land, and the redistribution of land among the several negarias of the tribe.* With the Alfurus of Minahasa we find the communal rotation of the crops; with the Indian stem of the Wyandots we have the periodical redistribution of land within the tribe, and the clan-culture of the soil; and in all those parts of Sumatra where Moslem institutions have not yet totally destroyed the old organization we find the joint family (suka) and the village community {koto) which maintains its right upon the land, even if part of it has been cleared without its authorization.' But to say this, is to say that ' Waitz, III, 423 sq. ' Post's Studien zur Entwicklungsgeschichte ies FamUien-Rechts, Oldenburg, 1889, p. 270 sq. 'Powell, Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnography, Washington, 1881, quoted in Post's Studien, p. 290; Bastian's Inselgruppen in Oceanien, 1883, p. 88. THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 4 1 all customs for mutual protection and prevention of feuds and wars, which have been briefly indicated in the pre- ceding pages as characteristic of the village community, exist as well. More than that: the more fully the com- munal possession of land has been maintained, the better and the gentler are the habits. De Stuers positively affirms that wherever the institution of the village community has been less encroached upon by the conquerors, the in- equalities of fortunes are smaller, and the very prescrip- tions of the lex talionis are less cruel; while, on the con- trary, wherever the village community has been totally broken up, "the inhabitants suffer the most unbearable oppression from their despotic rulers." ^ This is quite natural. And when Waitz made the remark that those stems which have maintained their tribal confederations stand on a higher level of development and have a richer literature than those stems which have forfeited the old bonds of union, he only pointed out what might have been foretold in advance. More illustrations would simply involve me in tedious repetitions- — so strikingly similar are the barbarian socie- ties under all climates and in all races. The same process of evolution has been going on in mankind with a won- derful similarity. When the clan organization, assailed as it was from within by the separate family, and from without by the dismemberment of the migrating clans and the necessity of taking in strangers of different descent — the village community, based upon a territorial concep- tion, came into existence. This new institution, which had naturally grown out of the preceding clan one, per- mitted the barbarians to pass through a most disturbed period of history without being broken into isolated families which would have succumbed in the struggle for life. New forms pf culture developed under the new organization; agriculture attained, .the stage which it hardly has sur- passed until now with the great number; the domestic industries reached -a high degree of perfection. The wilder- ness w^s conquered, it w?is intersected by roads, covered with.swarms thrown pff by the mothef-comrtiunities. Mar- ' De Stuers, quoted by Waitz, V, 141. 42 Tflfi RURAL COMMUNITY kets and fortified centres, as well as places of public worship, were erected. The conceptions of a wider union, extended to whole stems and to several stems of various origin, were slowly elaborated. The old conceptions of justice which were conceptions of mere revenge, slowly underwent a deep modification — the idea of amends for the wrong done taking the place of revenge. The customary law which still makes the law of the daily life for two-thirds or more of mankind, was elaborated under that organization, as well as a system of habits intended to prevent the oppres- sion of the masses by the minorities whose powers grew in proportion to the growing facilities for private accumula- tion of wealth. This was the new form taken by the tendencies of the masses for mutual support. And the progress — economical, intellectual, and moral — ^which man- kind accomplished under this new popular form of organ- ization, was so great that the States, when they were called later on into existence, simply took possession, in the in- terest of the minorities, of all the judicial, economical, and administrative functions which the village community already had exercised in the interest of all. The causes which brought about this modification, as well as the ul- terior forms taken by the popular tendencies toward mu- tual support, will make the subject of a subsequent study. 77. EXAMPLES AND SURVEYS 1. MALMESBURY BY GEORGE LAURENCE GOMME (From The Village Community) We next come to Malmesbury; and turning first to the structure of the community itself we will consider it under the heads of (i) the basis of membership; (2) the rights of membership. The basis of membership has some features which are of almost unique importance. Our knowledge of them is chiefly to be obtained from an account in The Gentleman's THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 43 Magazine of 1832, which is copied from a manuscript dated 1685-6. What this manuscript is, and where it is, I have failed to discover, but that the extract I am going to use is original cannot for one moment be doubted: "Being to mention Malmesbury often in the ensuing narration, I have thought it not unfit, to say something of the policy of that auntient Corporation, which by the justice and clemency and liberality of former Kings, hath not only retained its auntient forme of Government, but hath been inriched with great quantitys of land, which are disposed among the Freemen and Guildeners, by very just and prudent methods. The Borrow of Malmesbury is situated in two parishes, that of Malmesbury properly, and that of Westport. The Commoners and Guildeners of Malmes- bury are divided into sixe centurys or hundreds or tribes, and every Commoner is reduced under one of these tribes, and inrolled in a large skin, under the name of a tribe or hundred, so that there are six columns of names, all which persons have right of Common in the large portion of grounde called King's Heath, given to them by Charter, in reward for faithful services done to King Athelstan, whose monument is yet extant in Malmesbury, by that magnanimous King, but wisely limited, so that every Commoner hath an equal advantage by it. Now the 48 names which by antiquity or seniority come to be next the names of the respective centurys or tribes, are termed 48ths, and have an Addition of Land in a Common Field, belonging to that Corporation, as a Corporation. There is also a superiore order of 245, which are elected ever out of the 48 by the majority of the 245, who doe not always respect seniority, but the tribes of the persons. There is also another order, which consists of 13, who by the ma- jority of the 13, are ever elected out of the majority of the 24J, onely, in which Election seniority is also not al- wajre regarded. Three persons of this 13 are yearly pre- sented to the Commoners by the rest of the 13, who choose out of them an Alderman for the ensuinge yeer, which Alderman is a Justice of the Peace for the Burrow; 'and hath power to nominate a Deputy, who is to act onely 44 THE RURAL COMMUNITY when the Alderman is out of the Burrow. These 13 have also large Meadowes or Pastures, none lesse than 8 nor none worth more than 16 per ann. to each one, but under penalties of waste, so that these grounds are not empayred, altho they pass thorow many hands." We have to deal with modern phraseology in consider- ing the extent to which the Malmesbury community is indebted to blood relationship for its basis of membership ; but in spite of this we can detect, I think, the archaic orig- inal which preceded the record as it has come down to us. The mode by which persons can become free burgesses was settled in 1821, and this was preserved by an Act of Parliament then obtained for the enclosing of the borough lands. It is thus given by the commissioners of 1835: "Every son of a free burgess or commoner in his own right, he being at the time of claiming admission of the age of twenty-one years and married, and also a parishioner of one of the parishes within the borough, and likewise at the same time an inhabitant householder in an entire tene- ment (and not an inmate) within the borough, is entitled to be admitted a free burgess or commoner of this borough. Every man who has married a free burgess's daughter, he being at the time of claiming admission so married and his wife living (but not otherwise), he being also of the age of twenty-one years and a parishioner of one of the parishes within the borough, and an inhabitant house- holder in an entire tenement (and not an inmate) within the borough; but a free burgess's daughter having once married cannot communicate to a second husband a right to admission: nor will such subsequent marriage give to the sons or daughters of such husband by another wife any right to admission. No son of a free burgess born before his father shall have been admitted in court a free burgess is entitled to be admitted a free burgess. No daughter born before her father shall have been admitted in court a free burgess can communicate or invest any husband with any right or title to be admitted a free bur- gess." Disqualification and causes for rejection and amoval THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 45 are (1) conviction of felony; (2) not being at the time of admission, or at any time after admission ceasing to be an inhabitant householder in an entire tenement within one of the said parishes within the borough. Blood relationship is by this constitution absolutely the basis of the Malmesbury community,* and even where it oversteps the line of male descent, it runs parallel to the archaic system, where, as in some tribes in the Punjab, the daughter may bring her husband to fill up the ranks of the community, failing through disease or any other calamity.'' We even have preserved in this curiously con- structed system of municipal freedom the archaic suc- cession of all the sons — "every son" being entitled to take his freedom upon coming of age. There is also the prac- tical prohibition against widow marriage which is paralleled in Hindu usage. The regulation of the affairs of the community was de- termined by an assembly composed of all its members. The report of the Municipal Corporation Commission of 1835 describes the assembly at Mzdmesbury as follows: "An assembly composed of the alderman, capital burgesses, assistant burgesses, landowners, and commoners, has the privilege of deciding on the title of claimants to a share in the Corporation lands." The commissioners of 1876 obtained the information that there are four courts during the year — one for the appointment of officers, one for the swearing in of officers, one for admission of commoners, and one for the turning out of commoners upon disquali- fication. We do not know sufficiently the details of the proceedings of this assembly to pick out all the points of contact with the assemblies of early social groups, but Mr. Trice Martin has preserved in his preface to the Re- gistrum Malmesburiense (vol. Ill, p. xliii) an interesting archaism which accompanies the delivery of the allotted portions of land to the commoners. Seizin was given by * The evidence of Mr. Player before the Commission of 1876 illustrates how actual was the kinship basis of the community. See Question 6318 et teg. 'Tupper, Punjab Customary Law, vol. II, pp. 74, 75. 46 THE RURAL COMMUNITY the transferring of a twig and the repetition of the rhyming formula — "This land and twig I give to thee, As free as Athelstan gave it me, And I hope a loving brother thou wilt be." The appearance of the rhyme at once denotes that we are in the presence of archaic custom,^ and the last line recalls that "common brotherhood" which is a typical feature of early communities, and of which we have al- ready had some evidence in the kinship which underlies the constitution of the Malmesbury community. Further than this is the significant practice of the delivery of the twig. Comparing the method of allotment adopted at Aston and Cote, we have seen that the allotment of the land is made by means of curiously formed twigs," a twig being placed on each strip of land, and corresponding twigs being cast into a hat, from which the various members of the community draw. The twigs so drawn denote the pieces of land which each drawer is to have for the coming year. With these internoting facts before us I suggest that in the rhyming formula still surviving at Malmesbury we have a relic of the periodical redistribution of land by the assembly of the community. We have next to deal with the rights of the community. The rights of membership at Malmesbury, governed by that intricate system which has already been noted, are entirely of an archaic order. There is the tenement or homestead. There is a right to Ijuid "in a common field," that is, land held in common by those bundles of strips of acres or half-acres which Mr. Seebohm has made so familiar to us. There is the common pasture attached to the arable lots. In 1835 the Municipal Corporation Commission thus described this land: "The property of the Corporation consists of about 516 acres of land, ' I have given some details of tliis interesting subject, rhyming formulae, in an article in the Antiquary, vol. VIII, pp. 12-15. » See also Archteologia, vol. XXXVII, p. 383. Symbols of transfer generally, consult Spencer's Court of Chancery, vol. I, p. 22. Tht Ttam ^ Malmtakiirg It to M« MrtHward 0/ u«Ce««M,«rf tkt'Uuidholden Lands vi4 'Burgtu ParWut Mmm t»» Common «tf Uto Tamm. n» »Im Imiidnti Iff > Coxfoot Fishtn Qloven .5 i 47 48 THE RURAL COMMUNITY divided among the entire body in the following proportion : 280 commoners, about i acre each; 48 landholders, about I acre each; 24 assistants, about 2 acres each; the alder- man and eleven twelve senior capital burgesses, 140 acres between them" (see Report, vol. I, p. 77)' — but the Com- missioners of 1876 obtained much more valuable informa- tion. This information I summarize as follows, the refer- ence figures being the number of question and answer in the evidence : 1. The homestead, which gives in primitive times the right to land allotments in the common lands, is repre- sented by thirty-nine properties, which belong to the alder- man and capital burgesses (5487-5500). 2. The allotment of lands. — No one can hold land un- less he be a freeman of the borough either by right of birth or marriage (5415). This enables them to take up their right as commoners (5420), and they take common as vacancy occurs. The commoners then succeed by rotation to a vacant acre held by the landowners. The mode of succession to this higher body is regulated by custom. The custom is, that the whole common is divided into six "hun- dreds," each hundred part having a particular name (5433-6), though the names are not of much significance in their present form. The commoner draws lots upon one or more of these six "hundreds," and enters himself as a candidate for vacancies as they arise (541 1). The next grade is that of assistant burgess. To become a member of this grade the candidate must first give a "seeking feast " to the body of twenty-four (6293), and then take up his allotment upon the death of a present holder. Then from the Eissistant burgesses are elected the capital burgesses, who have each a burgess part in the lands of the borough (5470). Now this remarkably intricate custom has many features common to the primitive agricultural holdings, some of them of special interest. The village tenements, the arable allotments, the common pasture, are all char- ' This is the same as recorded in the preamble of the local Act i and 2 Geo. IV, cap. 34, and it is interesting to note this as an instance of archaic custom being recorded in a modern statute. THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 49 acteristics that do not belong to modem times. Rotation by death or seniority replaces the annual allotment of primitive times. And this slight deviation is quite capable of historical explanation (see Laveleye's Primitive Property, P' 93)» besides which we may compare this succession to long-established allotments to the Punjab custom of suc- cession to ancestral shares. Another fact it is important to note is the use of the word acre in its archaic sense. The common land is divided out into lots or "acres." These, it was explained to the Commissioners of 1876 (Q. 6491), are not statute acres, some being half and some three-quarters of an acre, and it is these nominal acres which form the holding of the members of the hundreds.* Now, the area of land belonging to the modem cor- poration has admittedly diminished. The Commissioners of 1876 obtained from one of the witnesses evidence to the effect that, "by reputation" they had lost some lands, and do not know where they have gone to, and they pos- sessed "old deeds relating to property" of which they do not know the existence. If we turn to the doings of the abbey, as chronicled in the Registrum Malmesburiense, we can obtain some explanation of this. The enclosure of the common lands round Malmesbury, says Mr. Trice Martin in his preface to that volume, furnishes the sub- ject of many of the documents. Fouleswike and the Row- merse, which are frequently mentioned in this connection, are probably what is now known as Bird's Marsh, about a couple of miles north of Chippenham, on the Malmesbury road. Portmanshethe recalls the familiar Portmeadow of Oxford, and was the property of the burgesses, as well as Barndehethe or Burntheath, which the Malmesbury people are fond of telling strangers was granted to their ancestors by Athelstan for help given in the battle against the Danes.* Turning to the documents, they tell us the same story •This naming of the holdings by the term "acres" led to a wrong state- ment of the area of the corporation property. In 1835 it was stated to be 516 acres, but there were really 516 lots, which represented 800 statute acres, if not more. See Commission of 1876, Question 32,613 et seq. ' Reeistrum Malmesburiense, vol. II, p. xliii, 50 THE RURAL COMMUNITY which we may learn from other peirts of the history of Malmesbury. The lands are intermixed allotments in a common field, and held by their various owners in bundles of acres. It will be sufficient to quote one or two examples to prove this; and I will select the documents dealing with Thornhill. This is the name of one of the six "hundreds" into which the lands of Malmesbury are . divided ; and I think we have here not only evidence of the ancient mode of culture and holding, but of the once wider extent of these "hundreds." The first document is a grant of "tres acras terrae cum omnibus pertinentiis suis in campis de Thomhulle, quarum duae acrae jacent juxta tenementum quondam Roberti le Chrapenter versus occidentem, una dimidia acra extendit se versus terram Willelmi Parcarii inter terram Willelmi le Frere et Ricardi Pinnock, et alia dimidia acra jacet in campo de Borghtone qui vocatur le Ham, inter terram Roberti Woderove et terram Aliciae de la Grene." ^ Here we have two acres lying together, and two half-acres lying between the acre-strips of other holders. The next document relates to an exchange of land at Thornhill, consisting of "illeis septem acras terrae arabilis quae jacent in campis de Boruhtone et Thorn- huUe," * of which two acres and two half-acres are the same as described above, and the remaining four acres are scattered in parcels, two of one acre each, and the re- maining two acres together. The last document relating to this district is the grant to the abbey "totum tenemen- tum meum et terram meam apud Thomhulle, cum domibus, gardinis, curtillagiis, pratis, pascuis, et pasturis." The documents of Malmesbury Abbey show us very clearly how the abbey gradually gathered into its hands tenements in the town and large tracts of land without, which once no doubt belonged to the community. And when we come to the charters of John, which granted the town to the abbey in fee farm, and gave them absolutely the castle, the Norman successor of that ancient British castellum which was the centre of all civil rights in Malmesbury, we know quite well that the stage when ' Ibid., vol. II, p. 184. » Ibid., vol. II, p. 230. THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 5 1 old communal lands were to be transformed into church lands had been reached. Looking at the evidence thus, I do not think it is too much to suggest that the community of Malmesbury was once a community independent of the national economy for its support, obtaining its own food and its own clothes from the lands and flocks which it owned. One special illustration of this view is the custom of granting land for the support of the village officers. We have already drawn attention to this point, and its bearing upon the inde- pendent economy of each settlement. That we have a survival at Malmesbury in the annual grant to the alder- man of a piece of land known as the "Alderman's kitchen" is evidence of a once existing system of economy which did not extend beyond the community itself. And I would venture to suggest a revival of the duty of the free tribesmen "to join the chief's host in his enter- prises," in the Domesday record that "when the king was going on an expedition, whether by land or sea, he -was either wont to have from this borough twenty shillings for the support of his sailors, or took with him one man for each honor of five hides." 2. BLACK FOREST VILLAGES BY HERBERT B. ADAMS, PH.D. (From Johns Hopkins University Studies in Historical and Political Science. Vol. I, "Local Institutions"; II, "The Germanic Origin of New England Towns," pp. 13-18.) But let us proceed upon our tour of observation. The traveller of to-day will find in the interior of the Oden- wald far more primitive villages than in the Black Forest. The latter is now traversed by government roads in every direction, and even a railroad has been constructed in these latter days, so that hurrying travellers can behold the scenery from the cars ! Things are no longer what they were when Aurenbach wrote his Black Forest Tales for children. But there is still much left to amuse and 52 THE RURAL COMMUNITY instruct the students who tramp through the Forest every Whitsuntide vacation (Pfingsten) from Heidelberg, Frei- burg, and other German universities. The Odenwald is also visited, but not so frequently, because it is more difficult in that primitive region to obtain food and drink, except upon one or two main routes. Traversing either the government chaussees or the common dirt roads through the Odenwald or Black Forest, the student may explore the numerous valleys and forest villages, which are to this day skirted with evergreen forests, dimly sug- gesting to his fancy the ambuscades into which the Roman legions fell when they penetrated the Teutoburger Wald. In such forests liberty was nurtured. Here dwelt the people Rome never could conquer. In these wild retreats the ancient Teutons met in council upon tribal matters of war and peace. Upon the forest hilltops they worshipped Wodan, the All Father; in the forest valleys they talked over, in village-moot, the lowly affairs of husbandry and the management of their common fields. Here were planted the seeds of Parliamentary or Self-Govemment, of Com- mons and Congresses. Here lay the germs of religious reformation and of popular revolutions, the ideas which have formed Germany and Holland, England and New England, the United States in the broadest sense of that old Germanic institution. What now are the external characteristics of one of these primitive forest- villages ? Emerging from the wood or rocky defile, the traveller comes suddenly upon a snug little settlement perched upon the sunny hillside or nes- tling in some broadening meadow. Surrounded by forest, this settlement is indeed a Mark, or, as Americans would say, a "clearing." Baedeker is here better than Tacitus, and you will discover that the place is called perhaps Schoenwald, or Beautiful Forest, or possibly Schoenau, or Beautiful Meadow. Such villages are usually planted near a brook or some convenient stream, and frequently bear a name like Lauterbach. Names of localities derived from brooks, streams, or rivers are familiar in New Eng- land. An ancient part of Salem (that part which was the FRIEDBERG In uei neimrau. SPECIilEX SURVEY OF FRIEDBERG IN DER WETrERAU From The Political Science Quiirlerly for September, 1913 Reproduced from August Jleitzen's Siedehin; und A „ri)i vescn der IVestgcrmanen und Ostergerttvinfn, dcr Kcl'cn, R'Jmcr. Finnen und Slawen. Atlas to X'okime lit. Verlag von W'ilhelm Hertz) iHcrliii, . fiJCaAr 2f» _£«£_ .Ml- jia THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 53 home of George Peabody, the philanthropist) was once called Brooksby. These German villages are made up of little houses, separate from one another, but withal tolera- bly compact, with outlying fields divided into narrow strips, as shown by the growing crops. Let us enter one of these villages and see how the houses are constructed. The first impression is that they are rather rude and bungling. That is exactly what Tacitus thought when he saw their prototypes. Low-roofed and thatched with straw, which is held down perhaps by stones, with wide-spreading eaves and rude wooden framework, filled in ofttimes with rough stones plastered together, these huts frequently remind the modern traveller of Swiss chalets. The inhabitants appear to live in the upper part of their one-storied build- ings, for there is a stone staircase outside leading up to an elevated doorway, and underneath there is often a stable for cattle, although in some houses calves and chil- dren may be seen growing up together. Underneath the projecting roof at the gable-ends of the houses are bee- hives of wickerwork, upheld by a beam or shelf. If a stranger enters one of these forest-villages on a day in June he will hear nothing but the humming of the bees; for men, women, and children are all in the hay- fields. And this brings us to a consideration of that old system of co-operative husbandry and common fields which are the most peculiar features of a German vill^e community. In the haying season, to this day, in many parts of Ger- many, the villagers may be seen gathering the grass-crop together. To this day, in some localities, the fallow and stubble lands are used in common by the whole village for the pasturage of cattle and the feeding of swine. Vil- lage cowherds, swineherds, and gooseherds are still em- ployed in many parts of Germany. To this day the arable land of the Mark is tilled imder certain communal laws. The time of allowing the cattle and swine of the village to enter upon the stubble lands is still determined by agree- ment among the inhabitants . The narrow, unfenced strips of land stretching up the hillsides to the forest-border 54 THE RURAL COMMUNITY bear manifest evidence that they were originally formed by the allotment of some ancient common field. In the Contemporary Review, July, 1881, there is a pleasant picture of village customs in the Thuringian Forest by Professor W. Steadman Aldis, in an article en- titled "Notes from a German Village." The village de- scribed is Gross Tabraz, where the Professor spent a summer vacation with his family. "The economic state of the village, which is only a type of many others in the district, is decidedly primitive. Every well-to-do family has its little strip of ground, or sometimes several such strips have been accumulated in one family by inheritances or intermarriages. The village butcher, with whose family ours was soon on tolerably intimate terms, was the owner, or at least the cultivator with perpetual rights, of many fields situated in almost as many parishes. . . . During the spring and summer, while the grass in the meadows is allowed to grow for hay, or for Grummet, as the second crop is called, the cows and geese are alike banished from the private land, and are taken under the charge of a Hirt on to the common land, the borders of the roads, or the small bits of mountain meadow among the forests not allotted by the Gemeinde to private owners. . . . After the second crop of hay has been all gathered in, which is supposed to be achieved by the beginning of September, and for the gathering of which the village schools have a special holiday, the meadows are open to the cattle and geese of all the inhabitants, and the Hirts have no longer such an arduous task. The pastureland becomes again for the time the property of the Commune, the 'common land' which it originally was, and is dotted with red oxen or snow-white geese. During the months of July and August, the whole population, male and female, is for the most part occupied in getting in the crops of different kinds, which seem to form a continuous series, beginning with the first crop of hay, at the beginning of July, and ending with the Grummet, or second crop, early in Sep» tember." l^et qs now glance at our guide-bopk and see what BISCHLEBEN, Herzogthum Gotha. SPECIMEN SURVEY OF BISCHLEBEN, HERZOG- THUM GOTHA From The Political Science Quarterly for September, 1913 Reproduced from August Meitzen's Sieidungim i Asrai ,iesen der Westgermanen und Oslergermanen, Jer KeUen, Rcmcr, Finnen und Slawen. Atlas to Volume III. (Berlin, 1S95. Verlag von Wilhelm Hert2) tHE PRiMItlVE VILLAGE 55 Tacitus says concerning the customs of the ancient Ger- mans in the matter of landholdings. Lands, he says, are taken up periodically by the whole body of the cultivators in proportion to their number. These lands they after- ward divide up among themselves according to their dig- nity or title. The wide extent of open space renders the division of fields an easy matter. The situation of the plough-lands they change every year, and there is land enough left over. They do not attempt to improve by labor so vast and fertile a tract of ground, for the sake of planting orchards, laying out grass-plots, and irrigating gardens; the only crop they want is wheat or barley.^ In the custom, mentioned by Tacitus, of shifting the situation of the ploughed lands every year, we may per- haps see a germ of the famous Three Field System, which is of some importance in tracing the historical connection between the agrarian customs of England and those of ancient Germany. The system was probably in existence before the Saxon conquest of Britain, and has survived in both countries until our own times. Imagine a river-valley, like that of the Neckar, which skirts the Odenwald, and a little stream flowing down from the hillside forest into the river below. In the Oden- wald many villages are built along the line of such streams or brooklets, which serve as a kind of water main-street for the villagers living along the bank. The houses lie apart, as Tacitus says in his description of a German vil- lage, and every villager has his own house-lot and enclosure. The whole village domain is the Mark, or clearing. It be- longed originally and belongs still to the village community as an organized body, as a civic unit. Certain parts, of course the best, were originally set off for tillage; other parts remained common for wood, pasture, and meadow, Wald, Weide, and Wiese. The Three Field System re- lates, however, not to the latter divisions, but to the arable land and to that only. ' On the exposition of cap. XXVI of Tacitus' Gertnania, cf. Baumstark's edition, Nasse's Agricultural Community of the Middle Ages (Appendix), and Dr. Denman W. Ross's Studies, I, 23; II, 12. 56 THE RURAL COMMUNITY The land used for tillage was divided into three great fields, first, second, and third. Each villager had one or more lots in each great field, but the peculiarity of the system lies in the fact that every villager was obliged to plant his lot or lots in each great field according as the whole village should determine. For example, if the proprietors, in village-mote assembled, should resolve by a majority to plant the first great field to wheat, an in- dividual proprietor would have no alternative; he must do as his neighbors agree. And so of the second great field, which, perhaps, the villagers would vote to plant with oats or barley; and likewise of the third field, which must lie fallow for one year. A rude system of rotation of crops was customary in all Teutonic farming communi- ties. The fallow land of one year was cultivated the year succeeding; and the spring crop of one field gave place to a winter crop, or else lay fallow in turn. The most in- teresting fact about this Three Field System is that it indicates a communal spirit even in the mana:gement of lands allotted and perhaps owned in severalty; it shows that the arable land as well as the pasture, meadow, and woodland, wsis under the control of the village community and subject to communal decrees. There is reason to believe, from the passage in Tacitus above quoted, that the situation of the ploughed lands was changed from time to time, and that land devoted to tillage was after- ward turned into pasture or grass land, and other portions of the village domain were allotted for ploughing in sev- eralty. The custom of redistributing farming lands, after a certain term of years, was very general, not only in Teu- tonic, but in all Aryan villages. The term varied with different nations and in different communities. Originally, with the Germans, a fresh distribution was probably made every year, but as the Three Field System developed, the term became longer. In Russia, as Wallace has shown in his interesting work, lands were once redistributed every thirteen years. The field meetings of Teutonic farmers for the distribution of lands and the regulation of crops were the germs of English parish meetings aiid of New THE PRIMITIVE VILLAGE 57 England town meetings. The village elders, still so called in Russia, although young men are frequently elected to the office, are the prototype of the English Reeve and Four, and of the New England Town Constable and Board of Selectmen. CHAPTER II THE MEDIiEVAL MANOR I. DESCRIPTION 1. RURAL LIFE AND ORGANIZATION IN ENGLAND BY EDWARD P. CHEYNEY (From An Introduction to the Industrial and Social History of England) The Mediosval Village. — In the Middle Ages in the greater part of England all country life was village life. The farmhouses were not isolated or separated from one another by surrounding fields, as they are so generally in modern times, but were gathered into villages. Each village was surrounded by arable lands, meadows, pastures, and woods which spread away till they reached the con- fines of the similar fields of the next adjacent vills^e. Such an agricultural village with its population and its sur- rounding lands is usually spoken of as a "vill." The word "manor" is also applied to it, though this word is also used in different senses, and has differed in meaning at different periods. The word "hamlet" means a smaller group of houses separated from but forming in some re- spects a part of a vill or manor. The village consisted of a group of houses ranging in number from ten or twelve to as many as fifty or perhaps even more, grouped around what in later times would be called a "village green," or along two or three intersect- ing lanes. The houses were small, thatch-roofed, and one-roomed, and doubtless very miserable. Such build- ings as existed for the protection of cattle or the preserva- tion of crops were closely connected with the dwelling portions of the houses. In many cases they were under the same roof. Each vill possessed its church, which was §8 tHE MEDIEVAL MANOR 50 geilerally, though by no means always, close to the houses of the village. There was usually a manor-house, which varied in size from an actual castle to a building scarcely distinguishable from the primitive houses of the villagers. This might be occupied regularly or occasionally by the lord of the manor, but might otherwise be inhabited by the steward or by a tenant, or perhaps only serve as the gathering-place of the manor courts. Connected with the manor-house was an enclosure or courtyard commonly surrounded by buildings for general farm purposes and for cooking or brewing. A garden or orchard was often attached. The location of the vill was almost invariably such that a stream with its border meadows passed through or along its confines, the mill being often the only building that lay detached from the village group. A greater or less -extent of woodland is also constantly mentioned. The vill was thus made up of the group of houses of the villagers including the parish church and the manor- house, all surrounded by a wide tract of arable land, meadow, pasture, and woods. Where the lands were ex- tensive there might perhaps be a small group of houses forming a separate hamlet at some distance from the vil- lage, and occasionally a detached mill, grange or other building. Its characteristic appearance, however, must have been that of a close group of buildings surrounded by an extensive tract of open land. The Vill as an Agricultural System. — The support of the vill was in its agriculture. The plan by which the lands of the whole group of cultivators lay together in a large tract surrounding the village is spoken of as the "open field" system. The arable portions of this were ploughed in pieces equalling approximately acres, half- acres, or quarter-acres. The mediaeval English acre was a long narrow strip forty rods in length and four rods in width, a half-acre or quarter-acre being of the same length but of two rods or one rod in width. The rod was of different lengths in different parts of the country, depending on local cus- 60 THE RURAL COMMUNITY torn, but the most common length was that prescribed by statute, that is to say, sixteen and a half feet. The length of the acre, forty rods, has given rise to one of the familiar units of length, the furlong, that is, a "furrow- long," or the length of a furrow. A rood is a piece of land one rod wide and forty rods long, that is, the fourth of an acre. A series of such strips were ploughed up successively, being separated from each other either by leaving the width of a furrow or two unploughed or by marking the division with stones, or perhaps by simply throwing the first furrow of the next strip in the opposite direction when it was ploughed. When an unploughed bor- der was left covered with grass or stones, it was called a "balk." A number of such acres or fractions of acres with their slight dividing ridges thus lay alongside of one an- other in a group, the number defined by the configuration of the ground, by a traditional division among a given number of tenants, or by some other cause. Other groups of strips lay at right angles or inclined to these, so that the whole arable land of the village when ploughed or under cultivation had, like many French, German, or Swiss landscapes at the present time, something of the appearance of a great irregular checker-board or patch- work quilt, each large square being divided in one direc- tion by parallel lines. Usually the cultivated open fields belonging to a village were divided into three or more large tracts or fields and these were cultivated according to some established rotation of crops. The most common of these was the three-field system, by which in any one year all the strips in one tract or field would be planted with wheat, rye, or some other crop which is planted in the fall and harvested the next summer; a second great field would be planted with oats, barley, peas, or some such crop as is planted in the spring and harvested in the fall; the third field would be fallow, recuperating its fer- tility. The next year all the acres in the field which had lain fallow the year before might be planted with a fall crop, the wheat-field of the previous year being planted with a spring crop, and the oats field in its turn now lying THE MEDIEVAL MANOR 6 1 uncultivated for a year. The third year a further exchange would be made by which a fall crop would succeed the fallow of that year and the spring crop of the previous year, a spring crop would succeed the last year's fall crop, and the field from which the spring crop was taken now in its turn would enjoy a fallow year. In the fourth year the rotation would begin over again. Agriculture was extremely crude. But eight or nine bushels of wheat or rye were expected from an acre, where now in England the average is thirty. The plough reg- ularly required eight draught animals, usually oxen, in break- ing up the ground, though lighter ploughs were used in subsequent cultivation. The breed of all farm animals was small, carts were few and cumbrous, the harvesting of grain was done with a sickle, and the mowing of grass with a short, straight scythe. The distance of the out- lying part of the fields from the farm buildings of the vil- lage added its share to the laboriousness of agricultural life. The variety of food-crops was small. Potatoes were of course unknown, and other root-crops and fresh vegetables apparently were little cultivated. Wheat and rye of sev- eral varieties were used as breadstuff, barley and some other grains for the brewing of beer. Field peas and beans were raised, sometimes for food, but generally as forage for cattle. The main supply of winter forage for the farm animals had, however, to be secured in the form of hay, and for this reliance was placed entirely on the natural meadows, as no clover or grasses which could be artificially raised on dry ground were yet known. Meadow-land was constantly estimated at twice the value of arable land or more. To obtain a sufficient support for the oxen, horses, and breeding animals through the winter required, there- fore, a constant struggle. Owing to this difficulty animals that were to be used for food purposes were regularly killed in the fall and salted down. Much of the unhealthiness of mediaeval life is no doubt attributable to the use of salt meat as so large a part of what was at best a very monot- onous diet. 62 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Summer pasture for the horses, cattle, sheep, and swine of the village was found partly on the arable land after the grain-crops had been taken off, or while it was lying fallow. Since all the acres in any one great field were planted with the same crop, this would be taken off from the whole expanse at practically the same time, and the animals of the whole village might then wander over it, feeding on the stubble, the grass of the balks, and such other growth as sprung up before the next ploughing, or before freezing weather. Pasturage was also found on the meadows after the hay had been cut. But the largest amount of all was on the "common pasture," the unculti- vated land and woods which in the thirteenth century was still sufficiently abundant in most parts of England to be found in considerable extent on almost every manor. Pasturage in all these forms was for the most part common for all the animals of the vill, which were sent out under the care of shepherds or other guardians. There were, however, sometimes enclosed pieces of pastureland in the possession of the lord of the manor or of individual villagers. The land of the vill was held in common and cultivated according to a system of scattered acres. That is to say, the land held by any one man was not all in one place, but scattered through various parts of the open fields of the vill. He would have an acre or two, or perhaps only a part of an acre, in one place, another strip not adjacent to it, but somewhere else in the fields, still another some- where else, and so on for his whole holding, while the neigh- bor whose house was next to his in the village would have pieces of land similarly scattered through the fields, and in many cases probably have them adjacent to his. The result was that the various acres of any one man's hold- ing were mingled apparently inextricably with those of other men, customary familiarity only distinguishing which pieces belonged to each villager. In some manors there was total irregularity as to the number of acres in the occupation of any one man; in others there was a striking regularity. The typical hold- THE MEDIAEVAL MANOR 63 ing, the group of scattered acres cultivated by one man or held by some two or three in common, was known as a "virgate" or by some equivalent term, and although of no uniform equality, was more frequently of thirty acres than of any other number. Usually one finds on a given manor that ten or fifteen of the villagers have each a virgate of a given number of acres, several more have each a half virgate or a quarter. Occasionally, on the other hand, each of them has a different number of acres. In almost all cases, however, the agricultural holdings of the villagers were relatively small. For instance, on a certain manor in Norfolk there were thirty-six holdings, twenty of them below ten acres, eight between ten and twenty, six between twenty and thirty, and two between thirty and forty. On another, in Essex, there were nine holdings of five acres each, two of six, twelve of ten, three of twelve, one of eighteen, four of twenty, one of forty, and one of fifty. Sometimes larger holdings in the hands of individual tenants are to be found, rising to one hun- dred acres or more. Still these were quite exceptional and the mass of the vill^ers had very small groups of acres in their possession. It is to be noted that a large proportion of the culti- vated strips were not held in virgates or otherwise by the villagers at all, but were in the direct possession and culti- vation of the lord of the manor. This land held directly by the lord of the manor and cultivated for him was called the "demesne," and frequently included one-half or even a larger proportion of all the land of the vill. Much of the meadow and pasture land, and frequently all of the woods, was included in the demesne. Some of the demesne land was detached from the land of the villagers, enclosed and separately cultivated or pcistured; but for the most part it lay scattered through the same open fields and was cultivated by the same methods and according to the same rotation as the land of the small tenants of the vill, though it was kept under separate management. Classes of People on the Manor. — Every manor was in the hands of a lord. He might be a knight, esquire, or 64 THE RURAL COMMUNITY mere freeman, but in the great majority of cases the lord of the manor was a nobleman, a bishop, abbot, or other ecclesiastical official, or the king. But whether the manor was the whole estate of a man of the lesser gentry, or merely one part of the possessions of a great baron, an ecclesiastical corporation, or the crown, the relation be- tween its possessor as lord of the manor and the other inhabitants as his tenants was the same. In the former case he was usually resident upon the manor; in the latter the individual or corporate lord was represented by a steward or other official who made occasional visits, and frequently, upon large manors, by a resident bailiff. There was also almost universally a reeve, who was chosen from among the tenants and who had to carry on the demesne farm in the interests of the lord. The tenants of the manor, ranging from holders of con- siderable amounts of land, perhaps as much as a hundred acres, through various gradations down to mere cotters, who held no more than a cottage with perhaps a half-acre or a rood of land, or even with no land at all, are usually grouped in the "extents" or contemporary descriptions of the manors and their inhabitants into several distinct classes. Some are described as free tenants, or tenants holding freely. Others, and usually the largest class, are called villains, or customary tenants. Some, holding only a half or a quarter virgate, are spoken of as half or quarter villains. Again, a numerous class are described by some name indicating that their holding of land is but slight. These are generally spoken of as cotters. All these tenants hold land from the lord of the manor and make payments and perform services in return for their land. The free tenants most commonly make pay- ment in money only. At special periods in the year they give a certain number of shillings or pence to the lord. Occasionally they are required to make some payment in kind, a cock or a hen, some eggs, or other articles of con- sumption. These money payments and payments of articles of money value are called "rents of assize," or established rents. Not unusually, however, the free tenant THE MEDIAEVAL MANOR 65 has to furnish precarice or " boon-works" to the lord. That is, he must, either in his own person or through a man hired for the purpose, furnish one or more days' labor at the specially busy seasons of the year, at fall and spring ploughing, at mowing or harvest time. Free tenants were also frequently bound to pay relief and heriot. Relief was a sum of money paid to the lord by an heir on obtaining land by inheritance. Custom very generally established the amount to be paid as the equivalent of one year's ordi- nary payments. Heriot was a payment made in kind or in money from the property left by a deceased tenant, and very generally consisted by custom of the best animal which had been in the possession of the man, or its equivalent in value. On many manors heriot was not paid by free tenants, but only by those of lower rank. The services and payments of the villains or customary tenants were of various descriptions. They had usually to make some money payments at regular periods of the year, like the free tenants, and, even more frequently than they, some regular payments in kind. But the fine paid on the inheritance of their land was less definitely re- stricted in amount, and heriot was more universally and more regularly collected. The greater pdst of their liabil- ity to the lord of the manor was, however, in the form of personal, corporal service. Almost universally the vil- lain was required to work for a certain number of days in each week on the demesne of the lord. This "week- work" was most frequently for three days a week, some- times for two, sometimes for four; sometimes for one number of days during a part of the year, for another number during the remainder. In addition to this were usually the precarice or boon-works already referred to. Sometimes as part of, sometimes in addition to, the week- work and the boon-work, the villain was required to plough so many acres in the fall and spring; to mow, toss, and carry in the hay from so many acres; to haul and scatter so many loads of manure; carry grain to the barn or the market, build hedges, dig ditches, gather brush, weed drain, break clods, drive sheep or swine, or any other of 66 THE RtTRAL COMMUNITY the forms of agricultural labor as local custom on each manor had established his burdens. Combining the week- work, the regular boon-works, and the extra specified services, it wiil be seen that the labor required from the customary tenant was burdensome in the extreme. Taken on the average, much more than half of the ordinary vil- lain's time must have been given in services to the lord of the manor. The cotters made similar payments and performed similar labors, though less in amount. A wide-spread custom required them to work for the lord one day a week throughout the year, with certain regular payments, and certain additional special services. Besides the possession of their lands and rights of common pasture, however, there were some other com- pensations and alleviations of the burdens of the villains and cotters. At the boon-works and other special services performed by the tenants, it was a matter of custom that the lord of the manor provide food for one or two meals a day, and custom frequently defined the kind, amount, and value of the food for each separate meal; as where it is said in a statement of services: "It is to be known that all the above customary tenants ought to reap one day in autumn at one boon-work of wheat, and they shall have among them six bushels of wheat for their bread, baked in the manor, and broth and meat, that is to say, two men have one portion of beef and cheese, and beer for drinking. And the aforesaid customary tenants ought to work in autumn at two boon-works of oats. And they shall have six bushels of rye for their bread as described above, broth as before, and herrings, viz. six herrings for each man, and cheese as before, and water for drinking." Thus the payments and services of the free tenants were principally of money, and apparently not burdensome; those of the villains were largely in corporal service and ex- tremely heavy; while those of the cotters were smaller, in correspondence with their holdings of land and in accord- ance with the necessity that they have their time in order to make their living by earning wages. THE MEDIEVAL MANOR 67 The villains and cotters were in bondage to the lord of the manor. This was a matter of legal status quite in- dependent of the amount of land which the tenant held or the services which he performed, though, generally speaking, the great body of the smaller tenants and of the laborers were of servile condition. In general usage the words villain nativus, servus, customarius, and rusticus are synonymous, and the cotters belonged legally to the same servile class. The distinction between free tenants and villains, using this word, as is customary, to include all those who were legally in servitude, was not a very clearly marked one. Their economic position was often so similar that the classes shaded into one another. But the villain was, as has been seen, usually burdened with much heavier ser- vices. He was subject to special payments, such as "merchet," a payment made to the lord of the manor when a woman of villain rank was married, and "leyr," a payment made by women for breach of chastity. He could be "tallaged" or taxed to any extent the lord saw fit. He was bound to the soil. He could not leave the manor to seek for better conditions of life elsewhere. If he ran away, his lord could obtain an order from a court and have him brought back. When permission was ob- tained to remain away from the manor as an inhabitant of another vill or town, it was only upon payment of a periodical sum, frequently known as "chevage" or head- money. He could not sell his cattle without paying the lord for his permission. He had practically no standing in the courts of the country. In any suit against his lord the proof of his condition of villainage was sufficient to put him out of court, and his only recourse was the local court of the manor, where the lord himself or his repre- sentative presided. Finally in the eyes of the law, the villain had no property of his own, all his possessions being, in the Ijist resort, the property of his lord. This legal theory, however, apparently had but little application to real life; for in the ordinary course of events the cus- tomary tenant, if only by custom, not by law, yet held 68 THE RURAL COMMUNITY and bequeathed his land and his chattels quite as if they were his own. Serfdom, as it existed in England in the thirteenth cen- tury, can hardly be defined in strict legal terms. It can be described most correctly as a condition in which the villain tenant of the manor was bound to the locality and to his services and payments there by a legal bond, in- stead of merely by an economic bond, as was the case with the small free tenant. There were commonly a few persons who were not in the general body of cultivators of the land and were not therefore in the classes so far described. Since the vill was generally a parish also, the village contained the parish priest, who, though he might usually hold some acres in the open fields, and might belong to the peasant class, was of course somewhat set apart from the villagers by his education and his ordination. The mill was a valued possession of the lord of the manor, for by an almost uni- versal custom the tenants were bound to have their grain ground there, and this monopoly enabled the miller to pay a substantial rent to the lord while keeping enough profit for himself to become proverbially well-to-do. There was often a blacksmith, whom we find sometimes exempted from other services on condition of keeping the demesne ploughs and other iron implements in order. A chance weaver or craftsman is sometimes found, and when the vill was near sea or river or forest some who made their living by industries dependent on the locality. In the main, however, the whole life of the vill gathered around the arable, meadow, and pasture land, and the social posi- tion of the tenants, except for the cross division of serf- dom, depended upon the respective amounts of land which they held. The Manor Courts. — ^The manor was the sphere of opera- tions of a manor court. On every manor the tenants gathered at frequent periods for a great amount of petty judicial and regulative work. The usual period for the meeting of the manor court was once every three weeks, though in some manors no trace of a meeting is found THE MEDIEVAL MANOR 69 more frequently than three times, or even twice, a year. In these cases, however, it is quite probable that less formal meetings occurred of which no regular record was kept. Different kinds of gatherings of the tenants are usually distinguished according to the authority under which they were held, or the class of tenants of which they were made up. If the court was held by the lord simply be- cause of his feudal rights as a landholder, and was busied only with matters of the inheritance, transfer, or grant of lands, the fining of the tenants for the breach of manorial custom, or failure to perform their duties to the lord of the manor, the election of tenants to petty offices on the manor, and such matters, it was described in legal language as a court baron. If a court so occupied was made up of villain tenants only, it was called a customary court. If, on the other hand, the court also punished general offenses, petty crimes, breaches of contract, breaches of the assize, that is to say, the established standard of amount, price, or quality of bread or beer, the lord of the manor drawing his authority to hold such a court either actually or sup- posedly from a grant from the king, such a court was called a court leet. With the court leet was usually connected the so-called view of frank pledge. Frank pledge was an ancient system, according to which all men were obliged to be enrolled in groups, so that if any one committed an offense, the other members of the group would be obliged to produce him for trial. View of frank pledge was the right to punish by fine any who failed to so enroll themselves. In the court baron and customary court it was said by lawyers that the body of attendants were the judges, and the steward, representing the lord of the manor, only a presiding official; while in the court leet the steward was the actual judge of the tenants. In prac- tice, however, it is probable that not much was made of these distinctions, and that the periodic gatherings were made to do duty for all business of any kind that needed attention, while the procedure was that which had be- come customary on that special manor, irrespective of the particular form of authority for the court. 70 THE RURAL COMMUNITY The manor court was presided over by a steward or other officer representing the lord of the manor. Appar- ently all adult male tenants were expected to be present, and any inhabitant was liable to be summoned. A court was usually held in each manor, but sometimes a lord of several neighboring manors would hold the court for all these in some one place. As most manors belonged to lords who had many manors in their possession, the steward or other official commonly proceeded from one manor or group of manors to another, holding the courts in each. Before the close of the thirteenth century the records of the manor courts, or at least of the more im- portant of them, began to be kept with very great regular- ity and fulness, and it is to the mass of these manor court rolls which still remain that we owe most of our detailed knowledge of the condition of the body of the people in the later Middle Ages. The variety and amount of busi- ness transacted at the court were alike considerable. When a tenant had died it was in the meeting of the manor court that his successor obtained a regrant of the land. The required relief was there assessed, and the heriot from the property of the deceased recorded. New grants of land were made, and transfers, leases, and abandonments by one tenant and assignments to another announced. For each of these processes of land a fine was collected for the lord of the manor. Such entries as the following are constantly found: "John of Durham has come into court and taken one bond-land which Richard Avras for- merly held but gave up because of his poverty; to have and hold for his lifetime, paying and doing the accustomed services as Richard paid and did them. He gives for en- trance 6s. 8d."; "Agnes Mabeley is given possession of a quarter virgate of land which her mother held, and gives the lord 335. 4^. for entrance." Disputes as to the right of possession of land and ques- tions of dowry and inheritance were decided, a jury being granted in many cases by the lord at the petition of a claimant and on payment of a fee. Another class of cases consisted in the imposition of fines or amerciaments THE MEDIAEVAL MANOR 7 1 for the violation of the customs of the manor, of the rules of the lord, or of the requirements of the culprit's tenure; such as a villain marrying without leave, failure to per- form boon-work or bad performance of work, failure to place the tenant's sheep in the lord's fold, cutting of wood or brush, making unlawful paths across the fields, the meadows, or the common, encroachment in ploughing upon another man's land or upon the common, or failure to send grain to the lord's mill for grinding. Sometimes the offense was of a more general nature, such as breach of assize, breach of contract, slander, assault, or injury to property. Still another part of the work of the court was the election of petty manorial officers; a reeve, a reaper, ale-tasters, and perhaps others. The duty of filling such offices when elected by the tenants and approved by the lord or his steward was, as has been said, one of the burdens of villainjige. However, when a villain was fulfilling the office of reeve, it was customary for him to be relieved of at least a part of the payments and services to which he would otherwise be subject. Finally the court meetings were employed for the adoption of general regula- tions as to the use of the commons and other joint interests, and for the announcement of the orders of the steward in the keeping of the peace. The Manor as an Estate of a Lord. — The manor was profitable to the lord in various ways. He received rents in money and kind. These included the rents of assize from free and villain land tenants, rents from the tenants of the mill, and frequently from other sources. Then came the profits derived from the cultivation of the demesne land. In this the lord of the manor was simply a large farmer, except that he had a supply of labor bound to remain at hand and to give services without wages almost up to his needs. Finally there were the profits of the manor courts. As has been said, these consisted of a great variety of fees, fines, amerciaments, and collections made by the steward or other official. Such varied payments and profits combined to make up the total value of the manor to the landowner, Not only the slender income of the country 72 THE RURAL COMMtJNITY squire or knight whose estate consisted of a single manor of some ten or twenty pounds yearly value, but the vast wealth of the great noble or of the rich monastery or power- ful bishopric was principally made up of the sum of such payments from a considerable number of manors. An appreciable part of the income of the government even was derived from the manors still in the possession of the crown. The mediaeval manor was a little world in itself. The large number of scattered acres which made up the de- mesne farm cultivated in the interests of the lord of the manor, the small groups of scattered strips held by free- holders or villain tenants who furnished most of the labor on the demesne farm, the little patches of ground held by mere laborers whose living was mainly gained by hired service on the land of the lord or of more prosperous tenants, the claims which all had to the use of the common pasture for their sheep and cattle and of the woods for their swine, all these together made up an agricultural system which secured a revenue for the lord, provided food and the raw material for primitive manufactures for the inhabitants of the vill, and furnished some small sur- plus which could be sold. Life on the mediaeval manor was hard. The greater part of the population was subject to the burdens of serfdom, and all, both free and serf, shared in the arduousness of labor, coarseness and lack of variety of food, unsanitary surroundings, and liability to the rigor of winter and the attacks of pestilence. Yet the average condition of com- fort of the mass of the rural inhabitants of England was probably as high as at any subsequent time. Food in proportion to wages was very cheap, and the almost uni- versal possession of some land made it possible for the very poorest to avoid starvation. Moreover, the great extent to which custom governed all payments, services, and rights must have prevented much of the extreme de- pression which has occasionally existed in subsequent periods in which greater competition has distinguished more clearly the capable from the incompetent. From the social rather than from the economic point THE MEDliEVAL MANOR 73 of view the life of the mediaeval manor was perhaps most clearly marked by this predominance of custom and by a second characteristic nearly related. This was the sin- gularly close relationship in which all the inhabitants of the manor were bound to one another, and their corre- sponding complete separation from the outside world. The common pasture, the intermingled strips of the hold- ings in the open fields, the necessary co-operation in the performance of their daily labor on the demesne land, the close contiguity of their dwellings, their universal membership in the same parish church, their common attendance and action in the manor courts, all must have combined to make the vill an organization of singular unity. This self-centred life, economically, judicially, and ecclesiastically so nearly independent of other bodies, put obstacles in the way of change. It prohibited intercourse beyond the manor, and opposed the feeling of common national life. The manorial life lay at the base of the stability which marked the mediaeval period. //. EXAMPLES AND SURVEYS 1. BORLEY IN ESSEX, AND A SUSSEX MANOR BY EDWARD P. CHEYNEY (From Readings in English History Drawn from the Original Sources) A fair idea of what the possessions and rights of the lord of a manor consisted in can be gained from the fol- lowing survey or "extent" of the little village of Borley, in Essex, consisting of seven free tenants and thirty-nine small farmers and cotters who were in serfdom. The lord of the manor was, at the time of this survey, the king, though shortly before this time the manor had belonged to a lady, Isabella de Fortibus, and shortly afterward it was given by the king to the cathedral of Canterbury. Extent of the manor of Borley made there on Tuesday next after the feast of Saint Matthew the Apostle, A.D. 1308, in the first year of the reign of King Edward, son of King Edward, 74 THE RURAL COMMUNITY in the presence of John le Doo, steward, by the hands of WilUam of Folesham, clerk, on the oath of PhiHp, the reeve of Borley, Henry Lambert, Dennis Rolf, Richard at Mere, Walter Johan and Robert Ernald, tenants of the lord in the said vill of Borley. These all, having been sworn, declare that there is one mansion well and suitably built; that it is sufficient for the products of the manor, and that it contains in itself, within the site of the manor, four acres, by estimation. The grass there is worth yearly, by estimation, 2s.; and the pasture there is worth yearly 1 2d., sometimes more and sometimes less, according to its value. And the fruit garden there is worth yearly, in apples and grapes, perhaps 5.^. and sometimes more. Total, 85. And it is to be known that the lord is the true patron of the church of Borley, and the said church is worth yearly, accord- ing to assessment, in grains, in offerings, in dues, and in other small tithes, £10. And there is one water mill in the manor, and it is worth yearly on lease 605. And the fish pond in the mill dam, with the catch of eels from the race, is worth yearly, by estimation, i2d. Total, 6IS. There is there a wood called le Hoo, which contains ten acres, and the underbrush from it is worth yearly, without waste, 55. ; and the grass from it is worth yearly 5s. ; and the feeding of the swine there is worth yearly i2d. And there is there a certain other wood called Chalvecroft, which contains, with the ditches, five acres. And the herbage there is worth yearly 2s. 6d. ; and the underbrush there is worth 35. ; and the feeding of swine there is worth yearly 6d. Total value, 175. There are there, of arable lands in demesne, in different fields, 300 acres of land, by the smaller hundred. And it is worth yearly, on lease, £15, at the price of I2d. per acre. Total acreage, 300. Total value, £15. And it is to be known that the perch of land in that manor contains i6ff feet, in mecisuring land. And each acre can be sown suitably with 2^4 bushels of wheat, with 2)4 bushels of rye, with 2}4 bushels of peas, with 3 bushels of oats, and this sown broadcast, and with 4 bushels of barley, even measure. And each plow should be joined with 4 oxen and 4 draught horses. And a plow is commonly able to plow an acre of land a day, and sometimes more. There are likewise of mowing meadows in various places 29 acres and i rood. This is worth yearly £7 6s. 3d., at 55. an acre. Total acreage, 29 A., i R. Total of pence, £7 6s. 3d. There is likewise of inclosed pasture 28 acres, and this is worth yearly 425. at i8d. per acre. Of this sixteen acres are assigned to the dairy for the cows, and twelve for the oxen and young bullocks. Total, 425. THE MEDLEVAL MANOR 75 The Village of Ashborne. From The Villatt Community, by G. L. Gomme. It is to be known that the lord may have in the common pasture of Borley, along with the use of the fresh meadows and of the demesnes of the lord, in the open time, loo sheep, by the greater 76 THE RURAL COMMUNITY hundred. And their pasture, per head, is worth 2d. yearly, and not more, on account of the allowance of food to the shepherd. Total, 20S. There is there likewise a certain court of free tenants of the lord and of the customary tenants, meeting every three weeks. And the fines and prerequisites thence, along with the view of frank pledge, are worth 20s. a year. . . . There are, moreover, of the services of the aforesaid customary tenants 22 J^ tasks, of which each task requires plowing upon the land of the lord at different seasons. And a task at the con- venience of the lord at all plantings is worth loyid. Total, 195. i%d. There are, moreover, of the autumn works of the aforesaid customary tenants from the first of August to the feast of St. Michail, 424 days' work, the price of each day's work being 2d. Total, 415. 2d. The sum of the total value, according to the extent, is £43 195. ^d. Likewise from Reginald Crummelond \os. yearly, discovered after the extent was made up, as above. From which should be extracted ^d. rent owed to Lady Felicia, of Sender, yearly for a certain meadow called Baselymede, near Radbridge. There remjiins £43 185. 5^d., plus 10s. as above. And it is to be known that the lord prior of Christ Church of Canterbury has his liberty in the vill of Borley; and he has jurisdiction over thieves caught on the manor and tenants of the manor taken outside with stolen goods in their hands and on their backs. And the judicial gallows of this franchise stand and ought to stand at Radbridge. And now let us inquire con- cerning the pillory and tumbrel. It is reported by the jury that it ought to stand beyond the outer gates toward the west, next to the pigstye of the lord. And it is to be remembered that as often as it is necessary for the reeve and four men to be present before the justices in eyre or anywhere else, that is to say, at the jail delivery of our lord, the king, or wheresoever it may be, the lord ought to find two men at his expense before the same justices; and the vil- lagers of Borley will find three men at their expense; and this according to custom from a time to which, as it is said, memory does not extend. And it is to be known that when any customary tenant of the land in that manor dies, the lord will have as a heriot the best beast of that tenant found at the time of his death. And if he did not have a beast, he shall give to the lord for a heriot 25. 6d. And the heir shall make a fine to the lord for the tene- ment which was his father's, if it shall seem to be expedient to him, but, if not, he shall have nothing. Nevertheless, to the THE MEDIEVAL MANOR 77 wife of the deceased tenant shall be saved the whole of the tene- ment which was her husband's on the day he died, to be held of the lord £is her free bench till the end of her life, if she shall remain without a husband, and on performing the services due and customary thence to the lord. If, however, through the license of the lord, she shall have married, the heirs of the afore- said deceased shall enter upon the aforesaid tenement by the license of the lord, and shall give one half of the said tenement to the widow of the said deceased as dowry. The burdensome services of an ordinary villein tenant or small farmer are shown in the following statement of the duties of a typical man of this class on a manor in Sussex. John of Cayworth holds a house and thirty acres of land, and owes yearly 2s. at Easter and Michaelmas; and he owes a cock and two hens at Christmas, of the value of ^d. And he ought to harrow for two days at the Lenten sowing with one man and his own horse and his own harrow, the value of the work being ^d. ; and he is to receive from the lord on each day three nieals, of the value of ^d., and then the lord will be at a loss of id. Thus his harrowing is of no value to the service of the lord. And he ought to carry the manure of the lord for two days with one cart, with his own two oxen, the value of the work being 8d.; and he is to receive from the lord each day three meals of the price as above. And thus the service is worth ^d. clear. And he shall find one man for two days for mowing the meadow of the lord, who can mow, by estimation, one acre and a half, the value of the mowing of an acre being 6d.; the sum is therefore gd. ; and he is to receive each day three meals of the value given above; and thus that mowing is worth ^. clear. And he ought to gather and carry that same hay which he has cut, the price of the work being 3d, And he shall have from the lord two meals for one man, of the value of ij4d. Thus the work will be worth i}4d. Thus the work will be worth i)^d. clear. And he ought to carry the hay of the lord for one day with a cart and three animals of his own, the price of the work being 6d. And he shall have from the lord three meals of the value of 2yid. And thus the work is worth 3}^d. clear. And he ought to carry in autumn beans or oats for two days with a cart and three animals of his own, the value of the work being I2d. And he shall receive from the lord each day three 78 THE RURAL COMMUNITY WOODLAND 'ASD WASTE. « «' Plan of Manorial Village. From An Inlroduction to English Industrial Hislory.hy Henty AUsopp. meals of the value given above; and thus the work is worth yd. clear. And he ought to carry wood from the woods of the lord as far as the manor house for two days in summer with a cart and three animals of his own, the value of the work being gd. And THE MEDIEVAL MANOR 79 he shall receive from the lord each day three meals of the price given above, and thus the work is worth 4 Spelled "Moggonck" in the Patent. In the Indian dialect it meant "on the great sky top." 80 THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY IN AMERICA 8 1 Between this ancient landmark and the view-point of the sj)ectator, is the valley of the Wallkill, whose culti- vated fields present in summer an appearance strikingly unusual. Almost everywhere the boundary lines seem to be rectangular, and the fields, on the slope of the op- posite mountain, sown with different kinds of grain or left as meadow land, look like the regular blocks of a variegated patchwork. Just below, in the valley, a mile away, on the east side of the stream, may be seen the church steeples and scattered houses of New Paltz. The road, entering the village from the east, becomes the main street, and, on either side of it, nearly to the long covered bridge by which it crosses the Wallkill, are the stores and shops, constituting the local sources of supply for five or six hundred inhabitants. The neat, unpretentious, dwellings interspersed, are mostly modem, for this street did not become the chief thoroughfare until long after the early settlement, when the increasing agricultural population sought an outlet for their produce by way of the Hudson river to New York. The streets running north and south, parallel to the stream, were the scenes of pioneer activity, and to-day one may discover, here and there, the steep-roofed houses of colonial times, one of which shows the old port holes, and displays in iron letters the date, 1705. Tradition attributes the settlement at New Paltz to one of the incidents connected with the Indian massacre at Esopus in June, 1663. Catherine Blanshan, the wife of Louis DuBois, was one of the captives carried away into the wilderness. DuBois with a band of settlers started in pursuit, and, in following the stream which was after- ward called the Wallkill, they noticed the rich lands in the vicinity of the present village of New Paltz. The search was successful, the prisoners were released from captivity, and in the more leisurely return to Esopus, Louis DuBois and his companions examined carefully the land which, by its beauty and apparent fertility, had before attracted their attention. Some years afterward' he and his as- ' May, 1677. 82 THE RURAL COMMUNITY sociates purchased from the Indians the large tract of land, estimated to contain some 36,000 acres, including part of the present townships of New Paltz, Rosendale, and Esopus, and the whole of Lloyd — bounded on the west by the Shawangunk* mountains and on the east by the Hudson river. For the valuable grant the In- dians received "40 kettles, 40 axes, 4 adzes, 40 shirts, 400 strings of white beads (wampum), 300 strings of black beads, 50 pairs of stockings, 100 bars of lead, i keg of powder, 100 knives, 4 quarter-casks of wine, 40 jars, 60 splitting or cleaving knives, 60 blankets, 100 needles, 100 awls, and i clean pipe." ' This purchase was soon confirmed by a patent signed by Gov. Andross, dated Sept. 29, 1677, granting to "Louis DuBois and partners," the land described, for the yearly rent of "five Bushels of good Winter wheat." The in- strument now in the Huguenot Bank at New Paltz, names the twelve patentees as follows: "Louis DuBois, Chris- tian Doyo, Abraham Haesbroocq Andries Lefevre, Joan Broocq Pierre Doyo, Laurens Bivere Anthony Crospell, Abraham DuBois, Hugo Frere Isaack DuBois and Symeon LeFevre, their heyres and Assignes." All were Huguenots, who fleeing from kingly and church persecution in France, had found an asylum in the Lower Palatinate at Mann- heim, and had probably spent some time in Holland also, whence they had come with the Dutch to Esopus. In memory of their German home on the banks of the Rhine and adjacent to the forest region of the Odenwald, they ' This word is usually slurred in pronunciation so as to sound like " Shon- gum." Its meaning in the Indian dialect is somewhat doubtful. Rev. C. Scott, in an article on the subject (Collections of the Ulster Historical Society, I, pp. 229-33), suggests either "South Water," or the "Kill or Creek of the Shawanees." 2 Ulster Co. Hist. (Everts & Peck, 1880), New Paltz, p. 5. The transla- tion above given has been the generally accepted rendering of the Dutch words which represfent the consideration for the grant. Rev. Ame Venema, of New Paltz, who has recently given the subject attention, is inclined to think the Dutch word "Zeewandt," which has been usually translated "beads" (the white ones being used for wampum), should be rendered "400 fathoms of material used for fish nets." He also reads, "40 oars," instead of "40 jars," "60 pieces of duffer'(coarse woollen cloth), instead of "60 cleaving knives," and "i measure of tobacco," instead of "i clean pipe." THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY IN AMERICA 83 named their new home on the Hudson, New Paltz,' or the New Palatinate, and here established, to a consider- able degree, the local government and peculiar customs of the German village community. Local history asserts that "as soon as these heu-dy pioneers had established themselves upon their lands they proceeded to make an equitable division of them. This was done in a rude way, each family portion being measured off by paces and staked at the corners. These boundaries were never changed; but to these tracts were given special names, such as Pashemoy, Pashecanse, Wicon, Avenyear, Lanteur, Granpere, etc., which have survived two hundred years. The lands were at first tilled in Com- mon and the proceeds equally divided." * Perhaps no documents now exist which establish the evidence of this early cultivation in common of tracts of the arable land by the numerous co-owners, but tradi- tion, both trustworthy and direct, places the matter al- most beyond question. One of the worthy representatives of her Huguenot ancestors told the writer a few weeks ago that in her younger days she used frequently to hear an old resident of New Paltz relate how his mother, a self- reliant, vigorous woman, was wont, after becoming a widow, to take her turn in caring for the common stock and crops, as her husband had done before. The small tracts thus cultivated in common were doubtless the choicest portions of the land near the Wallkill, in which all the inhabitants desired to have some share. Each year the co-owners determined what crops should be planted, and some one of their number to care for the interests of all. If there are no early documents to verify this tradi- tion of a common cultivation and division of the produce, there are those which intimate a common ownership even in the arable land, and show conclusively such common rights in both pasture and woodland as are thoroughly char- acteristic everywhere of Teutonic village community-life. ' Sometimes spelled "Pals'" in the early records; German, Pfalz. ' Ulster County History (Everts & Peck, 1880), New Paltz, p. 6. See Ed- mund Eltinge, Colls. Ulster Hist. Soc., vol. I, Part I, p. 47. 84 THE RURAL COMMUNITY In the will of Louis DuBois, dated March 30, 1686,' it is provided in reference to New Paltz land that "them that have home lotts and have built thereon shall keep the same — upon condition that the other of my children shall have so much land instead thereof in such convenient places as may be found expedient for them in any place belonging to my said estate." ^ A deed' in 1705, by Anthony Crespel, one of the patentees of the New Paltz, recites that he "Lawfully standeth seized and possest of y* twelfth part of the whole pattent of y* New Paltz as by said patent" etc., and gives for divers considerations to his daughter, "Severall lotts parcels and pieces of y* above said land of the new paltz," one lot being described as "between a lott of Abraham dii boys and the Commons. . . . Also the Just third part of y* woods and Commons of y* above & first mentioned twelfth part of land of s"* Crespel that is nott y*" layd out and devided." It then provides that the land shall not "bee disposed of to strangers,"^ but gives full power to the children "to sell convey and sett over their respective parts and proportions of the above s"* parcells and lotts of land unto any of y" family in blood of the said Anthony Crespel." In the so-called "New Paltz Orders," = the fencing of the common lands seems to include land not for pasturage, and presumably arable land. It is thus provided for in popular assembly: "We the inhabitants of y* Niew Pals in generall are met to-gether 3^ 23"' day of Feb. 17^^ to conclued concerning all our fences of the Land as also of the pastures to the plurality of votes ac- cording to the order of the warrant to the constable di- rected: . . . the N. Pals town shall to-gether make the fence from Jacob Hasbroucq, to the s** gate, and so we shall begin the vasmakerslant* fences to the kill or kreek ' There were two later wills. ' Ulster County Clerk's Office Records, Liber of Deeds, AA, p. 49. ' Ibid., p. 386. * The same exclusive provision which prevails at Hurley. See p. 45. * Records in Huguenot Bank at New Paltz. * The meaning of this word is doubtful. The spelling is probably faulty. THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY IN AMERICA 85 at the Landing place, to the erf' of John Hasbroucq and every one of us must make his part or share at six Raeles as now is. . . . More concerning the old pastures every one is obliged and bound to doe as his nebourgh that is to say the just half of y* fences of five Raels or otherwise & that good and sufficient. And as for y' Kettel doing Dammage and so taken they shall be put in pound by him that shall thereunto be chosen or impoured by the inhabitants of s*" place. And each and every horse or cow beast so taken in dammage shall pay a peace nine pence for a fine, the one half for him there-unto chosen and the other half for the Towne. And as for the hogs they shall have no Liberties for to Runne free ; but as for the sheeps they may runne free untill that time that they goe in Dam- mage in y* Come or in the pastures provided y* fences be good and sufficient. . . . And as for the horses which Rune upon the Land in the fale they shall be taken away the 30th of September. . . . Concerning all the fences' . . . each and every one is oblidged and bound to make and kepe his owne fence at the time Limitted or ordered by him thereunto chosen to take notice of s*^ fences, but in case any one neglict or will not doe or make his fence he shall pay for a fine six shillings, and the viewers of fences shall make or have made the s^ fence or fences at his charge as y* Law Direct in such case." The "Orders" also im- posed, upon any one leaving gates open, fines to pay the "cost and charges of the towne," and were recorded by "W. Nottingham Clerk." The patentees are said to have been called the "Twelve Men" or "Duzine," and to have had both legislative and judicial power in town affairs. Three years before the death of the surviving patentee, Abrajiam, son of Louis DuBois, the twenty-four proprietors of the New Paltz > "Erf" means "inheritance," and in its use here shows that probably the Dutch spoke of the " home lot " as such, in distinction from the common lands. It is suggestive at least. ' It is interesting to compare these "New Paltz Orders" relating to the ancient institution, the "Common Fence," with the evidences of similar cus- toms in New England, collected by Dr. Adams in his Germanic Origin of Nm/ England Towns. Studies, I, p. 32, of monograph just mentioned. 86 THE RURAL COMMUNITY entered into an agreement' dated April 21, 1728, which established the local government of the "Twelve Men" by popular election, and authorized them to fix titles "ac- cording to the severall Divisions and partitions that have been made between them [the patentees] by Parole with- out deed, and the other parts thereof yet remaining in common and undivided . . . within the bounds of the aforesaid Pattent." It states that, "we Doe by these presents Covenant and Grant to and with each other that there shall and may be yearly and every year for ever, hereafter chosen and elected for the purposes above men- tioned by the plurality of votes of the fFreeholders and Inhabitants within the aforesaid Pattent Twelve good able and sufficient men ^freeholders and Inhabitants who have an Interest within the said pattent Representing the aforesaid Twelve Pattentees." . . . Further we " Give Grant and Bequeath unto the aforesaid Twelve men or the Major part of them to be elected and nominated in manner as aforesaid full power and authority to act and sett in good order and unity all common affairs — Businesses or things Comeing before them belonging to or concerning the Right Title Interest or property of the New Paltz aforesaid and commonalty within the said Pattent accord- ing to Law or Equity and to the best of their knowledge and understanding." Then follows a covenant to pay all charges disbursed by the "Twelve Men" for defending title, and giving deeds of partitions made by the twelve patentees in their lifetime. Full power is also given them to make partition of undivided land, "as they shall from time to time see cause for . . . which Division is to be made in manner and forme following That is to say that the said Undivided Lands and premises, or such part there- of £is they shall from time to time see cause for . . . shall be laid out in Twelve equal shares and Divisions soe that the one is not of more valine than the other and Then the aforesaid Twelve men shall Draw Lotts for the same," each share in the allotment to be for the use of those who ' Records in Huguenot Bank at New Paltz. THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY IN AMERICA 87 represent, by descent or otherwise, the several patentees. The "Twelve Men" were empowered to give deeds for the parcels, and such conveyances were to remain for- ever. The character of the rights of commonage then enjoyed at New Paltz is well shown by a release' in the following year (Apr. 5, 1729), from the "Twelve Men" granting to Solomon and Louis DuBois and their Heirs "full power and authority at all times forever hereafter to cut down, load have take and carry away all manner of Timber trees and stones standing . . . lying and being within any part of the Commons and without the fifences and inclosures of any of the Inhabitants of the new paltz aforesaid in the same manner that the said owners and proprietors Doe use to Doe in the said Commons, and likewise to mow down and carry away any grass or hay growing with- out the ffences and inclosures and in the Commons'* . . . [under] such regulations as the owners and proprietors aforesaid in the said town cut hay in the Commons, to- geather with free liberty of ingress, egress and regress to and for the said Solomon DuBois and Lewis DuBois and their heirs or assignes." . . . Provided always, "that they shall have no similar rights in inclosed lands nor take anything they may rightfully take in the uninclosed lands for any person outside of their flfour ffamilys liveing on the said tract of land of the said Solomon DuBois and Lewis DuBois." The "Twelve Men" under their authority, conferred in the agreement of 1728, to lay out the land to be divided "in Twelve equal shares and Divisions soe that the one is not of more valine than the other," had the lots set off regularly from time to time, of the same size and shape, adjacent and numbered from i to 12 in each Division, — the North and South Divisions together constituting one long strip (or Tier) of similar lots, running for the most ' Now in possession of Edmund Eltinge, Esq. ' In connection with these rights of commonage we find the ancient Pound. In 1765 one of the questions put to the voters of New Paltz was "whether Poundmasters shall be elected or every man be his own Pounder." 88 THE RURAL COMMUNITY part north and south, parallel to the Wallkill.* Almost all deeds of New Paltz property, executed after the sign- ing of the agreement of 1728 and before the general par- tition of the lands by the State legislature at the begin- ning of the present century, contain references to this method of division. In one dated April 3, 1767, given by Noah Eltinge to Josiah Eltinge, the land is described as "on the east side of the Paltz River being . . . known by Lot number three, situate in the first twelve Lots or South Division of the New Division called the First Tier, lying eastward of the old Divisions on the east side of the Paltz River and adjacent thereunto." " One third part of one hundred and eighty acres was granted. A will ' of Roeloff Eltinge, dated 1745, gives among other bequests the half part of liis share in sundry *' Lotts of Land laid out within the Limitts of the Pattent of the new Paltz afores* fronting upon hudsons River and extend- ing westerly from the said River one mile & a half." In this same will there is evidence, not only that between the Tiers of divided lands large tracts lay undivided and owned in common, but also, that before the middle of the last century the shares in such common land were becoming minutely subdivided. The testator bequeathed to his son Noah all his "farme Lands meadows" etc., in the New Paltz, "and also all that the one third part of the one sixth and one sixtieth part of all the undivided LcUid within the Bounds of the Pattent of the New Paltz af ores'*." Thirty years later, and nearly a hundred years after the granting of the patent, fifty-two proprietors of the New Paltz entered into an agreement,* dated April 30, ' In such regular division of the territory by the "Twelve Men" may be found an explanation of the rectangular boundary-lines which strike the eye of one who approaches New Paltz from the east. ' Document now in possession of Jacob Eltinge, Esq. * Ibid. * Records in Huguenot Bank at New Paltz. There is also an earlier agree- ment, dated May 23, 1744, by which the signers pledge themselves, under heavy penalty, "To Defend Joyntly the Whole Tract . . . and to stand in mutual Defense of each others Lot or Lots Farm and Farms against all En- croachments and Pretences of Right To the lands forever. . . . For Fifteen whole and consecutive years." The "Twelve Men" were to determine the amount of money needed. THE AaiXAGE COMMUNITY IN AMERICA 89 1774, for the common defense of their territory, — a fact which shows the persistence of their village community customs and the extent to which the subdivision of the common property had then been carried. The agreement recites the patent of 1677, and the articles of 1728 by which the "Twelve Men" had been permanently established, and then goes on to say: "That each and every one of us whose hands and seals are hereunto set and our respec- tive Heirs and Assigns, shall and will advance, disburse and Pay unto the said twelve Men for the time being or to the Major Part of them, such a proportionable part of the said common stock as we have respectively here- under annexed to our several and respective names and that as many times and as often as it shall be requisite and necessary for the defending the said Tract of Land, or any part thereof." It was stipulated that the major part of the "Twelve Men" should settle disputes as to what were necessary disbursements, and the proprietors bound themselves to the "Twelve Men" "in the Penal sum of Two Hundred Pounds current Money of New York." Among the fifty- two who signed were: Daniel Lefever %4 part, Benjamin I. Freer Ym part, Jacob Louw }i«s " , Jacobus Hasbrouck %t " , Anthony Yelverton Ki " i Josia Eltinge %9 parts. And* Bevier Kbs " , Noach Eltinge Kt part, Jonas Hasbrouck K* " , Abraham doiau ^J^a parts. Much discussion was provoked concerning the validity of the above agreement, and, as so often the case, the prominent lawyers consulted differed in opinion. Egbert Benson, Oct. 5, 1791, asserted that "it is wholly incom- petent to the purposes for which it Wcis intended,"* — that is, to bind the shares of the land in perpetuity to a pro- portional contribution. Earlier in the same year John Addison had advised the "Twelve Men" "that the In- strument is Valid in law and the sums all recoverable."^ This also was the opinion of Clinton. That the agree- ment was still in force twenty-four years after its execu- * Records in the Huguenot Bank of New Paltz. * Ibid. 90 THE RURAL COMMUNITY tion, is shown by an entry of May 23, 1798, in the book of the "Twelve Men" containing the records of their trans- actions: "It is agreed by the Majority of the Twelve Men ... to Rase the sum of Two Hundred Pounds for and Towards Defending the Bounderies of the New paltz Pat- tent and the proportion of each man is afhxed oposite to his name to Base the above mentioned sum and each Twelve man is to collect his proportion of the sum and pay it to the Twelve Men on or before the fifteenth day of August next."^ For more than a hundred years, the "Twelve Men" or "Duzine" of New Paltz, had practically constituted the only legislative and judicial tribunal of the village. No doubt an appeal lay to the colonial government, but, so far as is known, none seems to have been taken. From 1677 to 1785, the "Common Book" of the "Duzine" con- tained the most important villiige records. In March of the latter year, an act* of legislature incorporated the township under the state government, and confirmed the grants and partitions of the "Twelve Men."' But ap- parently the freeholders of New Paltz still continued to elect each year, as before, their "Twelve Men" for the supervision of local affairs,* even into the present century. The last record in the Book of the Twelve Men tells us that, as late as April, 1824, "At the annual Town-meeting of the freeholders and Inhabitants of the Town of New ' Records in the Huguenot Bank at New Paltz. ^ An "exemplification" of this act is among the records of the town now in the Huguenot Bank. The act provided that those taking by lot under the par- tition " shall be deemed ... to have been seized severally in fee simple of the said Lots, or parcels of Land respectively"; and it adds that "the partition hereby confirmed shall be deemed and adjudged to be as good evidence of an estate in severalty under the said Paltz Patent as if such partition had been made according to the course of the Common Law." There seems to be no record at New Paltz, as there is at Hurley, of provision being made, in the partition of the common territory, for such of the inhabitants as had nevec before been freeholders. • An advertisement of partition by the commissioners appeared in the Albany Gazette, August 9, 1792. * Though, after the incorporation of the town, the "Twelve Men" had little else to do than to determine the land-titles of the town, and preserve the record; of previous divj^ipns, THE VILLAGE COitMlfNttY tN AMERICA 91 Paltz on the first tuesday of April 1824 the following per- sons were chosen and elected by plurality of votes of the freeholders & inhabitants of the patent of New paltz for twelve men by Virtue & in persuence of a certain instru- ment in writing made for that purpose." The record also names the chosen representatives, designating for each, respectively, the share of some one of the original patentees. One of the "Twelve Men" elected at this time was Daniel DuBois, who had been chosen to the same office for the four preceding years. By members of his family, the papers of the "Twelve Men," now in the Huguenot Bank, were brought to "a meeting held at the house of Benjamin D. Smedes on the 3rd day of Apr. 1858 of the Inhabitants of the town of New Paltz persuant to public notice," for the purpose of choosing a custodian for the documents of "the Twelve." ' These facts would seem to indicate that Daniel DuBois, who lived until thirty-three years ago (March 15, 1852), was the last survivor^ of the last "Duzine"; and thus he might have claimed the unique distinction of perpetuating in his own person, as late as the middle of the 19th century, an institution older than the Christian era. No account of the town of New Paltz would be com- plete, if it did not make some mention of the marked char- acter of the religious life which produced, side by side with so interesting a civil organization, a noteworthy church establishment. When the Indians were overtaken by Louis DuBois and his band, in that journey which in- cluded the discovery of the New Paltz lands, the captive women were staying the hands of the savages by singing the 137th psalm f and more than a dozen years afterward ' The meeting " Resolved that the patent papers be kept and held by Methu- salem Eltinge, Ab» P. Lefever, Pres. — Ab» H. Deyo, Jr., Sec." ' Dr. Peltz, however, in an address at the DuBois Reunion in 1875, says: " One gentleman sits before me to-day who has been chosen the representative of his tribe." Query: Did he refer to Ab» P. Lefever, who was president of the above mentioned meeting, and who did not die till 1879? The records, however, do not show his election as one of the "Twelve Men." • This interesting episode has been commemorated by Edmund Eltinge, Esq., . of New Paltz, in a large historical oil-painting now in his possession, which he had painted for him by a skilled artist over thirty years ago. In the fore- ground are the captive women near a group of Indians, and on the right, just 92 THE RURAL COMMUNITY when the little group of Huguenot settlers, who had left their Dutch friends at the Esopus, reached the Tri-Cor^ near the present village of New Paltz, one of the number read from the French Bible the 23rd psalm, and then led the company in prayer. After their settlement, almost at once, the community erected a rough log house to serve both for school and church." These Huguenot pioneers at New Paltz, having been driven from France to the Palatinate in Germany, as a temporary asylum from the fires of persecution which were everywhere lighted in France, even before the formal Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, brought with them to their "new Palatinate" that fervor of religious life born only of martyrdom, — a fervor quite as strong as, and more tolerant than, that which inspired the early settlers of New England. It is not strange, therefore, that within six years the Huguenots at New Paltz obtained a minister, the Rev. Pierre Daillie, "and formed themselves into a congregation by the name of the Walloon Protestant Church, after the manner and discipline of the Church of Geneva." ' The first record of this church organization is interesting. It is in French, and the following trans- lation of a portion shows that the popular methods of government which marked the civil life of the community, prevailed thus early also in their church establishment: "The 22nd of January, 1683, Mr. Pierre Daillie, minister emerging from the woods, are Louis DuBois and his Huguenot companions, dressed in the costume of their day, advancing from the thicket with their guns to put the Indians to flight. In the background, beyond the Wallkill Valley, is the Shawangunk range with its prominent point, "Sky Top," strongly defined against the horizon; and farther in the distance, to the north, is a glimpse of the Catskills. The rich autumn foliage of the region is well put upon the canvas, and, altogether, the painting is a noteworthy representation of this memorable incident in the early pioneer life of the New Paltz settlers. • Tri-Cor refers to the three cars, or wagons, in which the settlers had brought their worldly goods. ' The Dutch had in their early charters to the West India Company pro- vided for both schoolmaster and minister in the Hudson River settlements, and the Huguenots showed themselves equally zealous in the cause of education and religion. ' Hasbrouck MS. See Life and Times of Louis DuBois, by Anson DuBois, DuBois Reunion, 1876, Proceedings, p. 67. THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY IN AMERICA 93 of the word of God, arrived in New Paltz and preached twice on the following Sunday, and proposed to the heads of the families that they should choose by majority of votes, by the fathers of families, one Elder and one deacon, which they did, and chose Louis DuBois for elder and Hugh Frere for deacon to eissist the minister in guiding the membership of the church that meets in New Paltz." ' This Veglise de Nouveau Palatinat, as it was early called, is probably the only church in America whose records are written successively in three languages, each period illustrating a different epoch in the church life and govern- ment. Approximately, they may be said to have been kept fifty years in French, seventy in Dutch, and since the beginning of this century in English. Within twenty years after the election of the first church officers, the records appear to have been partly in Dutch, and this language was chiefly in use throughout the eighteenth century, — a fact which shows the dominating character of Dutch influence in colonial New York, even in a settle- ment which, like New Paltz, was at first entirely Huguenot. In marked contrast with the religious intolerance of the New England colonists was the broad Christian liberality of the Dutch and Huguenots who laid the foundations of New York State. Often, when their own French church was without a pastor, the Huguenot settlers of the New Paltz went with their Dutch friends to the Dutch church at Kingston to attend the communion ser- vice, or to have the right of baptism administered to their children;" and, in turn, the increasing Dutch population at New Paltz not only worshipped in the French church of the Huguenots, but even acted as its officers and wrote its records in their native language.' In this transition * See Fac-simile of Record, DuBois Reunion, 1876, Proceedings, pp. 8, 9. ' In the early settlements of New Amsterdam, some seventy or eighty years before the time with which we are dealing, "for many years Huguenot and Dutch worshiped together." Proceedings of Huguenot Society of America, I, p. 27. ' In a French will of 1730, there is a gift of a Bible, to go to the church, for the reading of the French service. The will is an earnestly religious document, and by it the maker bequeaths everything to '"eglise du nouveau pals," 94 THE RURAL COMMUNITY period of life and language, from French to Dutch, the ministers, it is likely, were frequently called upon to give alternate discourses in the two languages, as it is certain they gave them in Dutch and English, during the later transition at the close of the last century. So close, indeed, was the agreement between the Hugue- nots and the Dutch at New Paltz, that we find the former, although they had been accustomed to a more independent church government, joining those of the Dutch, who, in the sharp controversy between the Coetus and Conferentia parties, held with the Conferentia faction that their minis- ters must be ordained in Holland by the classis of Amster- dam. Thus the French Reformed Church of the early settlers merged into the Dutch Reformed Church of New Paltz, which to-day stands as the exponent in the com- munity of a religious life that gained much of its original strength under French and Spanish persecutions. In New York, as in New England, the desire for religious free- dom accompanied and inspired the persistent purpose to obtain popular local self-government, which made pos- sible the formation of our United States. 2. COMMON FIELDS IN SALEM BY HERBERT B. ADAMS, PH.D. (From Johns Hopkins University Studies in Historical and Political Science, vol. I, No. 9-10. Village Communities of Cape Ann and Salem. From the Historical Collections of the Essex Institute, Baltimore, 1883.) "■The reproduction of the old English system of Com- mon Fields, or associate ownership of land for tillage and pasture, is a curious chapter in the agrarian history of early New England towns. Nearly all of them had the system to a greater or less extent. The writer has discovered evidence of its general prevalence throughout the Plan- tations of Plymouth Colony, where to this day there are many remarkable cases of survival, especially upon Cape Cod. But evidence is not lacking of the long continuance of this ancient system upon a large scale in Salem, the THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY IN AMERICA 95 oldest of towns in the Colony of Massachusetts Bay. In the year 1640 there were in Salem no less than ten Com- mon Fields of associated proprietors, who fenced more or less in common, under the supervision of fence viewers or surveyors of fences, who were appointed in Town Meet- ing. There was a special committee for each field. In the course of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries most of these old communal proprietorships were broken up into individual and separate holdings, but the North Fields and the South Fields, which are spoken of as early as 1642-3, continue as Common Fields down to about the middle of the eighteenth century, and are still fre- quently referred to by citizens of Salem who are conversant with the traditions of the Fathers. ..." In the Rev. William Bentley's Z)e^m/>foo« ofSalem,^ pub- lished in the year 1800, the old North Fields are spoken of as "the lands lying north of North River," and as con- taining "four hundred and ninety acres." He speaks of "an hill called Paradise, from the delightful view of the western part of the town." He says that South Fields "are the lands included between Forest and South rivers, and are divided from the great pasture by the Forest-river road. There lands are in good cultivation. Near the town are some settlements; the rest remain in farms and lots, possessed by the inhabitants of the town. . . . The South Fields contain six hundred acres." * Certain parcels of ungranted or unoccupied land in the old North Fields remain common to this day, for example the tract of four or five acres known as " Liberty Hill," now used as a public pleasure-ground. A few years ago there was considerable discussion in Salem as to the ownership of such tracts. It was the opinion of a prominent legislator, Hon. Charles W. Upham, then Mayor, in a Report on the Common Lands of the City of Salem in 1852,' that "Liberty Hill or any other unappropriated lands, if any there be in North ' Collections of the Massachusetts Hist. Soc., ist Series, VI, 218. ' Ibid., 217. ' Salem City Documents for the year 1852, p. 30. The writer's attention was called to this opinion of the late Hon. Charles W. Upham by Mr. Robert S. Rantoul of Salem. 96 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Fields, belong to the proprietors of that district by a sort of special commonage, but cannot be disposed of, or ap- propriated by them, without the consent of the town first had and obtained. This seems to have been the principle upon which the North Field common lands were adminis- tered." This opinion is sustained by the fact that at a Salem town meeting, March 8, 1684, it was voted that the proprietors of North Fields, or the major part of them, should have liberty to make such orders from time to time as they should find necessary for the sufficient fencing and well improving of the said fields, and all such orders made by them, relating to the premises, being presented to the Selectmen and approved by them, were to hold good. But the Selectmen had the right of veto, showing that the authority over common fields which were owned by an individual proprietary was still vested in the town. . . . One summer, a few years ago, in the Bodleian Library of the Essex Institute, at Salem, through the kind offices of Dr. Henry Wheatland and Mr. William P. Upham, there came into the hands of the writer a rare old mzinu- script. It was not one of the lost of Livy, neither was it Cicero's missing treatise De Gloria, which was lost* by Petrarch's poverty-stricken old schoolmaster, who was forced to pawn it for bread. The Salem manuscript was no scholar's work. No monk had illuminated its pages; no humanist had revised its text. The Salem manuscript was characterized chiefly by bad writing, bad spelling, and by its general resemblance to the most primitive town records in New England, records kept ofttimes upon old account-books. There was nothing extremely attractive about this dingy old manuscript, but it had for the student of New England local history more interest than a beau- tiful church missal or a classic palimpsest would have af- forded, if found in that library of the Essex Institute. For this manuscript was the original record of the Proprietary of the South Fields in Salem, an old agrarian community, the survival of an institution which was old when the THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY IN AMERICA 97 Christian Church and the Roman Empire were young. The system of land community and common fields, with small individual allotments held under joint control, as instituted in Salem and Plymouth, reminds of those old Roman days described by Bradford, the historian of Plym- outh Plantation, in the words of Pliny (lib. i8, cap. 2) : "How every man contented himself e with 2 acres of land, and had no more assigned them." And chap. 3: "It was thought a great reward, to receive at ye hands of ye people of Rome a pinte of corne. And long after, the greatest present given to a Captaine y* had gotte a victory over their enemise, was as much ground as they could till in one day. And he was not counted a good, but a dangerous man, that would not contente himselfe with 7 Acres of land. As also how they did pound their corne in mortars, as these people were forcte to doe many years before they could get a mille." ^ The records of South Field Proprietary are incomplete. They do not open until the year 1680. Originally they covered a period from at least 1672 to 1742. But what was true of later times was probably also true of the earlier. There is but little change in agrarian customs. In an old town on Cape Cod we have examined a continuous series of Commoners' Records from the latter part of the seven- teenth century down to 1880, and have found scarcely any change in the character of votes or the modes of busi- ness procedure. In order, however, that there may be ' Bradford, History of Plymouth Plantation, Collections of the Massachusetts Hist. Soc., 4th Series, vol. Ill, 168. For an interesting account of this orig- inal, source of New England history, and how it was stolen from the tower of the old South Church in Boston, during the American Revolution, when the church was used for a riding-school and stable by British soldiery, see the Editorial Preface by Mr. Charles Deane; see also an interesting paper on "Governor Bradford's Manuscript History of Plymouth Plantation and its Transmission to our Times," by Professor Justin Winsor, of Harvard College, a paper read before the Mass. Historical Society, Nov. 10, 1881. The existence of this priceless manuscript from the library of the Bishop of London, at Ful- ham on the Thames, was accidentally discovered years ago by members of the Massachusetts Historical Society, which had a copy made from the original, and this copy was published by the Society in 1856. It is one of the surviving shames that the original manuscript, stolen probably by some British soldier, has never yet been restored by England to New England. 98 THE RURAL COMMUNITY no question as to the nature of these old Common Fields at the time when there were ten of them in the one town of Salem, let us cite a few extracts from the Massachusetts Colony Records, which supply most admirably all missing evidence concerning the period before 1680. In the spring of 1643, the year the Massachusetts colony was divided into four shires, with Salem heading the list of Essex towns, it was ordered by the General Court, "For preventing disorder in corne fields w"*" are inclosed in common, . . . that those who have the greater quantity in such feilds shall have power to order the whole, notwithstanding any former order to the contrary, & that every one who hath any part in such common feild shall make and maintaine the fences according to their severall quantities." * In the fall of the same year was passed an act which leaves no doubt as to what was meant by the ordering of a field. "Wheras it is found by experience that there hath bene much trouble & difference in severall townes about the manner of planting, sowing, & feeding of com- mon corne feilds, & that upon serious consideration wee finde no generall order can provide for the best improve- ment of every such ffeild, by reason that some consist onely of plowing ground, some haveing a great part fit onely for planting, some of meadowe and feeding ground; also, so that such an order as may be very wholesome & good for one feild may bee exceeding preiudiciall & inconvenient for another, — it is therefore ordered, that where the com- moners cannot agree about the manner of improvement of their feild, either concerning the kind of graine that shal bee somen or set therein, or concerning the time or manner of feeding the herbage thereof, that then such persons in the severall townes that are deputed to order the pruden- ciall affaires therof, shall order the same, or in case where no such are, then the maior part of the freemen, who are hereby enioyned with what convenient speed they may to determine any such difference as may arise upon any information given them by the said commoners; & so much of any former order as concerns the improvement ' Mass. Col. Rec., II, 39, 195. THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY IN AMERICA 99 of common feilds, & that is hereby provided for, is hereby repealed." ^ But four years later the Court went back to the old system, leaving the regulation of Common Fields entirely in the hands of the majority of interested proprietors.'' The above order is significant of the actual survival in New England of old English agrarian customs. The practice of allowing the selectmen, in so-called private Town Meeting, to regulate the management of Common Fields seems, from the town records of Salem, to have been already in vogue in this place before the pas- sage of the above Act, at least as regards the control of common fences and the regulation of pasturz^e upon the stubble lands. In the spring of 1638 it was ordered by Mr. Endicott, John Woodbury, and the rest of the Town Fathers, "fforasmuch as divers of our towne are resolued to sowe English graine this spring . . . that all common & particular home ffences about the towne shall be suf- ficientlie made vp before the twentieth of the ffirst moneth next [April] vppon the payne or penaltie of 5$. euerie day after that any one is defectiue therein." ' One of the most extraordinary features of this old sys- tem of common husbandry, as practised in early Mas- sachusetts, was the impressment of artisans by the town constable to aid farmers in harvest-time. This undoubted power of the community over the time and labor of its individual members, a power seen in very recent times when constables impressed labor for mending the town roads, is a connecting link between New England towns and old English parishes. The following is the exact text of a colony law (1646), upon this matter of impressing labor in harvest- time : "Because 5^ harvest of hay, corne, hax, & hemp comes usually so near together y* much losse can hardly be avoyeed, it is ordered & decreed by y* Courte, y* y* cunstable of every towne, upon request made to y°", shall require artificers or handicrafts men, meete to labour, to worke by y* day for their neighbours needing y", in mowing, reaping, & inning thereof, and y* those » Mass. Col. Rec., II, 49. ' Ibid., 195. ' Town Records of Salem, I, 84. lOO THE RURAL COMMUNITY whom they help shall refuse, or y" cunstable neglect his office herein, they sail each of 5^ pay to y* use of y* pore of y" towne double so much as such a dayes worke comes unto: provided no artificer &c, shalbe compeled to worke for others whiles he is necessarily attending on like busi- ness of his owne." • This impressment of laborers for harvest was only the revival of old English parish law,* and is precisely the same in principle as the requirement of local militia by the Selectmen to perform escort duty in the transportation of grain from the frontier towns to places of greater security. • . ,' Returning now to the old records of the South Field Proprietary, let us examine a few illustrative extracts, which, to the outside world, will doubtless be more in- teresting in their original form than they would in any modem paraphrase: "It is ordered & voated by the proprietors of the Southfield that the proprietors shall meet on the last Tuesday in ffebruary, every year for the making such orders as may be needfull for the Good of the Southfield, & it is left to the moderator & Clarke* to appoint the place where they sail meet & this sail be ac- counted sufficient warning without any further notice Given of the tyme when to meet, & it is farther agreed that such as doe meet shall pay Sixpence each person to be spent at the house where they meet [at a tavern ?] and such as doe not meet on that day shall pay eighteen pence » Mass. Col. Rec., II, 180-1. . * In Lombard's Constable, Borshotder, and Tythingman, a curious old, volume, published in the year 1610, we find the following law: "In the time of Hay, or Comharvest, the Constable, or any such other Officer, vpon request made, and for avoiding the losse of any corne, graine, or hay, may cause all such Artificers and persons (as may be meete to labour) by his discretion to serve by the day, for the mowing, reaping, shearing, getting, or inning of corne, graine or hay, according to the skill and qualitie of the person; and if any such person shall refuse so to doe, then ought such Officer (vnder the pain of fortie shillings) to imprison such refuser in the Stockes, by the spaceof two dales and one night." See also V Eliz. cap. IV. This law appears to have been in operation in Eng- land down to very recent times; see J. W. Willcock, The Office of Constable (England, 1827; Philadelphia, 1840, p. 38). » Mass. Col. Rec, V, 66. |^< In this mode of spelling "clerk," we have a suggestion of its original pro> nunciation. Compare also the family name, "Clark." tHE VILLAGE COMMUNITY IN AMERICA tOl Each person for non appearance and this to stand as a Constant order Continually, the tyme of the day is to be at one of the Clock." The proprietors sometimes met at a private house, and perhaps occasionally in the open helds. The proceedings at a proprietors' meeting were always conducted according to rules of parliamentary procedure. A New England man, in reading the old Com- moners' records of Salem, would be chiefly impressed by the fact that here is described a miniature Town Meeting. A moderator is always chosen; a clerk records the pro- ceedings; surveyors (not of highways, but) of fences are appointed; field drivers are chosen; and taxes levied. Among the officers chosen at a Commoners' meeting was the Hajnvard, or, as he is sometimes called in the later town records, "the watchman upon the walls of the pas- ture." Old Homer's ancient men, watching from the walls of Troy the old conflict of human cattle, were hardly more ancient than this time-honored agrarian office. The swine- herd of Odysseus was a near kinsman of the Saxon hay- ward. The office had nothing whatever to do with hay- ing, or with grass-lots, as the name might first seem to imply. It is derived from the Saxon Hege (German Hag, English hedge) and means the warden of the hedges or fences. Many German places derive their names from the hedge with which they were originally surrounded (e. g., Wendhagen, Grubenhagen, The Hague). In fact the word town means only a place that is hedged in, from the old German Zun or Tun, modern German Zaun, mean- ing a hedge. The office of hayward was originally con- stabulary in character. He was appointed in feudal times in the Court Leet (German Leute), or popular court of the Norman manor and English parish, thus coming down into the parish of New England. Let us now glance at the duties of the ancient watch- man of the old South Field. "Voted, that the Gates att both Ends of the field be made good & well repaired, And that the Little Gates Especially be Made and Hung so as to be easy for Travellers to pass at the Charge of the proprietary, and that the Haywards accordingly are De- lOi THE RURAL COMMUNltV sired & Impowered to do it & to Render an Account of the Charge the next proprietors meeting." . . . "Voated that the Haywards ... or any of the proprietors of the Southfield shall have power to take up & Impound any horse kind or any other cattle w*"' shall be found loose upon his own ground or the grounds of any other proprietor of the Southfield feedings unless they be tyed & that none shall tether in the night time vpon the penalty of what the law doth determine in case of Damage fleazant [faisant]. And this to be from the tenth of April [more usually 25 of March] to the 14th of October ... & that the ffield be drove by the Hayward the loth of April & not to be broken till 14th October next." ' This custom of clear- ing the Common Field of all creatures in the spring and of breaking down the barriers again in the fall, so that the cattle of the whole village may pasture upon the stubble is quite parallel to the old English ^ Lammas lands, which belong to individuals but are subject to certain rights of commonage. Lammasday, when the fences of the Com- mon Fields were thrown down, was the occasion of a vil- lage festival in Old England. It will be remembered that in Old England there were two sorts of pasturage in Common Fields whence crops had been gathered: (i) stinted, (2) unstinted. The latter must have been customary at Salem during the early part of the seventeenth century, but at the time the records of the South Field begin, 1680, stinted pasturage was the rule. In that year it was voted "That on j^ 14 of October next 5^ Proprietors have Liberty to put in Cattle for Herb- age . . . y' is to say 6 Cows 4 Oxen 3 Horses or 12 Yearlings or 24 Calves to 10 Acors of Land and so in proportion to ' A similar order, taken from the latter part of the South Field Records (1741), is even more striking than the above which bears the date of 1695: "Voted, That no Person shall Teder any Horse Kind Cattle &c in said field, in the Night time. Nor in the Day time. Neither shall any Persons Bait their Crea- tures on their own Land on Penalty of forfeiting their Herbage, save only while they are at work there . . . the Haywards to Judge of the Same and to Debar them of their Herbage in the fall according to their Discretion or Have Power to take their Creatures from their Tedering Ropes & Impound them which they shall think most proper." 'Laveleye, Primilive Property, 114, 241. THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY IN AMERICA IO3 Greater or Lesser Quantities of Land According as they Have & no person shall Cutt or Stripe their Indian Come Stalkes after they have gathered their Come on penalty of forfiting Herbidge." At first sight, such a law might seem merely the resultant of local conditions, and of the somewhat commonplace discovery that Indian corn-stalks were good for foddering cattle. But there were similar laws in the agrarian communities of Old England at this period. Gleaners had definite rights, and it was required that grain-stalks should be left at a certain height for the benefit of the village cattle. It appears from the South Field records that rights to "herbage" could be leased and transferred: "When the proprietors Shall put in their Creatures for Herbage they Shall Give an Account to the Haywards of the Number of the same And Whosoever shall Hire Herbage of any person Shall bring from Under the Hand of the Leasor for so much as he Hires to the Haywards by the 14 of October Next." Two other points are especially worthy of attention. First, many of the lots in the South Field apjjear to have been very small, a half-acre, three-quarters of an acre, an acre, and so on in such small proportions. Second, bits of common land lying in the great field were granted out by the Proprietary to individuals for a term of seven years. Salem meadows, woodland, and town neck We have examined the subject of common fields, where planting lands were associated together under certain communal laws as regards the choice of crops, the regula- tion of fences, the reservation of herbage, and the em- ployment of the lands of individuals for a common pasture in the fall of the year. We have seen that the old English system of land community was reproduced at Salem in some of its most striking features. Let us now briefly consider the topics of common meadow, common wood- land, and common pasture, in the full sense of that term. 104 THE RURAL COMMUNITY In these matters we shall find that the old English cus- toms were more minutely followed. The first item of in- terest, in connection with the subject of common meadow, is the fact that the Old Planters' enjoyed such a common all for themselves. It was known as "the Old Planters medow neere Wenham* common." And yet even this meadow was under the authority of' the town, for it was ordered in 1638 "that the meadow that is in common amongst some of our Brethren Mr. Conant & others shall be fenced in the ffirst day of April & left common again the last of September euery yeare." This signifies that a piece of grass-land common to a little group of men for mowing was also common to the whole town for pasture in the fall.' The whole town of Salem once had its common meadows, ' Town Records of Salem, I, 76, 138, ' Wenham Common is mentioned only once in the town records of Salem, but Wenham Swamps are frequently noticed. These great swamps are in- teresting because they continued for many years common to both Ipswich and Wenham, as were certain swamps to Plymouth and Plympton. By an act of the Province legislature in 1755, the proprietors of Ipswich and Wen- ham were authorized to meet and prohibit the general use of Wenham Great Swamps as a common pasture, in order that the growth of wood and timber might not be hindered. (Province Laws, III, 799.) Wenham is a curious case of one town building from another. It appears from the Massachusetts Colony Records (1, 279) that the inhabitants of Salem agreed to plant a village near Ipswich River, and the Court thereupon or(lered, in 1639, that all lands lying between Salem and said river, not belonging by grant to any other town or person, should belong to said village. In 1643 it was ordered by the Court that "Enon" be called "Wennan" and constitute a town, with power to send one deputy to the General Court (II, 44). John- son in his Wonder-working Providence (W. T. Poole's ed., 189) calls Wenham Salem's "little sister." He says Salem nourished her up in her own bosom till she became of age, and gave her a goodly portion of land. "Wenham is very well-watered, as most inland Towns are, the people live together upon husbandry. New England having trained up great store to this occupation, they are increased in cattle, and most of them live very well, yet are they no great company; they were some good space of time there before they gathered into a Church-body." (1644.) * Mr. William P. Upham, in the bulletin of the Essex Institute, II, 51, says, in 1653 the town granted to George Emery the herbage of that parcel of land which was John Woodbury's in the old planter's marsh and all right of com- monage the town might have claimed to him and his heirs forever, and in 1658, to Wm. Hathome the town's right and privileges in the planter's marsh. Mr. Upham thinks the marsh was cotnmon to the old planters before Endi- cott's arrival, II, 52. THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY IN AMERICA I05 just cis did the town of Plymouth,* where the practice con- tinued long after the partnership with the London mer- chants was dissolved. In both places it was long customary in town meetings to assign lots where men should mow for one year, or for a longer period. The word "lot " cis applied to land carries a history in itself. In 1637 it was ordered by the selectmen of Salem "that all the marsh ground that hath formerlie beene Laid ou for hay grass shall be measured." * This was the first step toward allotment of the Salem meadows. Before this time they had been absolutely common, as it is clear from a vote like the fol- lowing, passed in 1636 by the Selectmen: "Wm. Knight Rec* for an inhabitant, but noe Lands to appropriat vnto him but a 10 acre lott, & common for his cattle grass & hay." ' Eight months after the above order in reference to the measurement of the meadows, it was "agreed that the marsh meadow Lands that have formerly layed in common to this towne shall now be appropriated to the inhabitants of Salem, proportioned out vnto them according to the heads of their families. To those that haue the greatest number an acre thereof & to those that haue least not above haue an acre, & to those that are betweene both 3 quarters of an acre, alwaies provided & it is so agreed that none shall sell away theire proportions of meadow, more or lesse, nor lease them out to any aboue 3 yeares, vnlesse they sell or lease out their howses w"" their meadow." * This restriction upon the alienation of al- lotted land is repeatedly paralleled in the records of Plym- outh Plantation, where grants were made to lie to so- and-so's house-lot in Plymouth and not to be sold from it.' The above divisions' of Salem meadows among the ' Bradford, History of Plymouth Plantation, 216-7. Plymouth Col. Rec., I, 14, 40, 56. * Town Records of Salem, I, 44. * Ibid., 26. * Ibid., 61, 101-4. * Restrictions upon the alienation of land were very frequent at Plymouth and elsewhere. See Ply. Col., I, 46 (eight cases), 82. Cf. Laveleye, Primitive Property, 118, 121, 152; Mass. Rec., I, 201; Conn. Rec., I, 351; Allen, Wen- ham, 26; Freeman, Cape Cod, II, 254; Lambert, New Haven, 163; Bond, Watertown, 995. * The granting of hay-lots by the year to old and new comers went on to some extent after the above division of the common meadow, which doubt- 106 THE RURAL COMMUNITV families of the town was managed by the "fTive Layer's, out "^^Captain Trask, Mr. Conant, John Woodbury, John Balch, and Jeffrey Massey. In the town records there is to be seen, in the hand ivriting of Mr. Conant, a list of the heads of families, and before each name stands the number of persons thereby rqjresented. Roger Conant headed a family of nine persons; John Woodbury, six; Captain Trask, seven; and Mr. Endicott, nine. These heads of households received each an acre, for, by the town vote, the greatest families could not have more than that amount of meadow. It gratifies one's sense of justice to be assured that Goodwife Scarlet, Mistress Robinson, the Widow More, Widow Mason; Widow Felton, Widow Greene, and "Vincent's mother" received each their proper al- lowance. Common of wood, as well as of meadow, was long prac- tised at Salem. It was ordered in 1636 that all the land along the shores on Darby's Fort Side, up to the Hogsties and thence toward Marblehead,' along the shore and for twenty rods inland, should be "reserued for the commons of the towne to serue it for wood & timber." * But the privilege of wood commonage was not to be abused. What- ever a townsman needed for fuel, fencing, or building pur- poses he could freely have, but it was strictly ordered that "noe sawen boards, clap boards or other Timber or wood less remained common, like the Old Planters' meadow, after the hay had been gathered. The following is a specimen of an annual hay-grant: "Graunted for the yeare to mr. flisk & Mr. ffogge the hay grasse of the salt marsh medow, at the side of the Old Planters' fields.^" Town Rec. of Salem, I, 87. ' Marblehead is an interesting case of a town voluntarily created by an- other town. Usually legislative action came first and towns were forced to allow the secession of precincts. In 1648, it was declared at a general town meeting in Salem that " Marble Head, with the allowance of the general Court, shal be a towne, and the bounds to be the vtmost extent of that land which was Mr. Humphries farme and sould to Marble Head, and soe all the neck of the Sea, reserving the disposing of the fferry and the appoynting of the fferry man to Salem." (Town Rec., I, 156-7.) C/. Mass. Col. Rec., I, 165. "It was proued Court that Marble Necke belongs to Salem." Cf. Ibid., 226. In 1649, May 2, "Upon the petition of the inhabitants of Marble Head, for them to be a towne of themselue; Salem haveing granted them to be a towne of themselues, & appointed them the bounds of their towne, -w'^ the Courte doth graunt." Mass. Col. Rec., II, 266. -■ ^ Town Records of Salem, I, 17^ 34, 112, 196, 219. 1. .. ' ' THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY IN AMERICA lOJ be sold or transported" out of town by any inhabitant unless the above be first offered for sale "to the thir- teen men." ' Similar restrictions in regard to the export of timber prevailed in Plymouth Colony.^ In the early history of Massachusetts, the colonial government, at one time, undertook to regulate the cutting of timber, by re- quiring permission therefor from the nearest assistant' or his deputy, but this regulation seems to have been of no practical consequence. The matter was tacitly rele- gated to the towns, and they delegated the execution of their forestry laws to their own selectmen. We have considered the topics of House Lots, Planting Lands, Meadow Lands, and Wood Lands. The first two groups were lands held in severalty, although Planting Lands were common for a part of the year. The three chief categories of strictly Common Land are Wood, Pcis- ture, and Meadow, corresponding to the old German terms, Wald, Weide, und Wiese. The reappearance of Common Wood and Common Meadow in the land system of Salem we have already seen. We now come to the last, and, in some respects, the most interesting division of our subject, namely. Common Pasture. This should not be confounded with the common temporary pasturing of stubble lands or hay meadows after harvest. Real Common Pasture is always common, and there are usually no allotments of land in severalty. A recent number of the Contemporary Review contains an interesting sketch of customs of common pasturage that still survive in Germany. The article is entitled "Notes from a German Village," and was written by an English professor* who spent a summer vacation in the little town of Gross Tabarz, on the northern slope of the Thuringian mountains. "Early each morning," he says, "we were awakened by the blowing of the Kuh-hirt's horn ' Ibid., 30-1. An Act for the Preservation of Timber may be found in the Statutes of the Realm, 27 Eliz. An Act concerning "clap boards" occurs in the 35 Eliz. • Plymouth Col. Rec., Book of Deeds, 8. ' Mass. Col. Rec., I, loi. Cf. Judge Endicott's Brief, Lynn v. Nahant, 6. • Contemporary Review, July, 1881. Article by Professor Aides. I08 THE RURAL COMMUNITY as he passed through the village, and any one watching his progress would see a cow turned out from one out- house, two more out of a second, and so on, the procession gradually increasing until, on leaving the villj^e, the Hirt and his assistant would have eighty to a hundred and twenty cows and bulls under the charge of themselves and their two dogs. In wandering in the daytime through the forests we often heard from a distance the tinkling of the large bells which the cows carry, and in a few minutes would meet the whole procession coming gently along the highroad or narrow lane, somewhat to the alarm of the more timid members of our party, but by no means to the diminution of the picturesqueness of the scene. By six o'clock in the evening the Hirt had gathered his flock together and driven them back to the village, where the ox knoweth its owner, and, unbidden, each turns into its own stable." When we read the above description we were tempted to believe that the English professor had written his story of summer experience upon the beisis of old records in Salem. Like the villages of the Thuringian Forest, Salem once had its cowherds, swineherds, and goatherds. They too, of old time, came through the streets of the village blowing their horns and creatures were turned out to their pastoral care. In the spring of 1 641 it was agreed in Salem town meeting that "Laurance Southweeke & William Woodbury shall keepe the milch cattell & heifers . . . this summer. . . . They are to begin to keepe them, the 6th day of the 2d moneth. And their tyme of keeping of them to end, the 15th day of the 9th moneth. They are to driue out the Cattell when the Sun is halfe zm hower high, & bring them in when the sun is halfe an hower high. The cattle are to be brought out in the morning into the pens neere to Mr. Downings place. And the keepers are to drive them & bring such cattle into the Pen as they doe receaue from thence." ' ' Town Records of Salem, 1, 99. For other illustrationa of the duties of the Town's Herdsmen, see FtXt'sAnnals, 1, 277-80. Herdsmen were employed in the Great Pastures of Salem down to a very recent date. Felt, I, 202. THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY IN AMERICA IO9 The duty of village swineherds was similar. Early in the morning they were "to blow their home" as they went along the street past the houses, and the townsmen brought out their swine to the keeper, who took charge of the drove until sunset, when all returned to town and every towns- man received his swine again, which he kept overnight in a pen upon his own premises.* The cattle were also kept overnight by each owner, either in private yards or in the common cow-houses.* In the morning the crea- tures were driven to the great Cattle Pen,' at the gate of which the herdsmen stood waiting, and, at a certain hour, drove all afield. If a townsman arrived late with his cows, there was no help for it but to follow after and catch up with the herd, or else to be his own herdsman that day and run the risk of his cows breaking into inclosures upon the plantation.^ The herdsman was originally paid for his services by the town, but afterwards by individuals, at a rate fixed upon in town meeting, usually about four shillings sixpence per season, for the charge of each cow, the settlement being made in butter, wheat, and Indian com.* The cattle of every town were marked with the first letter of the town's name, roughly painted with pitch. Towns whose names began with the same letter, for example, Salem, Salisbury, Sudbury, Strawberry Bank (Portsmouth), were obliged to agree upon differently shaped letters. Salem had a plain capital S; Salisbury, the sign of the dollar, $; Sudbury added an upright dash to the top of its initial S; Strawberry Bank added a straight stroke downward from the tail end of its S.' It is perhaps not generally known that Salem had not only town herdsmen, but actually town cows, town sheep,^ town dogs,* and a town horse.' In the town records we read of a "townes cowe" killed by the butcher, and the Selectmen are ordered to sell the beef and hide for the town's benefit. Both cows and sheep came into the pos- > Hist. Col. Essex Inst., XI, 36. Town Records of Salem, I, 100. » Ibid., 94. » Ibid,, 10, 39, 40, 66. * Ibid., 41. • Ibid., 207. * Mass. Col. Rec., II, 190, 225. ' Town Records of Salem, I, 185, 189, 195. • Ibid., 139. » Felt, Salem, I, 281. no THE RtJRAL COMMUNITY session of the town in settlement for debts and taxes. But a most singular order was that which was passed in Salem in 1645, whereby half a dozen brace of hounds were to be brought out of England, the charge to be borne by the town. These town dogs were probably used for herding cattle or hunting wolves. Perhaps Salem's order was the first suggestion for the Act passed by the colonial legis- lature of Massachusetts three years later, whereby the Selectmen of every town were authorized to purchase, at the town's expense, as many hounds as should be thought best for the destruction of wolves, and to allow no other dogs to be kept in town, except by magistrates, or by special permit.' Town flocks and herds and town herdsmen imply the existence of town pastures. The first mention of this sub- ject in the town records of Salem was in 1634, shortly after the division of the ten-acre lots. It was then agreed that the Town Neck should be preserved for the feeding of cattle on the Sabbath. Individuals were forbidden to feed their goats there on week-days, but were required to drive them to one of the larger commons, so that the grass upon the Neck land might have a chance to grow for pasture on the Lord's day.* For Salem, the Town Neck was a kind of home-lot for baiting the town's cattle. In Old England such a pasture would have been termed a Ham. William Marshall, an English writer of the last century, in describing the agrarian customs of his coun- try, says: "On the outskirts of the arable lands, where the soil is adapted to the pasturage of cattle . . . one or more stinted pastures, or hams, were laid out for milking cows, working cattle, or other stock which required superior pasturage in summer." ' The practice of stinting the • Mass. Col. Rec., II, 252-3, ibid., for law relating to Sheep Commons. The keeping of greyhounds for coursing deer or hare, and of setters for hunt- ing, was forbidden in the parishes of Old England. See Lombard's Constable (1610), 81, and the statute I, Jac, Cap. 27. ' Town Records of Salem, I, 9. • Laveleye, Primitive Properly, 245, c/. 59. Nasse in his Agricultural Com- munity of the Middle Ages, p. 10, quoting Marshall, observes: "Every vil- lage ... in the immediate vicinity of the dwelling-houses and farm-buildings. THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY IN AMERICA III Neck land for pasture must have begun at a very early date, but not much is said about the matter in the pub- lished volume of the town records (i 634-1 659). How- ever, the following vote of the old Commoners, in the year 1 714, will serve to illustrate the principle as applied to a permanent town pasture: "Voted that y* neck of land to y* Eastward of the Block house be granted and reserved for y* use of y* town of Salem, for a pasture for milch cows and riding horses, to be fenced at y* town's charge, and let to y" inhabitants of y* town by y« selectmen and no one person to be admitted to put into said pasture in a summer more than one milch cow or one riding horse, and y* whole num- ber not to exceed two and a half acres to a cow and four acres to a horse; y^ rent to be paid into y* town treasurer for y time being for y* use of the town of Salem." ^ Au- thority to stint common pasturage was given by the colonial legislature to the selectmen of every town in the year of 1673.* It is noteworthy that a part of the Neck lands con- tinued to be used, and weis especially known as Town Pas- ture until long after the middle of the nineteenth century. According to a survey made in the year 1728, there were at that time about one hundred and three acres of land in the Town Neck, a part of it having been planted by poor people holding cottage rights during the town's pleasure. In 1735, that part of Winter Island which was not needed for drying fish was let out with the Neck as a common "town pasture," and so both Neck and Island continued to be .used together with a common stint, e. g., "2j4 acres to a cow & 4 to a horse," but with special preference allowed to inhabitants dwelling nearest the Neck. In 1765 the town authorized its treasurer to let bad some few inclosed grass lands for the rearing of calves, or for other cattle which it might be thought necessary to keep near the village (the common farmstead or homestall)." * Report of the City Solicitor on the sale of the Neck Lands, communicated to the City Council, Dec. 27, 1858. To Judge Endicott's valuable report we have been greatly indebted for facts in the paragraph concerning Winter Island and the Town Neck. Cf. Felt's Annals of Salem, I, 191-2, » Mass. Col, Rec„ IV, Part II. 563. 112 THE RURAL COMMUNITY the Island and the Neck together for the pasturage of seventy-two milch cows at lo^. 8d. In 1824 Winter Isl- and was annexed to the so-called Alms House Farm, which by this time had enclosed about ninety acres of the old Neck lands. Instead of the town's cattle, the town's poor were now fed in commons upon the town's Neck. It is a curious and instructive commentary upon the trans- formation of communal institutions, that an old Town Pasture should become the material basis for a Town Farm and a Hospital. The Twenty-three acres remaining from the Neck land passed under the control of the Overseers of the Poor, who annually appointed a Hajrward and voted when the town or city of Salem (city since 1836) might drive its cows afield. Of course a fixed rate was now demanded for every creature and accommodations were strictly limited. There used to be gates leading into the Town Pasture upon the Neck. They seem to have lasted until a compeu-atively recent period, for a Salem poet of our time has sung their praises. CHAPTER IV THE DISINTEGRATION OF THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY /. HISTORY AND THEORY 1. COMMUNAL DISINTEGRATION BY NEWELL L. SIMS The ancient village community which evidently was once generally prevalent among Asian and European agri- culturists has largely ceased to exist in its original form in either Asia or Europe. Its modified forms which sur- vived under the manorial conditions of the Middle Ages and which to some extent found their way even across the seas into America have likewise undergone complete transformation or have disappeared altogether. Instead, in the western world are found to-day the modern village settlement of two types, the European and the American, and the familiar isolated farmstead. Eastward in Eu- rope, to be sure, a community approximating in several respects the ancient type still survives. It is fairly com- mon among the Slavic peoples. The Russian mir in par- ticular exemplifies it at its best, but even this is breaking down.' The present-day villages of western Europe have to some extent the form though not the essential features of their ancient prototypes. And the villages of America are merely aggregates of population without either the form or substance of ancient community life or as much as a suggestion of a survival of any of its features. In the face of this situation an interesting problem there- fore presents itself. It is concerned with the questions 1 CJ. "The Abolition of the Russian Mir," by Boris Lebedeff, The Contem- porary Renew, January, 1913. U3 114 THE RURAL COMMUNITY of how and why ancient community organization came to disintegrate and to give way to a distinctly individual- istic rural social order. Some answer to these questions would seem indispensable to any adequate understanding of the American rural-life problem as it exists to-day. For however much apart and independent of the world of the past our own rural society may seem actually to be, it is nevertheless in reality an inseparable part of the whole historical process of social development. It may seem futile to inquire concerning the how and the why of communal disintegration, for confessedly such inquiry leads into the realm of speculation, since condi- tions in the past are more a matter of conjecture than of demonstration. Just what forces of social evolution were then operative is hard to discover, and no great effort hcis been put forth in search of those determining village decay. For the most part, therefore, we have only guesses to guide us, but even these are better than no explanation at all. At any rate, even if the causal factors are past finding out, we may yet trace with some degree of accuracy the disintegrating process in its broader outlines and note at least the forces which in more recent times have con- tributed to the undermining of the already broken bonds of community life. Stages of Community Decay When the peoples of Europe appeared on the horizon of history, they were living in a tribal state. Whether any other grouping on a smaller scale and of a less definite sort antedated tribal organization we do not know for sure. The primitive races of South Africa, Ceylon, and some other places have lived in hordes which are both smaller and simpler than the tribe, but there is little or no evidence that such groupings have generally preceded tribal organization elsewhere. We may therefore safely assume that the tribe bound together in blood kinship was the social organization of our savage ancestors. And as remote from the subject of village disintegration as DISINTEGRATION OF THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY 1 15 this fact may at first appear, it is in truth intimately re- lated to our problem and forms the real starting-point of any discussion of it. For, as George Laurence Gomme, an eminent English authority on folklore, has pointed out, the disintegration of the ancient village community was only one phase of what may be termed the larger in- dividuating process of society which had for its initial step the formation of the village itself out of the tribal group.* The problem with which we are about to deal has been considered by Kropotkin, Carl Biicher, Gomme, Kearney, Simkhovitch, Maxime Kovalevsky, and many others. While these authorities do not always agree in every detail, they are in general harmony as to the main process of communal disintegration. Beginning with the tribe, we find it to be an "unstable human swarm" or undifferentiated group. In its original state there seem to be no clans, i. e., groups within the tribe of blood-kinsmen. The first step in the evolutionary process wjis then the differentiation of the tribal group into clans or ancestral units. These gentes, as they are also called, were composed of all who claimed descent from one stock. Marriage within the ancestral group was prohibited, being permitted only between members of different clans. When a gens grew too large, it would subdivide into other gentes, and each of these would in turn split up into classes for the purpose of preserving the interclan or exogamous marriage practice. The clan life remained communal. Kropotkin traces the develop- ment just outlined, and cites the Kamilarai-speaking Aus- tralians as being in this stage.* Gomme and other writers point out the same process among the people of India.' The second stage was that of village settlement. The clans taking up fixed abodes formed the village community. As Gomme puts it, the village was "the material shell within which the swarm has settled." As to whether the village arose before the separate family or resulted from ' G. L. Gomme, The Village Community, 1890, Scribners, pp. 39, 40, 41. ' P. Kropotkin, Mutual Aid, p. 86. ' Gomme, op. cit., pp. 39, 40. Cf. C. F. Keary, The Dawn oj History, p. 113. Il6 THE RURAL COMMUNITY the grouping of families, there is difference of opinion. Kropotkin and Bticher hold to the latter theory. The former argues that the germ of family appeared within the clan before it settled in the village community. It is found in the capture of women in war. While at an early period such captives belonged to the whole clan, at a later time they could be taken by their captors to separate huts as wives. Thus the separate family made its appearance within the clan.^ Two other factors, says Kropotkin, hastened the division of the clan into families. These were the frequent migrations of the barbarians and their mingling with strangers.* Many clans could not with- stand this ordeal. They not only broke up into families, but the disintegration went so far as to destroy their kin- ship unity altogether and they were lost to history.' The more vigorous stems or clans, continues Kropotkin, did not lose their unity while undergoing this disintegration. "They came out of the ordeal with a new organization — the village community — which kept them together for the next fifteen centuries or more." * Thus he reaches the conclusion that the village was formed by the union of families. Biicher and others, taking account of the "joint family" or "House community" which not infrequently appears within the village, have insisted that the village originated by the grouping of these "joint families" rather than by the union of separate families.* This "joint family" is found even to-day among the Russians, Caucasians, Hin- doos, and South Slavs. Among the latter it is known as the Zadruga. It is found side by side with the separate family. It consists of numerous persons, sometimes as many as fifty and rarely less than ten living under the same roof, eating at the same table, united in a common household. Kovalevsky describes its members as follows: "Among them we find the grandfather and grandmother, the father and mother, sons and daughters, grandsons > Kropotkin, op. cU., p. 86. » Ibid., p. 120. • Ibid., p. 121. * Ibid., p. 121. ' Cf. Biicher, Industrial Evolution, tr. by Wickett. DISINTEGRATION OF THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY II7 and granddaughters, brothers and sisters, nephews and nieces, with such other persons as may be united to them by ties of marriage, as daughters-in-law in right of their husbands, and sons-in-law in right of their wives. Persons incorporated into the family, working for the common good, and having shares in the family profits are often mentioned by writers on Russian folklore. Besides these others may perchance have become members, as for in- stance, persons adopted into it, or the children of a widow contracting a new marriage with a member of the com- munity who, on account of her unwillingness to be sepa- rated from them, come to live with her under the roof of her new husband." ' It may be true, as the writers just referred to have con- tended, that the family sometimes appeared before the clan settled in the village community, emd it may be true also that this division of the clan sometimes worked the destruction of these kinship units. But to insist, as some have done, that this was general and that the village with a new non-kinship bond of unity was only a survival from the great clan breakdown is certainly to claim too much. The view held by Gomme and others in opposition to this theory of the origin of the village appears more in har- mony with the evidence and is therefore probably the truer explanation, i^t least, in the light of known facts, it would seem more reasonable to assume that the main differentiation of the clan into families took place after a settled life within the village had been established. We may say, then, that the tribe crystallized into ancestral units called clans, which, when they became settled in fixed abodes, formed the ancient village community. The third stage in the course of communal evolution concerns that which has just been indicated, namely, the one wherein the clan splits up into families. This phase of disintegration is put third in order regardless of the contention whether the family originated before or after the settlement of villages, for the simple reason that the > Maxime Kovalevsky, Modern Customs and Ancimt Itaws of Russia, Lon- don, 1 891, p. 54. Il8 THE RURAL COMMUNITY development of the family undoubtedly occurred sub- sequent to the formation of the village. The forces act- ing in the origination of the family have already been men- tioned, and need be recalled here only for emphasis. They are war and the capture of women, leading to the ap- propriation of wives from among the captured on the part of individuals; the dispersion of clans and the con- tact and intermingling with strangers which this entailed ; and the conquest or subjugation of one group by another, by which slavery entered as a factor into community life. On the whole, the process of family differentiation must have gone on for ages, for apparently the clan was not easily disrupted. Playing upon the village community in various ways, these forces did in the end produce the family at the expense of clan unity. And when the kin- ship bond of the larger group had eventually been de- stroyed or made relatively weaker than the family tie, then the way was open for a new kind of community. The fourth stage in the process of disintegration has been named the mixed community. While yet the clan tie held and the differentiation of the family was taking place, this type of community came into existence. Such communities are found among the villages of India to- day. Gomme has analyzed them. The component parts of a typical one he gives as follows:^ The hereditary villagers holding 4 ancestral shares, subdivided into 16 parts each; The priests; The village officers ; The serve, bondsmen, and hired laborers; The stranger settlers. This group of persons, [the author continues], is held together by ties which are not imposed by the state, but which have arisen from its own history. At the top is the Aryan clan, whose bond of union is descent from a common ancestor. Under this are the non-Aryan cultivators, whose bond of union is simply that of tenantry under a superior proprietary body. But the whole community — ^Aryan clans founded on common kinship and non- Aryan cultivators affixed to the soil — is now known to the State ' Gomme, op. cit., p. 34. DISlNtEGRAtidtJ OF THE VlLtAdE COMMVNitY Hi) Only by the amount of its revenue paid over to the sovereign. The custonl is that 48 >^ per cent of the produce is retained by the village, and 5i>^ per cent is paid over to the state. Although so large a proportion is paid away, considerable advantages re- main to the community. They divide- among themselves the produce of the land exempted from revenue gfanted when (to use their own emphatic expression) the village was born ; they levy a fee of superiority from all cultivators not descendants of the original settlers; they have the labour of the village of- ficers — the carpenter, blacksmith, potter, washerman, watcher, barber, herdsman, distributor of water — free of any personal charge. And they themselves stand forth before the world and in their own eyes as free-villagers, independent alike of national laws, and national economy, self-governing and self-supporting.' Communities of this mixed type must have been formed chiefly by stronger tribes invading the territory of their weaker neighbors and reducing them to a state of servi- tude. Sometimes it may have been a peaceable infiltra- tion of one clan into the settlement of another stranger- village. After the rise of trade, the interpenetration of trading classes became common and likewise tended to produce these mixed communities. The fifth step in community evolution was reached when the group came to be united on a land basis rather than by a kinship bond. Kropotkin, as we have seen, makes this the third stage, inclining as he does to the opin- ion that the villj^e community originated from the union of families on a land basis when the clan had broken down and the kinship bond had failed. In harmony with his theory, he places this type of community far back in the history of European stocks. He sketches its development in the following words: The conception of a common territory, appropriated or pro- tected by common efforts, was elaborated, and it took the place of the vanishing conception of common descent. The common gods gradually lost their character of ancestors and were en- dowed with a local territorial character; They became the gods or saints of a given locality; "the land" was identified with its inhabitants. Territorial unions grew up instead of the con- ' Ibid., pp. 34, 35. 120 THE RURAL COMMUNITY sanguine unions of old, and this new organization evidently offered many advantages under the given circumstances. It recognized the independence of the family and even emphasized it, the village community disclaiming all rights of interference in what was going on within the family enclosure ; it gave much more freedom to personal initiative; it was not hostile in prin- ciple to union between men of different descent.' Contrary to Kropotkin's opinion, this kind of com- munity instead of developing early has been shown by others to be of rather late origin.* For in the villages of the East to-day the kinship bond, at least as a theoretical factor, is still important. The vill^e community where the blood-tie has been superseded by common economical interests, whether originating by the clustering of separate families at a common place or by the gradual disintegra- tion of a kinship village, or in both ways, came to be common and has descended to our day as the prevalent form of settlement throughout Europe. The sixth and final stage in the disruption of community life was reached when the separate family came to dwell apart in independence of and in isolation from other families or groups. This, of course, is of very recent de- velopment. The first intimation we have of any such custom is given by Tacitus, who observes in an incidental way in his Germania that the Germans of Caesar's time manifested some tendency to live apart in separate abodes. Tacitus does not elaborate his statement and there is doubt as to his meaning; so in the absence of corroborative testi- mony or data little weight can be attached to his remark. Maitland and others believe that the isolated farmstead was to be found in England during the eleventh century.' This seems quite probable, and likely marks the first authentic instance in western civilization, although it is not impossible that the isolated farmstead appeared also in ancient Roman society. The great outstanding fact of all the evidence is, how- ' Kropotkin, op. cit., p. 120. ' Gomme, op. cil., pp. 64, 65. ' Cf. Maitland, Doomsday Book and Beyond, pp. 15, 16. Cf. Vinogradoff, English Society in the Eleventh Century, Oxford, 1908, pp. 264, 267, 268. DISINTEGRATION OF THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY 121 ever, that throughout the ages man has been a communal dweller. And such for the most part he still remains. The isolated family, when the world at large is held in view, is the exception and not the rule. Isolated homesteads certainly made their first appearance on a large scale in the New World. Here in America, where land was free and relatively unlimited, they came to dominate the rural order. Here the emigrant, detaching himself with his family from the village community, which was the original form of settlement planted by the European colonists along the Eastern coast, pushed out into the wilderness to estab- lish a separate homestead. In earliest colonial times this practice began. If perchance the emigrant went in com- pany with others bent upon a like venture, as was not infrequently the case, the chances were that when the new lands were reached the group disbanded and each family sought its fortune apart from all others upon its own piece of land. Thus began the type of rural society so wide-spread upon the North American continent. And with its advent the complete disintegration of communal life had come about and an individualistic rural order had established itself in this western world. The Rise of Individualism Having indicated the stages through which the ancient community disintegrated until a social order was reached, especially here in America, in which the vast majority of agriculturists are without any community at all in the sense of a village aggregate or compact group, it re- mains for us to go a step farther and trace the rise of in- dividualism. For it is a highly individualistic society, fixed in habits of isolation, persistent in strong personal reactions, and firm in traditions of non-cooperative con- tacts, with which the rural sociologists must deal. The breakdown of community and the rise of individual- ism are largely concomitant processes. And to follow the development of the latter will necessitate retracing 122 THE RURAL COMMUNITY our footsteps along the course of community life. The key to the understanding of the rise of individualism is found in the persistent pioneering of western peoples. Percival Lowell, in his essay entitled The Soul of the Far East, says there is a deficiency in the consciousness of per- sonal individuality in the East. "The peoples . . . grow more personal as we go west, . . . The sense of self grows more intense." ^ The obvious explanation of this differ- ence between the East and the West lies in the fact that throughout the ages down to most recent times the East has been communalistic. But when we ask, Why has it remained so? we are compelled to look for some more fundamental if more remote cause. This, I believe, is found in the fact that the far eastern stocks have been static, immobile, non-migratory compared with those of the west. They have been so because no unstable environ- ment compelled them to migrate, whereas for millenniums the pulsations of central Asia and the regions about the Caspian Sea have sent wave upon wave of peoples from the ancient seat of the race westward into Europe and made the western stock migratory. The Caspian basin, be- ing subject to great cycles of dampness and desiccation, has from time immemorial produced at intervals great civi- lizations and mighty races only to turn itself into a desert waste again and disperse its inhabitants. The natural exit for these dispossessed homeless races has been west- ward rather than eastward. And westward for ages they have wandered until the geographers are led to say that the "Pulse of Asia" has been the cause of European his- tory. Migratory from the start, the western people have continued so, and under this persistent influence have become individualistic. Long before there was any recorded history this move- ment westward had begun. We first encounter it in the dispersion of the Aryans from their original home some- where in eastern Europe, perhaps the Danube Valley. From that remote date until the latest shifting of Iowa or Nebraska farmers into the new regions of the West > Quoted by H. J. Ford in Thf Natural JUstory of the State, pp. loi, 102. DISINTEGRATION OF THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY 1^3 and great Northwest of Canada, this westward movement hjis never ceased. It may have been 4,000 years ago that the Celts began their wanderings which brought them into all western Europe. And probably 2,500 years ago began the dispersion of the Germanic tribes, which in a millennium was to bring them in goodly numbers into the British Isles. The earlier migrations of the various branches of this Aryan stock were no doubt mass move- ments of people. Later they were to become shiftings of small groups, clans, or parts of clans, bent on coloniza- tion. Such it appears was the character of the Anglo- Saxon invcision of the British Isles. With the discovery of the New World a new era of migration opened. Dur- ing the centuries intervening since then, the westward trend has been unceasing until now the last frontier has been occupied. v^At first small companies of colonists crossed the seas and planted village communities. But ere long the separate family and the individual immigrant followed until the movement became a steady flow of this sort. The coastal villages of the New World were them- selves unstable settlements, and from their midst pioneers were ever going out, and were soon streaming through the pcisses of the Alleghanies into the vast domain be- yond. This movement from the older settlements together with the later immigration from the Old World, filling up the interior of America and stretching across the continent, has been largely of an individualistic character. Thus from a mass movement to the migration of a small band, then of the family, and finally of individuals has been the line of development. The significant thing, of course, about this pioneering of so many millenniums' duration has been its selective ef- fect upon the stock. A rigorous sorting-out process has inevitably taken place. Those not strongly attached to kith or kin, the kin-wrecked, the outlaws from tribal pro- tection, the unsocial by nature, were ever the chosen class to people new lands. The venturesome, fearless, discon- tented, and least stable elements of ancient clans were naturally always the first to migrate. Such were the types ii4 THE RURAL COMMUNITY best fitted in all ages to survive on the frontiers. And it is a safe guess to say that each succeeding frontier across Europe was peopled by a stock showing fewer collective proclivities and more numerous individualistic charac- teristics than the last. Tacitus's description of the Ger- manic tribes in Caesar's time, already alluded to, though affording only uncertain testimony, is yet suggestive of the fact that they were more individualistically inclined than those dwelling in the older seats of civilization. The nature of frontier dwellers is further revealed in the fact that it was in early England that the separate family on the isolated farmstead appeared for the first time in his- tory. And it is by no means accidental that England's traditions and practices compared with those of the rest of Europe have always been exceedingly individualistic. Throughout her history the instinct for individual rights has asserted itself, and in later generations has had manifestation in systems of philosophy. Her laissez-faire doctrine was only the expression of innate tendencies. It was certainly far less the direct outcome of industrial con- ditions in the eighteenth century than of the natural ten- dencies of the English character. America as a frontier land, it is but repetition to say, has manifested an individualism far surpassing an5rthing known in the British Isles. Our whole history has ex- emplified it in its most extreme and unsocialized form. The sorting process that took place in Europe was repeated here though much more effectively and in a far briefer time. For three centuries it has been in operation until the American of to-day is the foremost individualist on the globe. Back of the sorting was a blood-heritage. Pro- fessor George Santayana, discussing the sources of Amer- ican character in the English stock, has said: "The fortunate, the deeply-rooted and the lazy remained at home; the wilder instincts or dissatisfactions of others tempted them beyond the horizon. The American is ac- cordingly the most adventurous, or the descendant of the most adventurous, of Europeans." * Our forefathers were ' Cf. The Living Age, March 8, 1919, p. 590. DISINTEGRATION OF THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY 1 25 the foremost individualists of the Old World. "They landed at Jamestown and Plymouth Rock because they had to land somewhere, and they hadn't where else to land, since they couldn't get on with their kinfolks in Eu- rope. Being radical variates from the group kind, they were generally esteemed undesirable citizens and either literally driven out or made to feel that their place under the sun was preferable to their presence. So the New World received a consignment of venturesome, pioneering, martyr-like, non-conforming, self-sufficient, go-it-alone, law-ignoring, picturesque men called Puritans and Cava- liers." * Such was the stock to begin with. It had not, of course, broken entirely with community traditions. And even if it had, environmental conditions compelled an adherence to them for a time. Village settlements therefore prevailed. "Early New England," rightly says Anderson, "resembled Europe. For obvious reasons the settlers did not disperse to farmsteads; they needed pro- tection; they valued the fellowship of religion; they planned for the education of their children. They found it advisable, therefore, to live in clusters of houses around the common fort, the common church, the common school. If we ask why it was so easy for them to adopt this village life, the answer is that this social organism was an inheri- tance. Centuries of semi-communistic agriculture had formed their ideals and instincts." '^ The blood-heritage, however, soon asserted its superior- ity over community traditions and environmental ob- stacles and the age-old process of pioneering and sorting began anew. The more self-reliant and independent broke loose from the settlements and dispersed to farmsteads. "This shattered the social solidarity; it broke the close- ness of acquaintance, altered the habit of cooperation, and tended to develop an unsocial individuality." ' Other factors accompanying this scattering-out process operated to further accentuate and to foster individualism. One was the political development which took away from the ' N. L. Sims, Progress (Athens, Georgia), May, 1916, p. 209. 2 W. L, Anderson, The Country Town, pp. 244, 245. » Ibid., p. 246. 126 THE RURAL COMMUNITY village community many communal functions and gave them over to private management, or to the county and the state. Religion, for instance, ceased to be supported by the local community as a community affair. Volun- tary societies took it over. "Then came the splitting of the town into school districts, which became centers for a new social crystallization with much sectional isolation and antagonism. Worse than all else was the rupture of the church, crossing the sectional with sectarian lines and making a maze in which society was lost." * More and more as settlement stretched westward were the ties that bind in social unity loosened. Society be- came increasingly atomic. Social organization grew feeble or disappeared. "In most cases there was no original social body — no village with the school and church, and neighborly life.- The individual was first, the community afterward. From the start the school district had the right of way, and any sect that could sustain itself pressed in, to the confounding of the ecclesiastical order. There was too much sectarianism, too much of clique and fac- tion." * The border-man of the rapidly advancing fron- tier, eschewing communal life altogether, came to be the typical citizen of the rural regions of the far West. Of him it is said that he would pull up stakes and move on if another family chanced to locate within ten miles of his abode, because he felt the country was getting too crowded. Thus, pioneering constantly sorted out and fostered the most individualistic stock while at the same time it dissolved communal organization and relationship to their most elemental forms. The Fixation of a Type The process just set forth does not, however, quite com- plete the story of the development of individualism in rural America. It remains to notice how the fixation of this trait, of this unsocialized type, took place. The outstanding factor tending to make the country- ' Ibid., p. 246. ' Anderson, op. cit., p. 247. DISINTEGRATION OF THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY I27 man's individualism a fixed habit has been isolation. This began to operate, as already indicated, in the pioneer stage of settlement. It is well described by Dr. Wilson in the following: "The pioneer lived alone. He placed his cabin without regard to social experience. In the woods his axe alone was heard and on the prairie the smoke from his sod house was sometimes answered by no other smoke in the whole horizon. He worked and fought and pon- dered alone. Self-preservation was the struggle of his life, and personal salvation was his aspiration in prayer. His relations with his fellows were purely democratic and highly independent. The individual man with his family lived alone in the face of man and God." ' There are several kinds of isolation suggested in this description. Of these, physical isolation is the most fun- damental. It has not been peculiar to the pioneer stage alone, but has continued to prevail down to the present. Although the second stage of our rural development saw the country fully settled and more densely populated, it did not remove the physical isolation or mitigate its ef- fects. The family has continued to dwell in a house de- tached and apart from others on the separate farmstead, where it is denied frequent sight or sound of other people, and to an even greater extent contact with other in- dividuals, families, or groups. More than any other class, the American rural dweller lives and is compelled^tb live a segregated existence. But few occasions, as a rule, have furnished opportunities for the families of the farms to get together. Most of the days are spent in the solitudes of the farmstead. Recently, better means of communica- tion have made more contacts possible. And yet it is a question whether the number of contacts have not been actually lessened instead of increased. Rural free delivery has done away with the former practice of gathering at the country store or village for the mail. Telephones en- able people to talk over the wires instead of paying a neigh- borly visit. Electric lines apparently have a tendency to ' Warren H. Wilson, The Evolution of the Country Community, New York, 1912, p. 4. 128 THE RURAL COMMUNITY take people away to the larger town or city, and likewise, the automobile sets them going hither and yon. And thus contacts are widened and perhaps increased in num- ber. Yet on the whole the rural situation remains much the same in respect to isolation. Another phase of rural isolation is occupational. Labor on the farm whether indoors or out has always been carried on largely by the lone worker. Farming in America is a single-handed, solitary occupation. At most it is a family affair. The gang is absent save on rare occasions. In pioneer days and during the early "Land Farming" period, neighborhood bees for doing various pieces of work that could not well be done alone were not uncommon. These, however, never amounted to more than infrequent diver- sions from the wonted toil of each by himself on his own acres. For many years the work-bees have been playing a diminishing r6le in rural life. Mechanical devices along with other things have practically eliminated them, and in so far as they have done so have tended to enhance the detachment of agricultural toil. The farmer, moreover, has been his own boss and pacemaker to the utmost. Un- supervised and unthwarted, his own will has been law. Living and laboring alone with himself and his house- hold, he has been lord of a little world. Business isolation may be designated as the third form. The rural family has been a separate, independent, eco- nomic institution. Each has sought its own interests in its own exclusive way. Individual and family welfare, regardless of the neighbor's fortune or misfortune, has been the supreme object. The status of those on adjacent farms has been of no concern to the farmer. Neighbor- hood welfare as a common pursuit or a mutUcil enterprise has had little consideration. Competition has reigned. Having like business interests, farmers have nevertheless ignored one another in conducting that business, "each fearing to let his right-hand neighbor know what his left- hand neighbor was doing." Rural commercial practices have, therefore, been singularly private and individual- istic. DISINTEGRATION OF THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY 129 A fourth aspect of this phenomenon is moral isolation. Thrown upon his own resources always in struggling with a world of nature and not a social world, the farmer has been almost wholly dependent upon his own experiences and judgment for guidance. His career has been one of self-reliance. He has not bothered much about squaring his conduct with that of other men. What has seemed right in his own eyes has been largely his exclusive stand- ard. Moral separateness and independence are therefore outstanding in rural life. This is fully reflected in the religion of the country with its persistent emphasis on personal salvation and individual responsibility. Thus, isolation in every way has kept the farm-dwellers apart from their fellows and has reduced human contacts to a minimum. It has caused country people in the soli- tariness of their habitations, labors, business and moral activities to become extreme developments of themselves. All their reactions have conduced directly or indirectly to the formation and fixation of individualistic habits and traits of character. No countervailing influences of im- portance have entered to prevent the forces of isolation from accomplishing their perfect work. On the contriiry, there has grown up out of the situation a body of thorough- going individualistic traditions in the form of ideals, stand- ards, customs, and practices. These have become a separate and distinct force in rural life, supplementing the blood-heritage and the factor of isolation with a social heritage. This heritage has for long reinforced and ac- centuated individualism at every turn. The result is a well-established superindividualistic type throughout rural America. PART II THE MODERN COMMUNITY CHAPTER V THE MODERN COMMUNITY DEFINED /. DESCRIPTION 1. THE MODERN RURAL COMMUNITY BY NEWELL L. SIMS We have seen what originally constituted the rural com- munity among settled agricultural peoples. And we have seen that as it existed throughout the world of civilized man and was transplanted from the old world to the new by the pioneers of the white race, it was easily dis- tinguished by its village form. We have observed, more- over, that this ancient village form underwent a gradual disintegration as the migration of people westward took its course into the free-land domain of America. There came about in consequence a transformation in the prev- alent mode of settlement from the village type to the isolated dwelling. While the village persisted to a con- siderable extent its nature was radically changed. In place, therefore, of a single mode of rural settlement such as had long held sway, America developed two distinct types, neither of which was like the old rural community. With these two types we have to deal, and from them gather, if possible, a definite notion of what makes a rural community. The village, being of the more obvious communal form, may well be given first consideration. In common Amer- ican parlance, "village" means a hamlet or a small ag- gregation of families dwelling with relative permanency in close proximity to one another. The hamlet may range in size from only a score or two of souls to several hun- 133 134 THE RURAL COMMUNITY dred. When the aggregation comprises as many as a thousand or two persons, it is usually called a town. If a population of several or many thousands is amassed, it is known as a city. Quantitatively it is impossible to draw any strict line of demarcation either between the village and the town or the town and the city. Still, ef- forts to do so are being made. The federal government especially attempts it for census purposes in fixing 2,500 as the dividing line between country and city. Every- body knows, of course, that not all places of less than 2,500 population are truly rural. Some are suburban and belong in the city class. However, notwithstanding the inadequacy of mere numbers as the basis of classification, size after all has a great deal of significance in determining whether a group is rural or urban. Even the crude em- piric distinctions in popular vogue would imply this. At least, the question of size cannot be lightly or wholly cast aside in favor of a strictly qualitative measure, for indeed, when it comes to population, quality is more or less dependent upon and incidental to quantity. Though it would not be always nor altogether true to say that on final analysis the former term reduces to the latter, it is unquestionably the chief determinant. The hamlet is exceedingly simple in its social arrangements; but the group of twice its size, say, has attained a considerable degree of complexity in its life and organization. Its oc- cupations are as a rule more diversified and specialized; and personal- relationships are somewhat less intimate. So we have the town rising out of the village and the city in turn out of the town when the growth of population has brought a sufficient degree of complexity. From the standpoint of size, then, it would seem proper because in harmony with usage and, what is more vital, also in accordance with a natural division, to confine the term "rural village community" largely to the non-industrial or non-urban hamlet set down in the midst of the open country. Certainly the ancient agricultural communities were small in size. A few hundred souls at most — perhaps on THE MODERN COMMUNITY DEFINED 1 35 the average not more than two or three hundred — made up the village. Places known as towns or cities were larger. No doubt the latter arose from a different cause, and were ever dominated by interests other than agricultural. They apparently sprang up about sacred places, military posts, fords, tribal boundaries where exchange of wares took place and where markets and fairs came to be established, etc. Trade, commerce, manufacturing, worship, and other interests held sway.' Naturally, the population of the urban centres was relatively heterogeneous compared with that of the rural villages. This made a most im- portant qualitative difference between the two. How- ever, it scarcely need be pointed out that no such marked difference between the rural village and the town obtains in America to-day. Our rural villages always have a rela- tively heterogeneous population. Their heterogeneity often approaches and occasionally may even be found equalling that of the larger towns. There are clearly no important demographical differences. Howbeit, there are some strictly qualitative differences, and it may be resultful to try and formulate a notion of what the village is with these as the criteria. Rene Maunier in working out a definition of the city has classified "types of habitation" — the farm, the village, ' Cari Bttcher has the following to say concerning the mediaeval town as distinguished from the rural villages: "The medixval town is above all things a burg, that is, a place fortified with walls and moats which serve as a refuge and shelter for the inhabitants of the unprotected places round about. Every town thus presupposes the existence of a defensive union which forms the rural settlement lying within a greater or narrower radius into a sort of military community with definite rights and duties. It devolves upon all the places belonging to this community to co-operate in maintaining intact the town fortifications by furnishing work- men and horses, and in time of war in defending them with their arms. In return they have the right, whenever occasion arises, to shelter themselves, their wives and children, their cattle and movables within its walls. This right is called the right of burgess, and he who enjoys it is a burgher {burgensis). "Originally the permanent inhabitants of the town differ in nowise, not even in occupation, from those living in the rural hamlets. Like theJatter they follow farming and cattle-raising; they use wood, water, and pasture in common; their dwellings, as may still be seen in the structural arrange- ment of many old cities, are farmhouses with barns and stables and large yards between," Cf. Industrial Evolution, tr. by Wickett, p. 1 16. 136 THE RURAL COMMUNITY the town, the city — ^under two categories. "The first category has to do with simple eslahlishtnents, i. e., with a single social group. It includes what may be termed briefly the farm, composed of a single family; the hamlet and the village, composed of a number of families which form among themselves a unit community, a single political and social organism. . . . The second category of social establishment has to do with complex establishments, i. e., with numerous forms of distinct social groups; those which we will term cities. They have various degrees of com- plexity, and the combination of their parts is effected in different ways." ' He defines the dty as "a complex com- munity, i. e., formed from a number of secondary groups." "The city is a community composed of an aggregation of smaller communities, such as families, professional groups, etc." » Small and Vincent set forth "the most striking features of urban social organization" in contrast to that of the village as follows: "(i) Increasing complexity; (2) minute specialization of activities, and (3) a consequently high degree of interdependence of parts. (4) The differences in wealth, intelligence, customs, and ideals betrayed by the population result in groupings, some of which give coherence to the whole society, while others tend to ex- aggerate ante^onism and separation. (5) The city af- fords means of easy and rapid movement from place to place and (6) for prompt communication of ideas; (7) it is in close and sympathetic relations with the world at large, and in countless ways stimulates activity and raises life to a higher intensity. (8) It contains, however, certain vicious elements, which, by reason of the very complexity, compactness, and interdependence of urban life, subtly penetrate the whole social fabric and so much the more threaten individual and family life." * The authors quoted have emphasized complexity as the foremost differentiating quality. Only, Maunier means ' American Journal of Sociology, vol. XV, No. 4, pp. 542, 543. = Ibid., p. 543. ' Small and Vincent, An Introduction to Sociology, 1894, pp. 164-165. THE MODERN COMMUNITY DEFINED I37 by it something other than is commonly implied, for he makes it practically equivalent to compound. In addi- tion to this factor Small and Vincent take account of sev- eral others, all of which are important. As hitherto sug- gested, most if not all of these are directly correlated with the size of the community. In regard to the factors, com- plexity of organization, diversity of occupations, and the type of relationship between individuals, a more detailed analysis will illuminate the subject. In the matter of complexity, the hamlet is negligible. It claims but few institutions or organizations of any kind. The school, probably several churches with their auxilia- ries, perhaps a lodge or two of men, maybe one or more women's circles, perchance a musical society in the form of a band or orchestra, rarely a library, and not always even the most rudimentary organization of local govern- ment, will, as villages go, more than meaisure the extent of organization. Group-wise or collective enterprises engage only the slightest attention. The town will have the same kind of institutions, but they will be more numerous and more thoroughly organized. In addition it is almost sure to have other cultural, purely social, recreational, and welfare activities of a more or less permanent and institutional or semi-institutional character. Its govern- ment will have far larger problems concerning peace and order, fire protection, water and sanitation, and many others pertaining to public improvements with which it must deal. Numbers necessitate cooperation in public affairs, which in the village it is possible and customary to get along without. Individual effort suffices for the latter but fails to work in the town. Such contrasts as these may not be striking, but they are nevertheless important. Far more noteworthy are the differences in occupations. The occupations of the rural village are predominantly those growing directly out of agriculture or the immediate needs of an agricultural population. HcUidlers of farm products, such as buyers or shippers, dealers in farm sup- plies, shopkeepers who vend chiefly such wares as minister to simple personal and household wants, and a small pro- 138 THE RURAL COMMUNITY fessional group composed of the clergymen, doctors, lawyers, and teachers who serve the local and outlying district represent the chief callings of the community. In addition there are always a good many farmers and farm laborers and always a few artisans among the dwellers in the community. In contradistinction, the town is dominated by those vocations which are specialized, and more indirectly re- lated to agriculture or wholly independent of it. Com- mercial, manufacturing, governmental, educational, and other kindred enterprises prevail. Rarely do you find any place justly bearing the name town without the pres- ence of some or many such pursuits to give it caste. It would not be far wrong to say that it is chiefly the addition of these interests and their ascendancy over the ordinary village callings that separates the town from the village. The latter may, and not infrequently does, have small non-agricultural industries of one sort or another, but so long as they remain subordinate to the business grow- ing out of farming, the community continues to be essen- tially rural. Again, a considerable class engaged in the vocations designated helps to give the town a psychosis different from that of the rural villcige. The rural mind is moulded through contact with nature and entire reliance upon her processes. On the other hand, the urban mind, which comes nearly being that of the town, results from contact with men and complete dependence upon the various acts and enterprises manipulated and controlled by human ingenuity. Villagers do not escape the forces that make the rural mind; these play upon them fully though in a manner slightly modified and less direct than upon the farmer of the open fields. The village mind is therefore almost wholly the rural type of mind. But the town, while not entirely removed from rural influences, gets its ruling mental attitude from its extrarural pursuits and its own environmental conditions. Contacts with men and the world of affairs give a broader and more liberal outlook. Such communication reinforced by the effects of the con- THE MODERN COMMUNITY DEFINED 1 39 trolling types of occupations and the results of living per- haps for many generations in a fair-sized group gives a body of habits and traditions peculiar to the townsmen. Their normal reactions are less extreme, individualism is partially curbed, and relationships have begun to grow impersonal. If developments along these and similar lines have not gone far enough to give all that is required for a truly urban psychosis, they have at least gone far enough to remove the aggregate called the town from the strictly rural class. Nor is it demanded that the com- munity shall have reached the point where it is purged of all rural-mindedness. Perhaps, indeed, no place even among our largest cities ever quite arrives at such a point. But to make the town, it is necessary that the urbanized mind, or one closely approximating it, shall dominate. By way of a summary it may be said that the town is to be distinguished from the rural village first by its size, then by certain qualitative features. Size alone would be an adequate criterion provided that in any given case its normal correlatives — greater complexity, dominant non-agricultural occupations and interests, customs, and relationships pertaining to group life, and an urbanized psychosis — accompany it. These qualitative features are not so patent that he who runs may always note them, but where size appears sufficient for a town, they too are to be looked for and will generally be found. The rureJ village of to-day has lost practically all like- ness to its ancient prototype save in the one characteristic of aggregation. Kinship as the basis of composition it \J has not. Regulation and government by a council com- posed of the heads of families no longer obtains. Com- monage in land and even a land basis for its existence is gone. No common religion necessarily claims devotion. Co-operation in work or play has almost ceased to be. Even as an aggregate the modem village in comparison to the ancient is unstable and accidental; it partakes more of the nature of a temporary congregation than of a per- manent aggregation. If, therefore, any respect were had for ancient usage, the modem ville^e would not be called 140 THE RURAL COMMUNITY a village community at all save by courtesy. Still, a vil- lage it is and so will continue to be designated. Rural villages are numerous and as communities em- brace a fair portion of the country-dwelling people. No exact count of their number has been made. Some one has calculated that there are 63,000 aggregations of pop- ulation of 1,000 or less in the United States. Statistically, it can be got at only through the federal census, but that takes account of incorporated places only, and obviously these do not include all villages. According to the data of 1910 incorporated places with less than 2,500 numbered 11,784. The two previous counts showed 8,892 and 6,466 respectively. The percentage of population found in them at each period varied but little, it being 8.8 per cent of the total for the whole United States in 1910, and 8.2 per cent in 1900, though but 7.5 per cent in 1890. From this it appears that, including some towns as the data surely does, rural villages are static as regards the proportion of the population falling to their lot. In the older sections of America about half the number of such places experi- ence a growth while the rest remain stationary or decrease in size, if data from the Middle West can be taken as rep- resentative. My study of Indiana communities ranging in population from 1,000 to 3,000 revealed the fact that 52 per cent of them increased while 48 per cent decreased during the last census period.* H. E. Hoagland found that in Illinois of 814 incorporated places having less than 2,500 population in 1900, 44 per cent had diminished in size by 1910.* Dr. P. L. Vogt found a similar situation in Ohio with reference to places under 2,500. During the decade 1900 to 1910, 52 per cent of such places increased while 46.8 per cent decreased or remained sta- tionary.' Vogt inquired concerning the growth and de- cline of these communities, and found that the rise or de- cay of industries was by far the greatest factor. Of those growing, 39 per cent laid claim to industries and of those 'Sims, A Hoosier ViUage, 1912, p. 179. » Journal of Political Economy, vol. XX, p. 917. • Vogt, Introduction to Rural Sociology, 1917, p, 360. THE MODERN COMMtmiTY DEFINED I4I declining, 23 per cent had lost factories. This would in- directly tend to confirm the contention we have made that it is non-agricultural enterprises which cause villages to pass into the class of towns; and that those which do experience much growth from this cause eventually cease to be rural villages at all. Far more important than the village is the second type of rural community — ^the open-country neighborhood. For here dwell the great bulk of American farmers, and here the social problem confronts us in its most acute form. What makes a community in the open country? Ob- viously it is not the massing of people on any given spot. Among scattered farmers it must be found and it must consist in something other than living in close proximity. Some indeed have questioned whether any true community whatever can be discovered in much of the farming area of the United. States. Certainly it is not easy to go abroad in agricultural districts and spy out communities. It is much like trjdng to find the beaten tracks on the open deep. There is so little that is tangible to go by that it is easy to become lost. Being wholly at sea in the matter, many students of rural conditions have wisely avoided all attempts to mark out and describe the community in the open fields. Assuming its existence but ignoring its nature, they have proceeded to talk learnedly about what they did not comprehend and to offer panaceas for rural life to groups that did not exist. More careful scien- tists have first made an effort to discover the metes and bounds of the rural community and to find out its nature. Let us note the results of some of their efforts. Dr. W. H. Wilson thinks that the community of the open country is "that territory with its people, which lies within the team haul of a given centre." He has also given currency to the notion that it is "the place where we live" or "the habitat of the individual." ' President K. L. Butterfield describes the community as follows: "A community is not merely a collection of people, much less a geographical ' Wilson, The Evolution of the Country Community, 1912, p. 92. 142 THE RURAL COMMUNITY area. A true community is more or less a social organism, with enough independence to have its own specialized institutions. A community has individuality, personality. In a sense it is self-sufficing, can live on its own resources. At least it is a social unity. It integrates the apparently separate and individual interests of many individuals into a conscious wholeness." * Another description deserving notice runs as follows: "There is an economic and eflfective unit for social action of every sort. The determining of this unit is not an ab- stract question to which an arbitrary answer can be re- turned. Its answer involves many factors; topography, physical accessibility and means of communication, since effective social action is impossible where physical barriers make social intercourse difficult; a reasonable identity of economic interests and a fair degree of economic inter- dependence, since sharply marked economic differences are necessarily reflected in the social impulses; a measur- able degree of social likeness and compatibility, which experience shows must underlie successful co-operation except under the most extraordinary and unusual pres- sure. The unit of territory and of population delimited by these tests may for practical purposes be termed a com- munity, and is the effective unit for the development of interests primarily local and under local control." " Professor C. J. Galpin holds that there is no natural community of the open fields, that it is impossible to carve up the country in any way whatsoever and treat the fami- lies in the resulting sections as communities. He thinks that on the contrary the villages and town form the centres of the only true rural communities and that it is legitimate to consider the farming population which affiliates in vari- ous ways with them as constituting the real communities. He bases his conclusions on a most interesting study and survey of the relation of the villages to the farms of a Wis- consin county. ^Education, vol. XXXVI, No. lo, p. 651. * Cf. A Rural Survey of Lane County, Oregon, Presbyterian Church, V. S. A., pp. 22-23. THE MODERN COMMUNITY DEFINED I43 The twelve villages and small cities situated in the county studied were taken as the foci of that many pop- ulation areas, including in each case the village aggregate itself together with the farm-dwellers surrounding it. The irregular and more or less extensive country about each village or town to which the farmers came to trade, to do their banking, to attend church, to patronize the school, creamery, public library, etc., was in each instance de- termined and carefully mapped. Trade, banking, news- paper, milk-marketing, church, school, and library areas were thus described. These several areas, merged into a composite zone about each village centre, form the land basis, so called, of the village and make what the author thinks is the natural rural community of the present day. To this area he has given the name "rurban community." He describes it as follows: Officially, that is, legally, the incorporated centres are created as communities each by and for itself. The foregoing analysis of the use of the leading institutions of each centre by the farm population discloses the fact, however, that these institutions are agencies of social service over a comparatively determinable and ^ed area of land surrounding eeich centre; that this social service is precisely the same in character as is rendered to those people — ^whether artisans, employees, professional persons — who hapjjen to live within the corporate limits of the city or village; moreover, the plain inference is that the inhabitants of the centre are more vitally concerned in reality with the development and upkeep of their particular farm land basis than with any other equal area of land in the state. It is difficult if not impossible to avoid the conclusion that the trade zone about one of these rather complete agricultural civic centres forms the boundary of an actual, if not legal, com- munity, within which the apparent entanglements of human life are resolved into a fairly unitary system of interrelatedness. The fundamental community is a composite of many expanding and contracting feature communities possessing the character- istic pulsating instability of all real life.* The foregoing definitions of the farming community reflect our best thought thereon. The absence of com- * Galpin, Restarch BuUftin, 34 Agr. Evp. SUttion, U. of Wisconsin, pp. 16-19. 144 THE RURAL COMMUNITY plete agreement as to what makes a community, however, is unsatisfactory and reveals much doubt and uncertainty existing in the minds of those studjdng the problem. More light is needed, and perhaps a ray of it may be had by making a further analysis of the rural situation. We shall begin with the most obvious and tangible, the physical aspects, and ask, Is the community of the open country ever determined by this factor? Dr. Wilson assumes that it is; and his definition adheres closely to the idea. Nothing, indeed, is more clear than the fact that in many localities there are communities marked out by definite physical factors. Take, for instance, a small mountain valley with obvious natural boundaries or a narrow vale along a stream shut in between difficult hills such as one finds in rough and broken sections of the country. In these cases the people dwelling within the confines speci- fied and relatively isolated from other similar localities form beyond any doubt a community. Again, where a very limited territory even in the prairie is circumscribed by such barriers as rivers, lakes, swamps, or marshes which form breaks in the highways of travel and render com- munication across them more or less difficult and uncer- tain, those chancing to dwell within the area described likewise form a community. In a new and undeveloped region other physical factors often define the community. Here the settlement, as it is called, is generally separated from other settlements by stretches of forest, uninhabited plains, or desert land. Communities of this sort were numerous in the pioneer period of America and may still be seen in a few frontier sections. Who in the older states is not familiar with localities bearing names of such char- acter as the Jones settlement, the Soule settlement, Ver- mont settlement, the Irish settlement, the Dutch settle- ment, etc., etc., which one time were distinct communities by virtue of natural physical boundaries such as those described, but which have long since disappeared and have left the locality without any district lines of demarca- tion ? Then, too, apart from the types of natural physical communities named, there a^^e those formed by mountain THE MODERN COMMUNITY DEFINED 1 45 plateaus and coastal islands, ^ut withal, definite physical communities are comparatively few in number. Other community-making factors must therefore be sought, if further identification is to be made. The next most tangible determinant is perhaps type of agriculture. This may be thought of as a larger phys- ical factor. Within the major zones of the continent known as wheat, com, cotton, fruit-growing, grazing, dairying, general farming, trucking belts, etc., innumerable minor diversities of soil, climate, and other conditions occur and lead to various kinds of more or less highly specialized crop and stock production in certain localities. One finds such areas, often very limited in extent and readily marked out, chiefly devoted to raising some one crop or other. Here is a locality where a certain kind of fruit, vegetable, grass, or grain is grown. There is one producing perchance hops, hemp, tobacco, mint, or some other rather uncom- mon commodity as a leading crop, or perhaps a special breed of stock. Not infrequently such areas where they are small and well defined form real communities. Their type of production renders them distinct and easily identified. The ethnic factor is the third in point of outstanding prominence. It is often quite as patent as the physical environment in determining the community. Scattered everywhere throughout America are found settlements composed largely or exclusively of one racial element. There are Irish, Scotch, Dutch, German, Polish, Scan- dinavian, Italian, Japanese, Negro, and other neighbor- hoods. They are segregated from the surrounding peoples by virtue of language, color, blood, origin, etc., of which they are conscious; and so form ethnic communities. So vital is ethnic homogeneity to them that its loss means their disappearance. A limited amount of heterogeneity is tolerable, but much of it eliminates the factor upon which the community depends. So far we have been dealing with the obvious, the readily distinguishable, and in a sense, the natural community. If there are other types, they are less apparent, harder 146 THE RURAL COMMUNITY to identify, and more artificial. And other types there unquestionably are. Of these the school community is first in rank. The school community is one legally created with borders arbitrarily fixed. The district it embraces may be two miles square, as originally laid out in some states, or of larger or smaller dimensions, as in others. Where in recent years school consolidation has taken place, sev- eral districts have often been merged into one of much greater extent, in some instances even as large as a whole township. Thus in some cases the community area has been widened and the bond constituting it no doubt weak- ened. As a community-making factor the school brings us wholly into the realm of interests. And inasmuch as the interest in education is abiding, this factor is a stable and permanent one. Still, it is not yet of universal validity and does not lay claim upon all individuals included in the school district except as they may be taxpayers. There are always those without children and without much social concern, who have no vital interest in the school, and who though they dwell within the community in ques- tion are in no real sense of it. Another community-making factor of the interest type is religion. Communities resulting from it, being without either natural or legal basis or sanction, seldom have other than an ill-defined and shifting territorial seat. Centred in a church organization which may be one of several dis- puting for the patronage of a given district, the religious community in competition with its rivals crosses and re- crosses the same region in gathering its constituency. Thus religious communities of varying size interlace everywhere in the country. In exceptional cases the adherents of a particular sect are found occupying farms lying side by side over a district so that the church community coincides with a well-defined and somewhat compact group or com- munity. There are instances of this kind among several denominations, such as the Catholic, Lutheran, Quaker, Mormon, etc. Notable communities are to be found particularly among the Scotch-Irish Presbyterians, the THE MODERN COMMUNITY DEFINED 1 47 Dutch sects and the Quakers of Pennsylvania, the Men- nonites and the Ornish of Indiana, and the Dunkards of Iowa. Some of these sects pursue a policy of colonizing their neighborhoods with those of their own faith and thus are able to establish and maintain the strictly religious community. Often, though not always, the ethnic factor is dominant in these exceptional religious neighborhoods and the church and ethnic community are identical. In rare cases neighborhoods having no such conspicuous ethnic solidarity are found with a single church in which centres .the religious interest of the region. At best, how- ever, not all living within the pale of the influence of such a church are a part of its community, for some will be found having no religious interest whatever. The religious factor rises from a motive both intense and strong. Com- pared though with the educational interest, it springs from a source less stable, abiding, and universal, not so useful or essential, and far more factious; as a communal agency it is therefore weaker and generally less effective. The political factor gives another community — one with legal standing and a definitely prescribed precinct. A polling-place forms the focus for the interest involved. So infrequently, however, are the citizens called upon to function in any political capacity — and then only a part of them even where equal suffrage is in vogue — that the community is generally little more than nominal. This factor is, generally speaking, all but negligible among the great agencies of communal life in the country. Business is a recognized community-making factor of rather broad scope and uncertain import. About the villages and towns forming the marketing, banking, and trading centres in general of the farming districts, this agency describes community zones. Professor Cm Gal- pin, as we have already seen, has mapped out a pumber of them in Wisconsin. The irregular areas comprising such zones always overlap and often nearly include one another. Communities thus formed are at best highly fluctuating and loosely knit. The common bond between those dwelling within them is of the most casual, general, I4S THE RURAL COMMUNITY impermanent, and perhaps unconscious sort. Of the types of communities thus far indicated this is perhaps the most indefinite, least vital or generally recognized. The busi- ness community, however, is not necessarily restricted to the type just indicated. Where there are farm organiza- tions to which the families of a neighborhood adhere and through which they purchase farm and household supplies and dispose of their chief product, a business community exists irrespective of the village or town centre. Com- munities of this kind though beginning to rise are as yet so few in America that they can practically be left, out of account. Recreation may be the means of forming a community. If there are organizations for the purpose of effecting play activities, these represent the foci of the common interest. All who are affected by them or who come under their influe.nce belong to the community. But if there are no organizations and such play as does take place is incidental, spontaneous, and intermittent, the community is unestab- lished and hard to determine. Recreational communities are not general throughout the country. Innumerable neighborhoods have none even of the spontaneous and temporary kind, and the number is legion where the or- ganized form is non-existent. Where they do prevail they most commonly coincide with some other community, as the school, the farmers' organization, the church, etc. Morals or customs or what is technically known as folk- ways and mores serve as community-making agencies. Any district having a common body of traditions, beliefs, superstitions, practices, ways of doing things, standards, ideals, etc., is a moral community. For instance, it used to be said the New England communities were separated by ideas more than by geographical location. Such groups may be thought of much the same as individuals as hav- ing personalities of their own made up of a stream of tradi- tion, experience, continuity with the past coursing through them. They are organisms real and alive like persons, as Professor Cooley would say. They are aggregates of per- sons and yet more; they have a character all their own THE MODERK COMMUNITY DEFINED I49 not embraced in the individuals as such composing them.' They were moral communities in the sense here used. But glancing over the field of rural society in general, one is struck by the great sameness of morals everywhere in America and by the consequent absence of very many distinctive communities of this character. Still, they are not wholly lacking, for here and there appear neighbor- hoods with ways more or less peculiar and different from the ordinary run. Such cases are almost invariably segregated ethnic groups. Occjisionally it may be a relig- ious or perhaps an idealistic society that forms the back- ground for the moral community. It is the tendency, however, for all neighborhoods having unique morals which give distinction to become merged with the larger society by which they are environed. Such communities are therefore as a rule without lasting significance. The final type of community to be here noticed is that effected by the mutual-welfare factor. Wherever a neigh- borhood, having become self-conscious and alive to its common needs, has set to work organizing itself into co- operative undertakings for bettering its social, business, and farming conditions, a real community of the most vital kind has arisen. All who participate in and directly reap the rewards of such mutual endeavors are a part of it. Only a few of this exalted type are as yet to be en- countered anywhere in rural America, but they represent the ideal and the desideratum for rural society. From the foregoing discussion it has become evident that there is not one community of the open country, but many. It is then time to raise anew and to answer forth- with and as simply as possible the question asked at the outstart. What is the open-country community ? R. M. Maciver's analysis and description of the com- munity in general is so wholly in accord with the idea worked out here that we may quote him: "By a com- munity I mean any area of common life, village, or town, or district, or country, or even wider area. To deserve the name community, the area must be somewhat dis- ' Cf. C. H. Cooley, Social Process, p. 7. ISO THE RURAL COMMUNITY tinguished from further areas, the common life may have some characteristic of its own such that the frontiers of the area have some meaning. All the laws of the cosmos, physical, biological, and psychological, conspire to bring it about that beings who live together shall resemble one another. Wherever men live together they develop in some kind and degree distinctive characteristics — manners, traditions, modes of speech, and so on. These are the signs and consequences of an effective common life. It will be seen that a community may be part of a wider com- munity, and that all community is a question of degree. For instance, the English residents in a foreign capital often live in an intimate community of their own, as well as in the wider community of the capital. It is a ques- tion of the degree and intensity of the common life. The one extreme is the whole world of men, one great but vague and incoherent common life. The other extreme is the small intense community within which the life of an ordi- nary individual is lived, a tiny nucleus of common life with a sometimes lai^er, sometimes smaller, and always varying fringe." * Again, in a more categorical fashion, Maciver puts his meaning as follows: "A community is a social unity whose members recognize as common a suf- ficiency of interests to allow of the interactivities of com- mon life." ^ Those therefore who have anything in common, by virtue of their having it, live in a community. Community in the open country is, then, a number of families dwelling on farms lying adjacent to one another and having some- thing in common. Just what must they have in common ? A psychologist emphasizing the same things as Maciver has said: "What they must have in common in order to form a community or society are aims, beliefs, aspirations, knowledge — a common understanding — likemindedness, as the sociologists say." ' Yet, while it is true that there is no society without such mental phenomena, it will not be advantageous to confine our view of the rural com- ' Community, A Sociological Study, 191 7, pp. 22-23. * Ibid., p. 107, 'John Dewey, Democracy and Education, 1916, p. 5. THE MODERN COMMUNITY DEFINED I5I munity too narrowly to things psychological. There are also "things in common" which are physical. A common locality, a common type of agriculture, a common blood may, as we have seen, be just as fundamental as a common interest in religion, education, business, recreation, etc. Any one thing in common makes a community; many things in common make a stronger one ; and all the things we have seen to be community factors, when held in com- mon make the most complete and the strongest community. Very rarely, if ever, do all these agencies coincide and work together in any one neighborhood to form this complete community. Nor, in truth, is it necessary that they should in order to have an entirely satisfactory rural society. Neither a naturally bounded locality, a single type of agri- culture, ethnic solidarity, nor any religious interest is ab- solutely essential. The really essential " thing in common " for an adequate community is a common interest, a com- mon consciousness, and an awareness of the same to such a degree that free and effective co-operation results. When, therefore, the open-country community is spoken of, the meaning is not of itself clear; specific content must first be given to the term. What community is, we know; but what the community is for the country, none knows. If it were determined what constitutes the model type for the United States or for any part of it, we should then know and could speak of the community ; but that is yet undetermined, and will probably so remain. Still, it might be proper to speak of what I have called the essential com- munity as the community. Rural communities, like all others, it should be noted, are never fixed or very stable. They share with all natural phenomena the quality of changeableness. Most of them fluctuate constantly. The form may remain, if form there be, but in every other respect there is mutation. Towns lapse into villages and villages grow into non-agricultural towns. Ethnic and moral communities lose identity by being swallowed up through the amzdgamating and as- similating processes of the larger society. Interest com- munities like the church and the school wax and wane; 152 THE RURAL COMMUNITY their constituencies come and go, and their borders con- tract or expand. Business communities especially are mobile and shifting. They are not tied to any one centre nor constant in their groupings. Withal, rural communi- ties of every sort to-day are undergoing great transforma- tions. They are in a transitional stage. The old school, church, recreational, business, and moral communities are passing. New and different ones are taking their place. When this crisis of rural life is passed and the new order has fully come, perhaps the resulting communities will be less unsettled than those with which we now have to do. Finally, it should be pointed out that rural communi- ties in so far as they are products of interest factors are subject to social control. Obviously, they may be de- veloped and fashioned according to ideals. Thus the vital or essential community is a possibility within the reach of any neighborhood. CHAPTER VI TYPES OF COMMUNITIES /. THE ETHNIC COMMUNITY 1. A TOWN OWNED BY NEGROES BY BOOKER T. WASHINGTON (From The World's Work, July, 1907) Bolivar County is noted among the counties of Missis- sippi for two reasons: it contains the richest soil in the famous Yazoo Delta, and it possesses the only regularly constituted Negro town in the Southern States. This town, called Mound Bayou, gets its name from a large mound, a relic of the prehistoric inhabitants of the coun- try, which marks the junction of two of the numerous bayous that make so important a part of the natural drain- age system of this low and level land. Situated in the heart of the wide alluvial plain between the Mississippi and the Yazoo Rivers, Mound Bayou is the centre of a Negro population more dense than can be found anywhere else outside of Africa. The Negroes out- number the whites seven to one throughout the Delta. There are whole sections of these rich bottom-lands where no white man lives. Mound Bayou and the territory for several miles around it on every side is one such section — a Negro colony, occupying 30,000 acres, all of which is owned by Negroes, most of them small farmers who till 40 and 8o-acre tracts. The town itself has, at pres- ent, a population of about 500. Of these, eighty-three are registered voters. Mound Bayou is a self-governing community. That is one of the interesting things about it. It has had, since it was incorporated in 1898, a mayor, three aldermen, a 153 154 THE RURAL COMMUNITY constable, and a town marshal, all of them Negroes. This was necessarily so, because no white man has ever lived in this community since it was established, except the man who introduced the telephone system, and he re- mained only long enough to teach some of the townspeople how to manage the exchange. The colony, of which Mound Bayou is, so to speak, the capital, grew out of a correspondence and an interview between Maj. George W. McGinnis, land commissioner of what was known at that time as the Louisville, New Orleans, and Texas Railway, and Isaiah T. Montgomery, the man who founded the colony. The railroad, now known as the Yazoo and Mississippi Valley, wanted to settle the vacant lands along its right-of-way. It was Montgomery's idea to establish on these wild lands a Negro colony, and his plan was heartily seconded by the officers of the railroad. In the spring of 1887, accompanied by a civil engineer, he made a personal inspection of these lands and finally located a site for the present town on the line of the railroad 104 miles south of Memphis and 116 miles north of Vicksburg. Twenty years ago, this whole region was wild and in- accessible. The country was covered with a heavy hard- wood forest, which united with a dense undergrowth of briers and cane to make a dense jungle, through which it was only possible to thread one's way by the use of a magnetic needle, cutting the path as one proceeded. Through this semitropical jungle, the railroad had blazed a wide furrow for a distance of 200 miles from Memphis to Vicksburg, along which were scattered a few straggling villages, with here and there a larger town. One morning in the fall of 1887, a north-bound train stopped in the midst of this wilderness, a party of Negroes stepped off, and the train went its way. The leader of the group, a small, slender man, with strongly marked features and a deliberate and thoughtful manner, held in his hand a plot, which he looked at from time to time. This was Isaiah T. Montgomery and the men with him were the first contingent of prospective settlers. TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 155 It was not easy, as I have often heard Mr. Montgomery say, to find settlers in that early day. The task of taming this wild country seemed hopeless to men with so few re- sources and so little experience. On this particular morn- ing, Mr. Montgomery thought it best to make a little speech before proceeding with the work that had brought them thither. "You see," he said, waving his hand in the direction of the forest, "this is a pretty wild place." He paused, and the men looked hesitatingly in the direction he had indicated, but said nothing. "But this whole country," he continued, "was like this once. You have seen it change. You and your fathers have, for the most part, performed the work that has made it what it is. You and your fathers did this for some one else. Can't you do as much now for yourselves?" The men picked up their axes and attacked the wilder- ness. The idea of the thing got hold of the minds of some of them, so they went back home and prepared to return and take up the work of pioneers. It was not until February, 1888, however, that the first permanent settlers moved in. A month later the ground was cleared suffi- ciently to set up a small store. Two dwellings were also erected. A few of these early buildings may still be seen in remote comers of the community. They were con- structed of the materials at hand, walls of rough-hewn logs, roofed with a sort of shingle split with an axe from hard-wood blocks. There was, of course, no land to be cultivated when the first settlers arrived on the scene and no crop-lien sys- tem to provide in advance for provisions until something could be earned from the land. But the railroads needed cross-ties for their constantly extending lines. Timber agents came along in search of stave-bolts and spoke-ma- terial. This gave the settlers a chance to earn something while they were clearing the land. In this way the colonists solved the problem of living off the wilderness while they were engaged in subduing it. At the end of three years they had located and purchased 4,078 acres of land and 156 THE RURAL COMMUNITY had cleared and made ready for cultivation some 1,250 acres. They had earned during this time $8,780 from their timber operations and had raised 379 bales of cotton and 3,045 bushels of com on the 655 acres of land which they had cleared. The wilderness had become the frontier. The colonists came in faster now. The ragged outline of the forest steadily receded in all directions and large areas were opened for cultivation in the surrounding territory. The Growth of the Colony It was not the ordinary Negro farmer who was attracted to Mound Bayou colony. It was rather an earnest and ambitious class prepared to face the hardships of this sort of pioneer work. The scheme was widely advertised among the Negro farmers throughout the state and drew im- migrants from all parts of Mississippi, and a certain num- ber from other states. Some of the most valuable settlers in the community came from the "white-capping" coun- ties in the southern part of the state. No doubt, the fact that the men who settled Mound Bayou are a select class has been an important factor in its success. After twenty years of existence. Mound Bayou colony numbers about 800 families, making a total population of some 4,000 persons. Of the 30,000 acres of land owned by members of the community, about 6,000 acres are al- ready under cultivation. This land produces annually about 3,000 bales of cotton and from one-half to two-thirds of the corn and fodder consumed by the community. The original site of the town has been extended until, includ- ing the thirty acres in the original plot and the several additions that have been made since, it embraces a tract of ninety-six acres. With the influx of population, the value of land in the town and the surrounding country has greatly increased in value. Property inside the town that formerly cost from $7 to $9 an acre sells at present, in the form of build- ing lots, at prices ranging from one to three cents per TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 1 57 square foot. This land, which was assessed at one time at two dollars an acre, has now an assessed valuation of $23,073.55; The business of the town has grown with the growing population. There are thirteen stores and a number of small shops in the town which do an annual business of something like $600,000. The express business at Mound Bayou amounts to $250 per month. The railroad station is the tenth in importance between Memphis and Vicks- burg, according to a writer in the Planter's Journal, and the railroad traffic amounts to $40,000 a year. There are six churches and three schools in the town. One of these, the Mound Bayou Normal and Industrial Institute, conducted by B. F. Owsley, has a building which, with the seven acres of land belonging to and adjoining the school, is valued at $3,500. This school was started by the American Missionary Association before the town was incorporated. The expenses of maintaining it, about $1,500 a year, are met in part by the society that founded it, but in part by a tuition fee of $1 a month from its pupils. A second school, established and maintained by what are known familiarly as the "Sister Workers of the Colored Baptist Church of Bolivar County," has a large two-story building for recitations, and plans are now being made for the building of a dormitory to provide accommodations for pupils who come in from the surrounding farms to get the advantages of better schools than the county can provide. The town is gradually increasing its facilities for doing business and is acquiring all the machinery of a highly organized community. Mound Bayou has a bank, three cotton-gins, a telephone exchange, a weekly newspaper, and is preparing to issue bonds for the construction of water-works and the erection of a system of electric light- ing. It is an indication of the progress of the town that a well-kept cemetery — an institution too often neglected by Negroes — hjis been established on one side of the town, and a public park of five acres has been laid out on the other. Mound Bayou, though an exclusively Negro town, 158 THE RURAL COMMUNITY keeps up its connection with and interest in the outside world. The post-office business amounts to between $400 and $500 a quarter. Fifty Memphis papers are sold every day in the town and there are a number of subscribers to the magazines of general information. The business interests of Mound Bayou town and com- munity centre in the Bank of Mound Bayou, organized March 8, 1904, with a capital stock of $10,000. The earn- ings of the bank during the first eight months of its exist- ence amounted to 17 per cent. In 1906, it paid a dividend of 16 per cent and set aside a considerable sum as a sur- plus. As practically all of the business of the colony centres in the bank, it is natural that nearly all the prominent busi- ness men of the town should be represented on the board of directors. The bank and its directors, because they represent and are so completely identified with the interests of the town, have come to have the position of a sort of chamber of commerce, guarding the credit of the various enterprises and directing and inspiring the economic and business development of the colony. There are some special difficulties in the financial di- rection and development of a town and colony like Mound Bayou. For instance, it has been the constant aim of the men who founded the colony to preserve it as a dis- tinctively Negro enterprise. Separated from, yet in- timately bound up with, the commercial and political interests of the other communities about it, the problem of preserving this isolation has often been a perplexing one. A difficulty arose a few years ago when the Louis- ville, New Orleans, and Texas Railway was sold to the Yazoo and Mississippi. Practically all the lands pur- chased from the railroad company had been subject to a lien for deferred payments. With the change of owner- ship in the railroad, a wholesale foreclosure of these mort- TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 1 59 gages seemed imminent. Charles Banks and his associates in the bank managed, however, to have the loans renewed and upon terms by which the mortgages were to bear 6 pei- cent interest instead of 8 per cent. In time, all of the original purchase money for these lands was paid, but many of the colonists had borrowed money for improvements. There was, therefore, a con- stant danger that farmers who were not able to discharge the mortgages when they came due would lose their hold- ings. To provide against this, the Mound Bayou Loan and Investment Company was formed, with a capital stock of $50,000. W. T. Montgomery was made president of this company and Charles Banks secretary and treasurer. The plan of this company was to sell stock to the farmers in the community. The price of shares was fixed at $50, payable in monthly instalments of one dollar. By this means, a capital was secured to take over the mortgages of those members of the community who were not able to pay the loans as they fell due, and at the same time provide a way by which the owners of the land might ac- cumulate a sum sufficient to pay off the indebtedness for which the mortgage was issued. It is expected that the capital accumulated in this way will eventually be used to assist settlers coming into the colony to acquire and pay for lands, and in this way extend the holdings and the influence of the colony. The Town's Local Government Mound Bayou has been from the first, at least in the minds of the men who founded it, more than a business enterprise. As a matter of fact, its most conspicuous suc- cess hjis been its local government. The records of the mayor's court show that, as Delta towns go. Mound Bayou is a remarkably quiet and sober place. There have been but two homicides in twenty years. Both of these were committed by strangers — men who drifted into the community in the early days before the local self-government and the traditions of the town l6o THE RURAL COMMUNITY had been established. One of the men killed was Ben- jamin T, Green, who was the partner of Isaiah T. Mont- gomery in the early days of the town. The man who com- mitted this crime was afterward identified as a fugitive from justice, who was wanted for some desperate crime committed in the vicinity of Mobile. The murder was the result of a trivial altercation in regard to a box of tacks. During the whole twenty years of the town's existence, only three persons have been sent to the circuit court for trial. Two of these were men convicted of theft. Since the town obtained its charter in 1898, there have been, up to February, 1907, but 163 criminal cases tried in the town. Of these, fifty were committed by strangers or by men who had come into town from the surrounding community. Twenty-eight cases were either never tried or were of so trivial a nature that no fine was imposed. Sixty-four were cases of disturbing the peace. It is interesting to read the records of the mayor's court. They are an index to the life of the village and reflect the changing current of public opinion in regard to the moral discipline and order of the town. In July, 1902, the records show that fourteen persons were arrested and fined for failure to pay the street tax- Every citizen of the town is required to do $3 worth of work on the streets every year. Some had neglected to pay this labor tax and allowed the streets to fall into a condition of neglect. As a result of a discussion of the matter in the town council, a number of the delinquents were arrested and compelled to pay fines amounting to $3.30 and costs amounting to $1.40, each. Again, in 1904, a man was arrested for gambling. He had established what is known in sporting parlance as a "crap" game, and on Saturday nights a number of the young men of the village were accustomed to gather at his place to gamble. He was repeatedly warned and finally the town marshal and some of the more substantial citizens made a raid upon the place and arrested fifteen persons. The cases were dismissed after each man had paid a fine TYPES OF COMMtJNITIES l6l of $2. A year later, another man was arrested for run- ning a "blind tiger," selling liquor without a license. He formerly owned a store in the town but began selling liquor, then commenced to drink, and was rapidly "going to the dogs." After his place had been closed, he went out into the country and took up farming again. It is reported that he is doing well there. During the year 1905, there were several disturbances in the town which were traced directly to the illicit liquor sellers. Men would come into town on Saturdays to do their marketing, fall to drinking, and end in a fight. Things became so bad at last that a public meeting was held in regard to the matter. As a result of this meeting, the town marshal, the mayor, and the treasurer were appointed to get evidence and secure the conviction of those who were guilty. Six persons were convicted and fined at that time. One of these, a woman, left town. Another is still under suspicion and the rest, now on their farms, have become respectable citizens. To my mind, the interesting fact in regard to these prosecutions is that they served not merely to correct a public abuse but to reform the men who were prosecuted. In most cases, these men went back to the farms and became useful members of the com- munity. It seems to be pretty well agreed that the moral con- ditions of the Mound Bayou colony are better than those in other Negro settlements in the Delta. Some years ago, when the question was an "issue" in the community, a committee was appointed from each of the churches to make a house-to-house canvass of the colony, in order to determine to what extent loose family relations existed. The report of this committee showed that there were forty families in the colony where men and women were living together without the formality of a marriage ceremony. As a result of this report, the people of the town gave notice that these forty couples would have to marry within a certain length of time or they would be prosecuted. Nearly all of them acted upon this suggestion; the others moved away. l62 THE RURAL COMMUNITY "Since then," said Mr. Montgomery, in speaking about the matter, "we have had no trouble of this kind. Upon occasions, the women who are conspicuous in towns and cities and who travel in the Delta, making the various camps on pay-days and who more or less infest the larger plantations, have tried to get a footing here, but have never succeeded. They can get no place to stay and have to leave on the next train. This is now generally known and we have no trouble on that score." When I asked Mr. Montgomery how he explained the fact that they had been able to obtain such good results in the way of order and morality among the people of the colony, he said: "I attribute it to the force of public opinion. The regulations that we enforce have public sentiment behind them. The people recognize that the laws, when they are enforced, represent the sentiment of the community and are imposed for their own good. It is not so easy for them to realize that where the government is entirely in the hands of white men." One thing that has helped to maintain order in the colony is the fact that Bolivar County prohibits the sale of liquor. More than once the liquor men have attempted to pass a law that would license the selling of liquor in the county. Some years ago a determined effort was made to repeal the prohibition law. In order to secure the vote of Mound Bayou, which seems to have the balance of power in the county on this question, a "still hunt" was made among the voters in the community. A plan was arranged by which a saloon was to be established in the town and one of the citizens made proprietor. "This scheme came very near going through," said Mr. Montgomery. "The plan was all arranged before we heard of it. Then we called a meeting and I simply said to the people that experience in our own town had taught us that a saloon was a bad thing to have in the community. I said that if the law was passed, a colored man might run the saloon here, but in the rest of the county they would be in the hands of white men. We would pay for maintaining them, however, and we would be the ones TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 1 63 to suffer. We voted the law down and there has been no serious attempt to open the county to the liquor traffic since." In a certain sense, it may be said that the Mound Bayou town and colony have been a school in self-government for its colonists. They have had an opportunity there, such as Negro people have rarely had elsewhere, to learn the real meaning of political institutions and to prepare themselves for the duties and responsibilities of citizen- ship. It is interesting to note, in this connection, that this is one of the few instances in which Negroes have ever or- ganized and maintained in any Southern state a govern- ment which has gained the entire respect of the Southern people. A writer in a recent number of the Planter's Jour- nal, published in Memphis, says: Will the Negro as a race work out his own salvation along Mound Bayou lines? Quien sabe? These have worked out for themselves a better local government than any superior people has ever done for them in freedom. But it is a generally accepted principle in political economy that any homogeneous people will in time do this. These people have their local government, but it is in consonance with the county, state, and national gov- ernments and international conventions, all in the hands of an- other race. Could they conduct as successfully a county govern- ment in addition to their local government and still under the state and national governments of another race? Enough Negroes of the Mound Bayou type, and guided as they were in the beginning, will be able to do so. The story of Mound Bayou would not be complete without some account of the man who founded the colony and to whose patience and wisdom it owes the greater part of its success. Isaiah T. Montgomery was born on the plantation of Joseph E. Davis, a brother of Jefferson Davis, the President of the Confederate States. The plan- tation where he was born, in 1847, was known as "The Hurricane" and was situated in Warren County, Miss. His father, Benjamin Thornton Montgomery, came orig- inally from Virginia. He was purchased in Vicksburg by 164 THE RUKAL COMMUNITY Mr. Davis, while he was still a boy. He had picked up a little education from his young master in Virginia before he was sold South. After he came into the possession of Mr. Davis, he managed to acquire, in some way that Isaiah could never account for, a very good practical education, so that he was able to make surveys and draw plans for buildings, and for years he was in practical control of the plantation upon which he was employed. There were four children, all of whom received the rudiments of an education from their father. When he was nine years of age, Isaiah was set to work sorting and filing letters and papers in Mr. Davis's office, and from that time he lived in his master's home. He had a great deal of copying to do for Mr. Davis and it was in this way that he gained a practical knowledge of written English that has stood him in good stead ever since. As he grew older he became the special attendant of Mr. Davis, having charge of all his public and private papers, and he worked steadily in his office until the break- ing out. of the Civil War. In 1863, Mr. Davis retired, upon the approach of the Federal armies, to the interior of the state, taking with him his slaves. Young Mont- gomery was left behind with his father, however, to assist in taking care of the plantation. After the destruction of the Federal gunboat Indianola, at Hurricane, and the passage of the Federal gunboats under the batteries of Vicksburg, Isaiah entered the ser- vice of the United States as a cabin-boy for Rear-Admiral Porter. He was present, in his capacity as cabin-boy, at the battle of Grand Gulf, accompanied the first expedi- tion up Red River, and was a witness of the operations at the siege and capitulation of Vicksburg. In the winter of 1863, he lost his health and was discharged from the navy at Mound City. From there he went to Cincinnati, where, through the kindness of Admiral Porter, his parents had been able to precede him. Immediately after the war, Isaiah's father returned to the plantation and in 1866 put himself in communication with Mr. Davis. Very soon they had perfected plans TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 1 65 with him for the purchase of the Hurricane and Brierfield plantations, containing something like 4,000 acres of land, upon which the elder Montgomery and his sons, under the name of Montgomery & Sons, conducted the third largest plantation in the state. It was the desire of Joseph Davis, after the war, to keep together as far as possible the slaves who had grown up on his plantations. His notion was, no doubt, that the interests of all concerned demanded that there should be just as little break in the old relations as possible and that the transition from slavery to freedom should be made gradually, with the idea that the freedmen should, however, eventually become the owners of the land upon which they had previously been slaves. The plantations were conducted with this end in view until 1880, when it became apparent to the Montgomerys that unless there was a modification of the terms upon which the project had been left to them after Joseph Davis's death, it would be impossible to succeed. The heirs could not agree to an alteration in terms, and so the scheme was finally aban- doned. It was with the same notion of carrying out, under new conditions, the plan which his father and his former master had formed years before, that, in 1887, Mr. Montgomery — as he says in a brief autobiography — "sought to begin anew, at the age of forty, the dream of life's young man- hood," the dream of doing something to build up the for- tunes of his race. It thus appears that the history of Mound Bayou is deeply rooted in the past, and is, in a certain sense, a carrying out of the scheme formulated by the elder Montgomery and his former master for the welfare of that master's former slaves. Others than were intended have become heirs to the plans of these men, but their good-will and their forethought have made the success of Mound Bayou possible. As the colony grows older and the life of the community becomes more complicated, new problems present them- selves to the men who are still planning and directing its future. l66 THE RURAL COMMUNITY The success of the present community has suggested the formation of others similar to this one. Already there are the beginnings of such communities at other points above and below Mound Bayou. Mr. Montgomery be- lieves that the success of these new communities, as well as the future of the Mound Bayou colony, depends largely upon the ability of the new generation, now growing up, to profit by the experience of the older. It is with this idea that he and his associates are even now studying out a scheme by which the work of the schools can be brought into closer touch with the actual work of the colony. "What we need," said Mr. Montgomery, "is an agri- cultural school, something that will teach the young men to be better farmers than their fathers have been. But, more than that, we need here a system of education that will teach our young men and women the underlying mean- ing of the work that is being done here. In some way they must be taught the importance of carrying forward this experiment in the spirit in which it was begun. The problem of education is at present the most important which the town and the colony of Mound Bayou have to solve." Some time ago, Mr. Montgomery was asked by a news- paper writer what he thought of the future of the colony. What he wrote in reply shows his confidence in the out- come: What Mound Bayou is now, and what it has already accom- plished is largely prophetic of its future. Situated in the great alluvial Delta district, lands whose productive qualities are not surpassed by any in civilization, timbered by hardwood that finds ready sale at almost fabulous prices, no part of this great section has yet reached its full development. The thriving, hustling towns dotted here and there throughout the Delta, with their factories, water-works, electric lights, and other modem improvements, have become what they are with the Delta only partially developed. What may we expect when practically all the lands have been cleared, properly drained, with a full supply of contented and efficient labor to do the necessary work ? In proportion as the whole Delta approaches these conditions, Mound Bayou will progress also. There is another distinction that is more than likely to come TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 1 67 to Mound Bayou as the years go by, and our schools and churches improve in power and capacity; as our streets are drained and paved, our oil-lamps replaced by electric lights, and the old, antiquated, characteristic Delta pump is replaced by clear streams of artesian water. Negroes will begin to make this their resident home, even though they are engaged in business or make their livelihood elsewhere. There will be an atmosphere in which to raise their children, and they will find here social conditions for their wives and daughters very much to their liking. There are those who ask, "Are you not afraid that some day the whites will be moved to wipe out Mound Bayou by violence?" Know- ing the controlling force among the whites in this section, as I do, gathered by a stay of thirty-three years among them, I say, "No, we are not afraid." The Negroes who have shaped and controlled the destiny of Mound Bayou understand conditions too well to allow any radical or indiscreet policy to prevail here. On the one hand, there are too many white men around us or in easy reach who are our friends and willing to see that no im- pediment is thrown in our way, or undue advantage is taken of us by irresponsible parties. This has been demonstrated on several occasions. Isaiah Montgomery is hopeful and confident of the future. He is now sixty years old, but takes an active part in every movement that relates to the upbuilding of the colony which he founded. He believes that his work at Mound Bayou is only just begun and his towns- men share that belief. //. THE IMMIGRANT COMMUNITY 1. TONTITOWN, ARK., NORTH ITALIAN FRUIT- GROWERS AND GENERAL FARMERS (From Reports of the Immigration Commission 6ist Congress — Recent Immigrants in Agriculture, Part 24, vol. 1) The Italian farming community of Tontitown is situated among the Ozarks in Washington County, Ark. About thirty years ago the locality was a wilderness similar to thousands of acres that to-day lie idle in the Ozark regions of Arkansas and Missouri. Only a small portion of the land was cultivated and the farms were few and scattered. 1 68 THE RURAL COMMUNITY The Italians came in the late nineties from Sunnyside, Ark., a region where malaria then prevailed, to seek refuge in the more healthful altitudes of northwest Arkansas. There they have found health and prosperity and founded one of the most successful farming communities of the Southwest. Tontitown to-day differs little in aspect from any pros- perous American community. Most of the land around the town is cleared and set out in apples, peaches, and grapes. The orchards, together with the natural beauty of the locality, give an Italian aspect to the landscape, and it is not at all strange that the Italian ambassador, after viewing the surroundings, asked if he was really in America or in Italy itself. At the time the Commissioner's inquiry was made, 1909, the colony numbered 70 families, all of whom came orig- inally from northern Italy. The total number of people in the community was approximately 400. Small farms, some only 20 acres, none larger than 80 acres, are the rule, and rapid progress is being made in clearing the land and planting apple, pear, and peach orchards. Many acres of vineyards have been set out. The grapes are made into wine, both for home and com- mercial uses. The orchards are in bearing, bringing in valuable returns. The Italians raise annually quantities of early vegetables that are consumed locally or shipped to northern cities. The houses are neat frame buildings and all the sur- roundings present an appearance of prosperity and thrift, a decided contrast to hundreds of neighboring acres of good land throughout the Ozarks that are waiting the coming of hard-working pioneers to transform them from a waste into fertile farms. History of Settlement Father Pietro Bandini, the resident priest and the founder of the colony, travelled through Arkansas in 1896. At this time Italian laborers were being sought for in large TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 1 69 numbers to work on the cotton plantations of the Missis- sippi Delta region, and Father Bandini was sent to in- vestigate conditions there and elsewhere in the South and Southwest. While passing through Arkansas he was struck with the possibilities of the Ozark region as a fruit-growing section, and the idea occurred to him that it might be an ideal locality for Italians. In the previous year, 1895, the first Italian settlers had come to Sunnyside, but, as stated in Chapter XVII, dis- satisfaction with conditions there led to the early depar- ture of many of the first settlers. Some of these went to Knobview, Missouri, and others, under the leadership of Father Bandini, migrated to what is now Tontitown. When the settlers at Sunnyside became dissatisfied. Father Bandini, having in mind the region that impressed him so favorably two years earlier, started on a tour of inspection. After viewing a large range of territory, he at last found a suitable site with sufficient available land near Springdale, Ark., and secured options on some of the land for $3 per acre, making the first payment from his own resources. Returning to Sunnyside, he collected 15 families and in the spring of 1898 took them to the region which he had selected for the new settlement. Before they were settled 40 more families came from Sunnyside. No provision had been made for this second colony, who arrived penniless, all their money having been spent in paying their fare from Sunnyside to Springdale. The first 15 families had to submit to crowding to make room for the newcomers. The first land was bought for $3 per acre, but as soon as the landowners in the vicinity realized that the land would be taken at any price, they raised it to $15 per acre, requiring a certain percentage in cash, the remainder to be paid within three years with interest at 6 per cent. After building a few rough cabins of poles and logs to protect the women and children from the cold, the men and older boys went into the coal-mines of Kansas and Missouri to earn enough money during the winter months to make their next payment on the land. This first winter 170 THE RURAL COMMUNITY was trying — ^without doubt the most severe the Italians had ever passed. Still, in spite of the cold and the bliz- zards that partly filled their poorly constructed cabins with snow, the old men, women, and children managed to live until spring. The newcomers, moreover, met with nothing but hatred from the native farmers. The arrival of the poor, sickly Italians angered the whole neighborhood, and neither sympathy nor aid was extended to them. The opinion prevailed among the natives that one winter would be all the Italians could stand and that in the summer they would abandon their land and allow it to revert to the former owners. The settlers had very little money to spend for food and many of them would have starved during the first winter had it not been for the rabbits and other game that they caught in traps. This game fur- nished the settlers with the only meat, sometimes the only food, they had during the winter months. In the spring the men and boys returned home with money enough to make their second payments, and prep- arations for farming began in earnest. Land was soon cleared and gardens were planted with many varieties of vegetables. The colonists set out a few grape-vines and planned large vineyards, obtaining from their friends in Italy cuttings of the Italian varieties of grapes. Grapes had not been cultivated in the neighborhood until intro- duced by the Italians. Next, they set out several varieties of apples and peaches, following the plans of the native farmer. Coming from the vineyard and orchard sections of Italy, fruit culture was not new to them. They also had shoots of the Italian willow sent over; these grew rapidly and to them they tied their vines. At first the colony numbered 250 people, counting the two groups that first came, and they had control of 800 acres of land. Much of this land was covered with brush and trees, and considerable work was required to put it into cultivation. The allotments were not large, there being about 10 acres, all told, to a family, which they cleared one acre at a time. They now own over 2,000 acres (one- half of it under cultivation), having a total valuation of TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 1 71 nearly $150,000. In 1909 there were 70 Italian families in the colony, numbering, practically, 400 persons. During the first two years of the colony's existence, the second party of 40 families moved away in groups of two or three families, leaving the original number. Since these deserters had come uninvited and without money, it is not surprising that they soon became dissatisfied and moved to other localities, most of them returning to the cotton districts. Except for these desertions, the colony has grown slowly since its origin, drawing people from other sections of the United States, rather than immigrants direct from Italy. After the town was fully underway, it was decided to name it Tontitown, after Henry de Tonti, an Italian nobleman, a follower of La Salle, who, it is said, was the first Italian to explore and settle in Arkansas. Father Bandini usually receives one or more letters every day from Italians who have heard of the colony and desire to know of the chances for obtaining land. These letters come from Italians in all occupations and employments, but the colony wants farmers or men with enough money to buy farms, because, after all, farming without money proves too difficult for the average Italian immigrant. Of the total number of families in the colony, other than the pioneer settlers, 10 came direct from Europe because they had relatives here; 5 came from eastern states. The great majority of families came immediately from the sugar plantations of Louisiana or from the cot- ton plantations along the Mississippi River in Arkansas and Mississippi. Within the past two years several new families have moved in from other parts of the United States. Most of the cheap land has been taken up, but, by going some distance away from the town, land similar to the original purchase may be found, though the price has greatly advanced within the past few years. Topography and Soil Tontitown lies within the limits of the Ozark Plateau, bounded on all sides by hills. The country seems to con- 172 THE RURAL COMMUNITY sist of a series of low hills interspersed with lowlands; these hills are being covered with fruits of various kinds, while the lower land is given over to the production of cereal crops. The entire area is well watered, springs being abun- dant and the natural drainage excellent. The surface soil of the Clarksville stony loam consists of a gray silt or silt loam from 6 to 12 inches deep, the subsoil being a silty clay. The surface of the soil is loose and friable, the stones in a measure preventing it from packing as readily as the Clarksville silt does. This soil is well-drained; in fact on numerous steep slopes surface drainage is so rapid that the soil washes badly. The least stony parts are only moderately well adapted to the gen- eral farm crops grown there. None of the small grains is profitable, but corn, clover, cow-peas, and the grasses are grown with success. Large areas, however, wherever the topographical position is suitable, are well adapted to the production of apples and peaches, and also to small fruit, where the soil is not too stony. The Wabash silt loam is easy to cultivate when in good condition, but its location in the "bottoms" causes it to become unworkable for a considerable period after a rain. The soil has been derived from alluvial deposits carried from the limestone uplands. Corn averages 40 bushels, wheat 20 bushels, and oats 30 bushels per acre on this land. Agricultural Conditions Before the Civil War this area was cultivated by waste- ful pioneer methods and some of the land has been con- tinuously cropped since that period. Part of the land purchased by the Italians was in an exhausted condition and the rest of it was thickly timbered. The Italians began by first cultivating the cleared land; then, as additional houses and barns were needed, they cut the trees, con- verted them into buildings, and cleared the less-improved TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 1 73 areas. During the first few years the newcomers relied on the money received from the sale of strawberries and vegetables to make partial payments on their farms. The returns from the farms were supplemented by the earn- ings of the men and boys, who continued to return to the mines each winter. The vines set out each year soon produced large quan- tities of grapes most of which, by Italian methods, are made into sour wine. Each settler has a small storehouse, built underground, in which he keeps his wine. In this locality wine sells at from 75 cents to $1 per gallon, and it is said that an acre of grapes will yield from 200 to 300 gallons of red wine. As the colony grew, the apple and peach orchards began to produce, until now many of the Italians are able to derive comfortable incomes from their fruit alone. The fruit industry in northwest Arkansas has developed won- derfully within the past quarter of a century and the Ital- ians have been able to profit by this development. The strawberry industry has grown enormously. The acreage of peaches is probably less than that of apples. The Elberta peach is the commercial variety, but other varieties are being grown extensively. A full crop is obtained, however, but once in three or four years. Frequently apple-trees are interplanted with peach-trees and when the apple-trees are full-grown the peach-trees are cut down. The steady growth of apple plantings prior to 1 90 1, and the profitable crop of that year, brought Tontitown into considerable prominence as an apple centre, but the following years were not repetitions of this profitable one, owing to climatic conditions. Most of the upland soil is well adapted to apple production, and the Italians have some of the best sites in this sec- tion. The Italians devote some time to their flower-gardens, and each of the houses has a flower-bed beside the path 174 THE RURAL COMMUNITY to the front door. Many varieties of the common flowers are found. At the side of the houses are the vegetable- gardens, and extending beyond these are the vineyards and orchards. Markets and Marketing Facilities The apple-crop is usually sold in the orchard, the buyer doing the grading and packing. Small lots are generally graded by the farmer and sold to the buyer in boxes or barrels. Usually only one grade is barreled. The culls are sold as evaporator stock, for the evaporated-apple industry has grown in proportion to increased apple pro- duction. There are several large evaporators in the neigh- borhood, owned by Americans, but only one of the Italians has a small plant at his home. None of the fruit is wasted, the very poorest being made into vinegar. An Italian owns one of the largest vinegar plants in the neighbor- hood, which consumes large quantities of poor stock and waste. Peaches and strawberries are shipped to northern mar- kets in refrigerator-cars. In Springdale farmers' organ- izations have been formed which handle a large percentage of these two crops. The Italians are not members of these organizations, though there is some talk of their forming an association among themselves. Grapes are sold in small quantities, being shipped in baskets, but the most of this crop is crushed and made into a sour wine which is sold locally. Many of the vegetables grown are sold to the residents of the town of Springdale, although some small quantities are shipped to northern points. The transportation facilities are fairly good. The St. Louis and San Francisco Railroad passes through Spring- dale, connecting northern and southern points. The wagon- road between Tontitown and Springdale is one of the best in the county and crops can be hauled to market with little difficulty. TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 1 75 Property Owned Since coming to this locality the Italians have nearly tripled their original holdings of land. The houses have grown from small, one-room log cabins, whose cracks were plastered with mud, to buildings creditable to any small agricultural community. Seventy families own their land, and all but a few have their property free from debt. The Italians have more than doubled the value of their prop- erty. The land for which they paid $8 to $15 per acre ten years ago is now worth $50 to $75 per acre; highly improved land or that lying near Tontitown is worth $100 per acre. This increase has been largely due to the influx of immigrants, who have taken the uncleared land, cut down the trees, and set out the orchards that are now making the land valuable. The estimated value of the Italian property in 1909 was $175,000. Some of the more prosperous farmers have bank-ac- counts and many have very respectable balances to their credit. They are noted for their ability to save. Some money is used to buy more land, but the greater part is used to improve their properties, to clear more land and to set out greater numbers of fruit-trees; for it is from the fruit industry that the colony does and undoubtedly will continue to derive its greatest revenue. The Italians are noted throughout the locality for their capacity for hard work. They seem to toil throughout the entire year, work- ing in the fields day after day. The productivity of the apple-crop a few years ago, as has been noted, greatly stimulated apple-growing and aroused the entire community to increased activity in this direction; farmers that had suitable timbered land cleared it and set out apple-trees. As a consequence, practically all of the available land is now in orchards, and the resulting high prices and scarcity of land is one of the hindrances to the rapid settlement of the community. 176 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Standard of Living There is very little to distinguish the clothing worn by the Italians from that worn by the natives of this com- munity. Occasionally the women are seen in the fields with shawls tied around their heads, no matter how warm the day may be. On Sunday they drive from their farms to the church in vehicles that speak well for the prosperity of the colony. The houses are neatly painted, appear to be in good repair, and are generally very comfortable. Within, many of them are plastered and in some cases the plaster has been painted or the walls papered, the rooms being neat and well furnished. Every Italian furnishes his table the greater part of the year with products from his cattle, hogs, poultry, and garden, and buys only what is neces- sary at the stores. There is little opportunity for outside labor and the women and children very seldom do any- thing but their own housework, or occasionally domestic service in Springdale. They seem to prefer to remain on the farm, and, contrary to the custom almost universal in other immigrant localities, the women seldom do any outdoor work except attend to the flower-gardens. Oc- casionally, in harvest time, they help their husbands in the fields, but for a few days only. This fact is in direct contrast to what is found in most other Italian colonies throughout the South. Very little sickness has occurred in Tontitown for the land is high and the air is dry and pure. The surround- ings are more nearly like those found in Italy than were those at Sunnyside. What sickness there is, is generally among the young children. In the locality during the past five years a total of 1 1 deaths have occurred, 2 adults and 9 infants. In the corresponding period 79 births are recorded, making a natural increase of 68. The Italians have an organization that employs a doctor from a near- by town. He attends all cases of sickness and gives medi- cine to all members of the organization. The expense is TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 1 77 defrayed by a small monthly assessment levied on each Italian family. Opportunity for Employment During the first few years of the colony's existence prac- tically all the men and young boys that were old enough went into the neighboring coal-mines of Kansas and Mis- souri for the winter months. The money that they earned while working in the mines served to aid them in freeing their land from debt and making the necessary improve- ments on their farms. A few of the young men continue to go every winter to the neighboring coal-mines, working from two to six months during the year, and returning with $ioo, or sometimes even $200 in earnings. There is little or no opportunity for outside employ- ment near Tontitown, the Italians doing all their labor themselves. Near Springdale farm help is needed oc- casionally during the berry-picking season and throughout the summer on the large farms; the usual wages run from $1.25 to $1.50 a day. Sometimes a few of the Italians secure work as section hands on the railroad, getting $1.25 for a ten-hour day, but this work is some distance from Springdale. Two of the Italians have opened small grocery stores. These stores, together with a vinegar mill, con- stitute all the non-agricultural enterprises conducted by the immigrants in Tontitown. Social Conditions The Italians have social gatherings among themselves. Twenty of them have organized a brass band and furnish music on both American and Italian national holidays. Three years ago a dramatic club was formed, and since then a play has been given each year, and there is at Tonti- town a council of the fraternal order of the Knights of Columbus. Dances and parties are held frequently, and occasionally during the summer small picnics are held in a neighboring grove. For the past few years the chief attraction during the summer months has been an Italian 178 THE RURAL COMMUNITY national picnic, to which the public in general is invited. Notices giving the time and date of the picnic are spread throughout the country and people for miles around come on this day to join in the festivities. The Americans are invited to join, and many of the neighboring farmers ac- cept the hospitality of the Italians. The Italian band plays popular airs, and everybody joins in a "bowery" dance on a wooden platform built for the purpose. On May 16, 1905, the Italian ambassador to the United States, Baron Mayor des Planches, visited the colony, and on that occasion the Americans in Springdale and the Italians at Tontitown united forces to make the day a most notable one in the memory of the people of this country. The Italians do a great deal of neighborly visiting, but up to the present time they associate with the Americans only in a business way, except at these public picnics. On the other hand, Americanization has progressed more rapidly in this locality than in Italian settlements that are found in the cotton-growing sections of the United States. The old-time prejudice, so pronounced ten or twelve years ago, has slowly died out and very few of the progressive natives have anything to say in disparagement of the Italian settlers. At present in the immediate vicinity of Tontitown there are but few Americans, for the Italians have bought nearly all the land and have transformed this neighborhood into an almost purely Ital- ian settlement. Church — Religious Life On entering Tontitown from Springdale the first build- ing that comes in view, standing out prominently among the farms, is the new parochial school ; the next is the parish house, set in a garden of flowers, and a short dis- tance beyond is the Catholic church. These three build- ings were erected by the Italian settlers. The church is already too small to hold the rapidly growing congrega- tion, and plans are now under way to remodel and enlarge / TYPES OF COMMUNITIES ' 1 79 it. The church services are conducted in English and in Italian. Educational Conditions As soon as the colony was successfully under way the colonists realized the need of a school. They applied to the school board of the district in which they lived, but support from that source was not forthcoming. However, there was an unused schoolhouse at the crossroads, near the centre of the Italian settlement, and Father Bandini determined to open this building for the benefit of the Italian children. He secured a teacher from a St. Louis convent and in September, 1898, a school was opened. It is stated that on Friday night following the opening of the school an attempt was made to burn the school- house by a group of young persons who had determined to intimidate or, if possible, drive away the "Dagoes." The fire had been started but a few minutes when Father Bandini noticed it and reached the school in time to put out the blaze before it had done serious damage. The next morning the crowd of incendiaries came out to see the ruins but were met by Father Bandini, backed by a small group of Italians, and after hearing what the clergyman had to say, and seeing that he and his followers were in earnest, the youthful gang, who, after all, represented an irresponsible element, withdrew. Henceforth the school was conducted without molestation. Soon the schoolhouse became overcrowded and a new one was erected and opened in September, 1906. This new building contains 10 well-finished rooms, furnished with modem desks and chairs. The Italians built the school with their own hands and furnished the money necessary for its equipment, the total cost being nearly $5,000. At the present time this is one of the best-equipped graded schools to be found in this section of Arkansas. There are 10 grades and a preparatory school; the teachers are sisters from the neighboring convent. In 1909 there were 118 pupils, and of this number 18 were Americans, So well is the school managed by these Italians that Amer- l80 THE RURAL COMMUNITY icans of the vicinity do not hesitate to send their children to it. Moral Conditions In all business transactions the Italians have the repu- tation of keeping their word and meeting their debts as soon as they are due. In selling fruit and wine this idea of honesty is maintained, and it is due to their honesty and uniform business integrity that the prejudice which formerly existed against the Italians has so largely dis- appeared. None of the Italians indulge in liquor to excess. They all keep and drink wines, but do not become intoxicated. The universal testimony is that they always conduct them- selves in the most orderly manner. At the picnics there are occasional disturbances, but the Italians seldom orig- inate or participate in any breach of peace. The Italian enjoys home life. Many of the young men and women have married, but no cases of intermarriage have occurred between the Americans and the Italians. The second generation is rapidly becoming Americanized, mingling quite often with young Americans. Most of the children remain with their parents until they marry, and then they begin to farm for themselves. A few have drifted to the cities, but not many, the majority preferring to stay near their parents. Political Conditions There are now over 75 voters in the community, and as a rule when election day comes every man is at the ballot-box ready to cast his vote. Father Bandini has looked upon the matter of natural- ization as one of great importance and has urged all his followers to secure their papers of citizenship as soon as the law permitted. None of the Italians have held office, except Father Bandini, and he has been elected to a place on the county advisory board for a number of years. In extent of naturalization this colony was found to be far ahead of any that occupy land in the cotton regions. TYPES OF COMMUNITIES l8l They stand together politically on most issues. Doubt- less the intelligent influence of the priest has been one of the potent factors in their political solidarity, but from all that can be learned the influence has been wholesome. There is no vote selling and no venality. If they follow their leader rather blindly, it is because they have found the leadership safe. In fine, the one fact that stands out most clearly in the development and progress of this colony and in contrast to several others studied is the efficient and intelligent leadership which it has enjoyed. Perhaps no Italian colony similarly situated has made more rapid or sure material, educational, or political advancement. A leader who knows both his own people and Americans; who has vision as well as sound business sense; who has secured and can retain the confidence of his followers; who desires to de- velop a true Americanism and to inspire and instill the love of the highest moral, educational, and political ideals of American life in the foreign-bom, is worth a score of years in the progress of a newly established colony. The training of such leaders to protect and teach these chil- dren in American life and ideals is a matter worthy of at least partly as much attention by the body politic as the establishment of schools for the civic training of the children in years. The history of Tontitown bears wit- ness to the value of such leadership and such teaching. III. THE "RURBAN" COMMUNITY 1. THE LINKING OF VILLAGE AND FARM BY M. T. BUCKLEY, CIVIC SECRETARY, SAUK CITY, WIS. (From The American City, T. and C. Edition, January, 1915) There are communities and localities. A locality is a place with definite limitations. A community is a group of people with common interests; it is made up of "just folks." At the beginning, I wish to state that Sauk City busi- 1 82 THE RURAL COMMUNITY ness men have a wholesome, human definition of Sauk City. The articles of incorporation confine us to 200 acres at the bend of the Wisconsin. The community, which the business men recognize as Sauk, sweeps out into the country for miles, including everybody who has a common interest in the common things of the common people. The man living by the side of the road on the Sauk prairie is as much a citizen of the Sauk City community as the vil- lage president living on the village street. The farmer living in the dells and pockets of Roxbury is as much a citizen of our community as the banker behind his coun- ter, or the blacksmith at his forge. A village has a purpose of existence, and if existence means manifestation, which Webster says it does, it is the duty of the village to manifest itself in the community which it serves. It is the way a village manifests itself that determines whether it is going to be a red-corpuscled organism, leading the community along progressive lines, or whether it is to be a mere slot-machine — the catch- penny box of the community's shekels. The village is the commission merchant of the com- munity. All admit that it is entitled to its commission. To get its commission it must render service, and the way it renders that service determines not only its volume of business, but the respect and confidence that the com- munity has in it. Villages having dry rot have that dis- ease because they are beginning to die. They have made shekels instead of service the "be-all" of their existence. The funeral services of certain of their beloved dead would be the making of many villages. The business men of Sauk City make service their guide-post. Service has so completely permeated the community consciousness, that when the village is pre- paring so simple a programme as for Memorial Day, the man by the side of the road is not forgotten. The local paper features the day in its weekly news, issuing a general invitation to everybody, and, fearing lest this may not be sufficient, some years special invitations are sent out, not merely to prominent farmers of the community, but TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 1 83 to everybody. Three years ago the business men sent out this invitation: Sauk City will celebrate Memorial Day in a patriotic way this year. We want you and your family to celebrate the day with us. The parade will leave the High School at 1.30. Be on time to join in the parade. Did they come? The parade will answer. The ceme- tery is a mile from the village, and when the last teams were leaving the village the automobile in which the speakers were was at the speakers' stand. We sang to- gether, listened to the same programme, walked back home together, and who will say how much prejudice existing between farm and village was worn away by this rubbing of elbows. And better, it created a community conscious- ness for future team-work. We not only share our amusements with our farmer brothers, but we also share the material things. When the Sauk City Canning & Packing Company was organ- ized, it was organized on a co-operative plan — not co- operative among the village business men, but co-operative between the village business man and the business man on the farm. Of the 72 stockholders, 32 are farmers and 40 are village people. This enterprise pays 5 per cent in- terest on stock and from 15 to 25 per cent dividends. When the State Bank was organized, an institution now paying large dividends, the farmer citizens were recognized, and a large block of stock was reserved for them. When the Farmers' and Citizens' Bank was organized last summer, another block of stock was set apart for the farmers. The creamery is purely co-operative, and returns to the farmer in pay for his cream all it is worth less the cost of opera- tion. A $30,000 company was organized last month, a con- cern which may revolutionize the making of the gasolene- engine. We hope it will make Sauk City a city instead of a village. The local promoters, backed by the community consciousness of the village, gave the farmer an oppor- tunity to invest. Of the 150 shareholders, fully 50 are 184 THE RURAL COMMUNITY farmers. The farmers coming to town feel proud of our canning factory, the creamery and our two strong, well- housed banks, because they are their creamery, their fac- tory, their banks, as well as ours. This co-operation be- tween farmer and villager is advantageous because it breaks down suspicions and misunderstandings between these essential elements of a community. A village has another purpose of existence. A right- minded village must be a leader in ideals. The economic interests must be attended to, but while fostering these it must have some concern for what has been very ap- propriately termed the welfare interest; the health and recreation, the creation of community consciousness and utility. It must emphasize that the health of our boys and girls is as important as a balanced ration for a hog. It was with this view in mind that, when the Wisconsin Extension Division talked community institute, the people of Sauk City said: "Come on, try it on us first." The University wanted to emphasize health and recreation that would appeal to village citizens. We are not ex- clusive, we are all inclusive. We wanted a programme that would include all elements. We suggested farm sub- jects and domestic science. With the assistance of Dr. Gillin of the welfare department such a programme was perfected. While Dr. Maude Williams was talking health. Miss Cora Benzel was helping the farmer's wife and the villager's wife to do the cooking. The same day that Dr. Ravenel talked on "Preventable Diseases," A. R. Hirst held the interest of farmers on "Good Roads and How to Get Them." While Dr. Elson was teaching everybody how to play, C. J. Galpin spoke on "Common Interests of Village and Farm." Four days the programmes con- tinued. Health, recreation, business, farm subjects, were the topics we were thinking of together. The wise ones — and there are always a few wise ones in every community — said that the people would not be interested; but let the results answer, A farmer came in the first day to look the thing over. At five o'clock he telephoned to the home folks, saying: "Get some one else TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 1 85 to do the chores. I won't be home until the thing is out." Another left the meeting early to tell a gathering of farmers about it. The next day there were 125 farmers present, and the third there was not a post, shed, barn, or lean-to in town that was not used by the farmers. Fully four hundred of them took possession of the town. From nine o'clock in the morning until the "wink" at 10.45, every meeting was attended to the capacity of the hall. It was the same spirit that made the moving of the ballot-box from the town hall to the heart and centre of the community, the public school, an occasion for a com- munity programme. Seventeen hundred communities had done this before us. Sauk City is believed to be the first, however, to characterize this change by a community programme. After a consultation with the Social Centre Division of the University of Wisconsin, a social centre pageant was decided upon. When it was described by Prof. E. J. Ward, and he informed us that at least two hundred people would be needed, the village responded. For one month banker and merchant, clerk and laborer, sewing-girl and school-teacher, met and practised their little pieces so that the town could give a proper account of itself on Pageant Day. The pageant — that is a story by itself. It is mentioned here to illustrate that the vil- lage took advantage of this opportunity to teach higher ideals in democracy. Its bigness lay in the fact that we were laying foundations of a new democracy, objectify- ing the value of the social centre, and teaching the people to be "just folks." The meeting of the farmer and the villager in the social and economic life of this community has broken down the artificial barriers of hate and jealousy and misunderstand- ing. Men were meant for one another; not to do one another, but to do for one another. This is the spirit of Sauk City. It is the building of the whole community, not the boosting of a part of it. It is the spirit of service, of unity, of cooperation — in short, it is the realization of community brotherhood that is making over the com- l86 THE RURAL COMMUNITY munity, and when strangers tell us we are experiencing a boom, we tell them we are just finding ourselves. IV. THE IDEALISTIC COMMUNITY 1. THE SOCIETY OF SEPARATISTS AT ZOAR BY CHARLES NORDHOFF (From The Communistic Societies of the United States) I. History The village of Zoar lies in Tuscarawas County, Ohio, about half-way between Cleveland and Pittsburgh, on a branch of the railroad which connects these two points. It is situated on the bank of the Tuscarawas Creek, which affords at this point valuable water-power. The place is irregularly built, and contains fewer houses than a village of the same number of inhabitants usually has; but the dwellings are mostly quite large, and each accommodates several families. There is a commodious brick church, a large and well-fitted brick schoolhouse, an extensive country tavern or hotel, and a multitude of sheds and barns. There are, besides, several mills and factories; and in the middle of the village a somewhat elaborate, large, square house, which was the residence of the founder and head of the society until his death, and is now used in part as a storehouse. Zoar is the home of a communistic society who call themselves "Separatists," and who founded the village in 1817, and have here become quite wealthy. They orig- inated in Wiirtemberg, and, like the Harmony Society, the Inspirationists, and others, were dissenters from the Established Church. The Separatists of southern Ger- many were equivalent to what in New England are called "Come Outers" — protestants against the prevailing re- ligious faith, or, as they would say, lack of faith. These German "Come Outers" were for the most part mystics, who read the writings of Jacob Boehm, Gerhard Terstegen, TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 1 87 and Jung Stilling; they cherished different religious or doctrinal beliefs, were stigmatized as fanatics, but were usually, I judge, simple-hearted, pious people, desirous to lead a more spiritual life than they found in the churches. Their refusal to send their children to the schools — which were controlled by the clergy — and to allow their young men to serve as soldiers, brought upon them perse- cution from both the secular and the ecclesiastical au- thorities, resulting in flogging, imprisonment, and fines. The people who finally emigrated to Zoar, after enduring these persecutions for ten or twelve years, gathered to- gether in an obscure part of Wiirtemberg, where, by the favor of a friend at court, they were permitted to settle. But even from this refuge they were hunted out after some years; and, finding no other resource left, they at last determined to remove in a body to America, those few among them who had property paying the passage of those who were without means. Their persecutions had, it seems, attracted the atten- tion of some English Quakers, who aided them to emigrate, and with kindly forethought sent in advance of them to certain Quakers in Philadelphia a sum of money, amount- ing, I have been told, to eighteen dollars for each person of the company, which their Philadelphia friends provided for them on their landing. This kind care is still acknowl- edged at Zoar as an "inestimable blessing." They arrived at Philadelphia in August, 181 7, and al- most immediately bargained with one Hagar for a tract of five thousand six hundred acres of land, which they were, with the help of their Quaker friends, enabled to buy on favorable terms. It was a military grant in the wilderness of Ohio, and they agreed to give for it three dollars per acre, with a credit of fifteen years, the first three years without interest. Joseph Baumeler, whom they had chosen to be their leader, went out to take possession with a few able-bodied men, and these built the first log hut on the ist of Decem- ber, 1 81 7. During the following spring the remainder of 1 88 THE RURAL COMMUNITY the society followed; but many were so poor that they had to take service with the neighboring farmers to earn a support for their families, and all lived in the poorest possible way. At this time they had no intention of forming a com- munistic society. They held their interests separately; and it was expected that each member should pay for his own share of the land, which had been purchased in order to be thus subdivided. Their purpose was to worship God according to their faith, in freedom, and to live, for that end, in a neighborhood. But, having among them a certain number of old and feeble people, and many poor who found it difficult to save money to pay for their land, the leading men pres- ently saw that the enterprise would fail unless it was estab- lished upon a different foundation; and that necessity would compel the people to scatter. Early in 1819 the leaders after consultation determined that, to succeed, they must establish a community of goods and efforts, and draw in to themselves all whom poverty had com- pelled to take service at a distance. This resolution was laid before the whole society, and, after some weeks of discussion, was agreed to; and on the 15th of April ar- ticles of agreement for a community of goods were signed. There were then about two hundred and twenty-five per- sons — men, women, and children. The men were farm- laborers, weavers, carpenters, bakers, but at first they had not a blacksmith among them. From this time they began to prosper. "We could never have paid for our land, if we had not formed a com- munity," the older people told me; and, from all I can learn, I believe this to be true. At first they prohibited marriage, and it was not until 1828 or 1830 that they broke down this rule. On forming a community, Jacob Baumeler, who had been a leading man among them, was chosen to be their spiritual as well as temporal head. His name probably proved a stumbling-block to his American neighbors, for he presently began to spell it Bimiler — a phonetic ren- TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 1 89 dering. Thus it appears in deeds and other public docu- ments; and the people came to be commonly spoken of as "Bimelers." Baumeler was originally a weaver, and later a teacher. He was doubtless a man of considerable ability, but not comparable, I imagine, with Rapp. He appears to have been a fluent speaker, and on Sundays he delivered to the society a long series of discourses, which were after his death gathered together and printed in Ger- man in three ponderous octavo volumes. They concern themselves not only with religious and communistic thoughts, but largely with minor morals, manners, good order in housekeeping, cleanliness, health observances, and often with physiological details. In March, 1824, an amended constitution was adopted. Between 1828 and 1830 they began to permit marriage, Baumeler himself taking a wife. In 1832 the Legislature formally incorporated the "Separatist Society of Zoar," and a new constitution, still in force, was signed in the same year. "As soon as we adopted community of goods we began to prosper," said one of the older members to me. Having abundance of hands, they set up shops; and, being poor and in debt, they determined to live rigidly within their means and from their own products. They crowded at first into a few small log-cabins; some of which are still standing, and are occupied to this day. They kept cattle ; were careful and laborious farmers; and setting up black- smith's, carpenter's, and joiner's shops, they began to earn a little money from work done for the neighboring farmers. Nevertheless their progress was slow, and they accounted it a great piece of good fortune when iri 1827 a canal was built through their neighborhood. What with putting their own young men upon this work, and selling supplies to the contractors, they made enough money from this enterprise to pay for their land; and thenceforth, with free hands, they began to accumulate wealth. They now own in one body over seven thousand acres of very fertile land, including extensive and valuable water- power, and have besides some land in Iowa. They have I90 THE RURAL COMMUNITY established a woollen factory, where they make cloth and yarn for their own use and for sale. Also two large flour- mills, a saw-mill, planing-mill, machine-shop, tannery, and dye-house. They have also a country store for the accommodation of the neighborhood, a large hotel which receives summer visitors ; and for their own use they main- tain a wagon-shop, blacksmith's and carpenter's shops, tailors, dressmakers, shoemakers, a cider-mill, a small brewery, and a few looms for weaving linen. They em- ploy constantly about fifty persons not members of the community, besides "renters," who manage some of their farms on shares. They have now (in the spring of 1874) about three hun- dred members, and their property is worth more than a million dollars. II. Religious Faith and Practical Life The "Principles of the Separatists," which are printed in the first volume of Joseph Baumeler's discourses, were evidently framed in Germany. They consist of twelve articles : I. We believe and confess the Trinity of God: Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. II. The fall of Adam, and of all mankind, with the loss there- by of the likeness of God in them. III. The return through Christ to God, our proper Father. IV. The Holy Scriptures as the measure and guide of our lives, and the touchstone of truth and falsehood. All our other principles arise out of these, and rule our con- duct in the religious, spiritual, and natural life. V. All ceremonies are banished from among us, and we de- clare them useless and injurious; and this is the chief cause of our Separation. VI. We render to no mortal honors due only to God, as to uncover the head, or to bend the knee. Also we address every one as "thou" — du. VII. We separate ourselves from all ecclesiastical connec- tions and constitutions, because true Christian life requires no sectarianism, while set forms and ceremonies cause sectarian divisions. TYPES OF COMMUNITIES I9I VIII. Our marriages are contracted by mutual consent and before witnesses. They are then notified to the political au- thority; and we reject all intervention of priests or preachers. IX. All intercourse of the sexes, except what is necessary to the perpetuation of the species, we hold to be sinful and contrary to the order and command of God. Complete virginity or en- tire cessation of sexual commerce is more commendable than marriage. X. We cannot send our children into the schools of Babylon [meaning the clerical schools of Germany], where other prin- ciples contrary to these are taught. XI. We can not serve the state as soldiers, because a Chris- tian can not murder his enemy, much less his friend. XII. We regard the political government as absolutely neces- sary to maintain order, and to protect the good and honest, and punish the wrong-doers; and no one can prove us to be untrue to the constituted authorities. For adhering to these tolerably harmless articles of faith, they suffered bitter persecution in Germany in the beginning of this century. Subject to the above declaration they have a formal constitution, which divides the members into two classes, the novitiates and the full associates. The former are required to serve at least one year before admission to the second class, and this is exacted even of their own children, if on attaining majority they wish to enter the society. The members of the first or probationary class do not give up their property. They sign an agreement, "for the furtherance of their spiritual and temporal welfare and happiness," in which they "bind themselves to labor, obey, and execute all the orders of the trustees and their successors," and to "use all their industry and skill in behalf of the exclusive benefit of the said Separatist So- ciety of Zoar," and to put their minor children under the exclusive guardianship and care of the trustees. The trustees on their part, and for the society, agree to secure to the signers of these articles "board and cloth- ing free of cost, the clothing to consist of at any time no less than two suits, including the clothes brought by the said party of the first part to this society." Also medical 19^ THE RURAL COMMUNITY attendance and nursing in case of sickness. "Good moral conduct, such as is enjoined by the strict observance of the principles of Holy Writ," is also promised by both parties; and it is stipulated that "no extra supplies shall be asked or allowed, neither in meat, drink, clothing, nor dwelling (cases of sickness excepted); but such, if any can be allowed to exist, may and shall be obtained (by the neophytes] through means of their own, and never out of the common fund." All money in possession of the probationer must be deposited with the society when he signs the agreement; for it a receipt is given, making the deposit payable to him on his demand, without interest. Finally, it is agreed that all disputes shall be settled by arbitration alone, and within the society. When a member of the first or probationary class de- sires to be received into full membership, he applies to the trustees, who formally hear his demand, inquire into the reasons he can give for it, and if they know no good cause why he should not be admitted, they thereupon give thirty days' notice to the society of the time and place at which he is to sign the covenant. If during that interval no member makes charges against him, and if he has no debts, and is ready to make over any property he may have, he is allowed to sign the following covenant: We, the subscribers, members of the Society of Separatists of the second-class, declare hereby that we give all our property, of every kind, not only what we already possess, but what we may hereafter come into possession of by inheritance, gift, or otherwise, real and personal, and all rights, titles, and expecta- tions whatever, both for ourselves and our heirs, to the said so- ciety forever, to be and remain, not only during our lives, but after our deaths, the exclusive property of the society. Also we promise and bind ourselves to obey all the commands and orders of the trustees and their subordinates, with the utmost zeal and diligence, without opposition or grumbling; and to devote all our strength, good-will, diligence, and slull, during our whole lives, to the common service of the society and for the satisfaction of its trustees. Also we consign in a similar manner our children, so long as they are minors, to the charge of the trustees, giving these the same rights and powers over them as TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 193 though they had been formally indentured to them under the laws of the state. Finally, there is a formal Constitution, which prescribes the order of administration; and which also is signed by all the members. According to this instrument, all officers are to be elected by the whole society, the women voting as well as the men. All elections are to be by ballot, and by the majority vote ; and they are to be held on the second Tuesday in May. The society is to elect annually one trustee and one member of the standing committee or coun- cil, once in four years a cashier, and an agent whenever a vacancy occurs or is made. The time and place of the election are to be made public twenty days beforehand by the trustees, and four members are to be chosen at each election to be managers and judges at the next. The trustees, three in number, are to serve three years, but may be indefinitely re-elected. They have unlimited power over all the temporalities of the society, but are bound to provide board, clothing, and dwelling for each member, "without respect of persons"; and to use all confided to their charge for the best interests of the so- ciety. They are to manage all its industries and affairs, and to prescribe to each member his work; "but in all they do they are to have the general consent of the so- ciety." They are to appoint subordinates and superin- tendents of the different industries; are to consult in difficult cases with the Standing Committee of Five, and are with its help to keep the peace among the members. The agent is the trader of the society, who is to be its intermediate with the outside world, to buy and sell. This office is now held by the leading trustee. The standing committee is a high court of appeals in cases of disagreement, and a general council for the agent and trustees. The cashier is to have the sole and exclusive control of all the moneys of the society, the trustees and agent being obliged to hand over to his custody all they receive. He is also the bookkeeper, and is required to give an an- nual account to the trustees. 194 fHE RURAL COMMUKtTV The constitution is to be read in a public and general meeting o£ the society at least once in every year. The system of administration thus prescribed appears to have worked satisfactorily for more than forty years. "Do you favor marriage?" I asked some of the older members, trustees, and managers. They answered "No"; but they exact no penalty nor inflict any disability upon those who choose to marry. "Marriage," I was told, "is on the whole unfavorable to community life. It is better to observe the celibate life. But it is not, in our experi- ence, fatally adverse. It only makes more trouble; and in either case, whether a community permit or forbid mar- riage, it may lose its members." About half of their young people, who have grown up in the society, become permanent members, and as many young men as girls. They do not permit members to marry outside of the society; and require those who do to leave the place. "Men and women need to be trained to live peaceably and contentedly in a community. Those who have been brought up outside do not find matters to their taste here." Baumeler taught that God did not look with pleasure upon marriage, but that he only tolerated it; that in the kingdom of heaven "husband, wife, and children will not know each other"; "there will be no distinction of sex there." Nevertheless he married, and had a family of children. When a young couple wish to marry, they consult the trustees, whose consent is required in this as in the other emergencies of the community life; and the more so as they must provide lodgings or a dwelling for the newly married, and furniture for their housekeeping. Weddings, however, are economically managed, and the parents of the parties usually contribute of their superfluities for the young couple's accommodation. When marriages began among them, a rule was adopted that the children should remain in the care of their parents until they were three years old; at which time they were placed in large houses, the girls in one, boys in another. TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 1 95 where they were brought up under the care of persons especially appointed for that purpose; nor did they ever again come under the exclusive control of their parents. This singular custom, which is practised also by the Oneida communists, lasted in Zoar until the year 1845, when it was found inconvenient. The sixty or seventy young persons under twenty-one now in the community live with their parents. Until the age of fifteen they are sent to school, and a school is main- tained all the year round. Usually the instruction has been in German; but when I visited Zoar they had an American teacher. On the blackboard, when I visited the school, a pupil had just completed an example in proportion, concerning the division of property among heirs; and I thought how remarkable it is that the community life ever lasts, in any experiment, beyond the first generation, when even the examples by which the children of a community are taught arithmetic refer to division of property and in- dividual ownership, and every piece of literature they read tends to inculcate the love of "me" and "mine." I do not wonder that general literary studies are not en- couraged in many communities. As for the Zoar people, they are not great readers, except of the Bible and the few pious books which they brought over from Germany, or have imported since. The Zoar communists belong to the peasant class of Southern Germany. They are therefore unintellectual ; and have not risen in culture beyond their original con- dition. Nor were their leaders men above the general level of the rank and file; for Baumeler has left upon the society no marks to show that he strove for or desired a higher life here, or that he in the least valued beauty, or even what we Americans call comfort. The little town of Zoar, though founded fifty-six years ago, has yet no foot pavements; it remains without regularity of design; the houses are for the most part in need of paint; and there is about the place a general air of neglect and lack of order, a shabbiness, which I noticed also in the Aurora 196 THE RURAL COMMUNITY community in Oregon, and which shocks one who has but lately visited the Shakers and the Rappists. The Zoarites have achieved comfort — according to the German peasant's notion — and wealth. They are relieved from severe toil, and have driven the wolf permanently from their doors. Much more they might have accom- plished ; but they have not been taught the need of more. They are sober, quiet, and orderly, very industrious, economical, and the amount of ingenuity and business skill which they have developed is quite remarkable. Moreover, considering the dull and lethargic appearance of the people, I was struck with surprise that they have been able to manage successfully complicated machinery, and to carry on several branches of manufacture profit- ably. Their machine-shop makes and repairs all their own machinery; their grist-mills have to compete with those of the surrounding country; their cattle, horses, and sheep — of the latter they keep no less than 1,400 head — are known as the best in the county; their hotel is a favorite summer resort; their store supplies the neighbor- hood; and they have found among themselves ability to conduct successfully all these and several other callings, all of which require both working skill and business acute- ness. They rise at six, or in summer at daylight, breakfast at seven, dine at twelve, and sup at six. During the long summer days they have two " bites " between meals. They do not eat pork, and a few refrain entirely from meat. They use both tea and coffee, and drink also cider and beer. Tobacco is forbidden, but it is used by some of the younger people. In the winter they labor in their shops after supper until eight o'clock Each family cooks for itself; but they have a general bake-house, and make excellent bread. They have no general laundry. They have led water into the village frbm a reservoir on a hill beyond. Most of the houses accommodate several families, but each manages its own TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 1 97 affairs. Tea, coffee, sugar, and other "groceries," are served out to all householders once a week. The young girls are taught to sew, knit, and spin, and to do the work of the household. The boys, when they leave school, are taught trades or put on the farm. In their religious observances they studiously avoid forms. On Sunday they have three meetings. In the morning there is singing, after which the leading trustee reads one of Baumeler's discourses, which they are careful not to call sermons. In the afternoon there is a children's meeting, where there is singing, and reading in the Bible. In the evening they meet to sing and hear reading from some work which interests them. They do not practise audible or public prayer. There are no religious meetings during the week; but the boys meet occasionally to prac- tise music, as they have a band. The church has an organ, and several of the houses have pianos. They do not allow dancing. There is no "preacher," or clergyman. They have a printed hymn-book, which is used in their wor- ship. They use neither Baptism nor the Lord's Supper. In summer the women labor in the fields, to get in hay, potatoes, and in harvesting the grain. They address each other only by the first name, use no title of any kind, and say thou (du) to all. Also they keep their hats on in a public room. The church has two doors, one for the women, the other for the men, and the sexes sit on different sides of the house. The hotel contains a queer, old-fashined bar, at which the general public may drink beer, cider, or California wine. In the evening the sitting-room is filled with the hired laborers of the society, and with the smoke of their pipes. Such is Zoar. Its people would not attract attention anywhere; they dress and look like common laborers; their leading trustee, Jacob Ackermann, who has carried on the affairs of the society for thirty years and more. 198 THE RURAL COMMUNITY might easily be taken for a German farm-hand. It is the more wonderful to compare the people with what they have achieved. Their leader and founder taught them self-sacrifice, a desire for heavenly things, temperance, or moderation in all things, preference of others to them- selves, contentment — and these virtues, together with a prudence in the management of their affairs which has kept them out of debt since they paid for their land, and uprightness in their agents which has protected them against defalcations, have wrought, with very humble in- telligence and very narrow means at the beginning the result one now sees at Zoar. V. THE RELIGIOUS COMMUNITY 1. QUAKER HILL BY WARREN H. WILSON (Adapted from Quaker Hill) The Locality In the hill country, sixty-two miles north of New York, and twenty-eight miles east of the Hudson River at Fish- kill, lies Quaker Hill. It is the eastern margin of the town of Pawling, and its eastern boundary is the state line of Connecticut. On the north and south it is bounded by the towns of Dover and Paterson respectively; on the west by a line which roughly corresponds to the western line of the Oblong, that territory which was for a century in dispute between the States of New York and Connecti- cut. Its length is the north and south dimension of Pawl- ing. This area is six and a half miles long, north and south, and irregularly two miles in width, east and west. Quaker Hill can scarcely be called a hamlet, because instead of a cluster of houses, it is a long road running from south to north by N.N.E. and intersected by four roads run- ning from east to west. The households located on this MAP Na II. QuAia Hill arc Viennrv. (Based on a (racint of UnHed Stitn Otognpliiail Snrvty.) 199 200 THE RURAL COMMUNITY road for one hundred and sixty years constituted a com- munity of Quakers dwelling near their Meeting-House ; and until the building of the Harlem Railroad in the valley below in 1849, had their own stores and local industries. The natural obstacle which does more than miles to isolate Quaker Hill is its elevation. The "Mizzen-Top Hill," as it is now called, is a straightforward Quaker road, mounting in the face of the Hill four hundred feet in a half-mile. The ancient settler on horseback laid it out; and the modem wayfarer in hotel stage, carriage, or motor- car has to follow. Quaker Hill is conservative of change. The mean elevation is about 1,100 feet above the sea. The highest point being Tip-Top, 1,310 feet, and the lowest point 620 feet. The Hill is characterized by its immediate and abrupt rise above surrounding localities, being from 500 to 830 feet above the village of Pawling, in which the waters divide for the Hudson and Housatonic Rivers. On its highest hill rises the brook which becomes the Croton River. From almost the whole length of Quaker Hill Road one looks off over intervening hills to the east for twenty- five miles, and to the west for forty miles to Minnewaska and Mohonk; and to the north fifty and sixty miles to the Catskill Mountains. The Hill is a conspicuous plateau, very narrow, extend- ing north and south. It is "the place that is all length and no breadth." Six miles long upon the crest of the height runs the road which is its main thoroughfare, and was in its first century the chief avenue of travel. Crossing it at right angles are four roads, that now carry the wagon and carriage traffic to the valleys on either side; which since railroad days are the termini of all journeys. The elevation above the surrounding hills and valleys is such that one must always climb to attain the hill; and one moves upon its lofty ridge in constant sight of the distant conspicuous heights, the Connecticut uplands east of the Housatonic on one side, and on the other, the Shawangunk TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 201 and Catskill Mountains, west of the Hudson, all of them more than 25 miles away. • ••••«•• Quaker Hill possesses natural advantages for agriculture only. No minerals of commercial value are there; al- though iron ore is found in Pawling and near-by towns. On the confines of the Hill, in Deuell Hollow, a shaft was driven into the hillside for forty feet, by some lonely prospector, and then abandoned; to be later on seized and made the traditional location of a gold-mine. The Quaker Hill imagination is more varied and fertile than Quaker Hill land. No commercial advantages have ever fallen upon the place, except those resultant from culti- vation of the fertile soil in the way of stores, now passed away; and the opportunity to keep summer boarders in the heated season. The Assembling of the Quakers It seems to have been the desire of the first settlers to form a community where they could live apart, maintain their form of religion, and possess land fertile and rich. The Quakers are always shrewd as to economic affairs, and the business motive is never lost sight of in the spir- itual inner light. In choosing Quaker Hill soil they selected ground which after one hundred and sixty-seven years is the richest in the region, sustains the best dairies, and is able longer than any other in the neighborhood in time of drought to afford abundant green grass and ver- dure. To this place thus secluded, came Benjamin Ferriss in 1728, and Nathan Birdsall. They settled upon the sites marked 31 and 39, which are 1,200 and 1,100 feet above the sea, and very near the highest ground for many miles. There was at this time, 1729, a meeting of Friends at New Milford, nine miles away; but these two men came from Purchase Meeting in the town of Rye, forty miles directly to the south. There soon followed others, bearing the 202 THE RURAL COMMUNITY names, Irish, Wing, Briggs, Toffey, Akin, Taber, Russell, Osbom, Merritt, Dakin, Hoag. In ten years the tide of settlement was flowing full. In forty years the little community was filled with as many as could profitably find a living. Complete records of the sources of this immigration are not available. John Cox, Jr., Librarian of the Yearly Meeting of Friends, says, "the records do not show in any direct way where the members come from. A few came from Long Island meetings by way of Purchase, but most of them from the East, and I believe from Mas- sachusetts. Indirectly the records show that the members occasionally went on visits into New England, and took certificates of clearance there (to marry)." Dartmouth, Mass., a town between Fall River and New Bedford, was the original home of so many of them that it easily leads all* localities as a source of Quaker Hill ancestry. The Akin, Taber, Briggs families came from Dartmouth, which was in a region of both temporary and permanent Quaker settlement. Quaker Hill, R. I., is within fifteen miles of Dartmouth. The residents of Quaker Hill, New York, preserve traditions of the returns of the early Friends "to Rhode Island." There is a Briggs family tradition of the first pair of boots owned on the Hill, which were borrowed in turn by every man who made a visit to the ancestral home at Dartmouth. It is probable also that some of the original settlers came from Long Island, though from what localities I do not know. The minutes of Purchase Meeting at Rye, through which meeting most of the Quaker Hill settlers came, indicate in only a limited number of cases that the immigrant came from a farther point; and leave the im- pression that the Friend so commended to the Oblong was already a resident of the " Purchase," or of its related meetings at Flushing on Long Island. An example is the case of William Russell and his wife, notable pioneers, the earliest residents of Site 25, whose letter from Pur- chase Meeting in 1741 indicates only that they came to Oblong from Purchase. TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 203 The settlement of the Hill continued from the early years, 1 728-1 731, at which it began, until 1770, when the community may be said to have been complete. The land was supporting by that time all it would bear. Economic Activities of the Quaker Community The economic activity of the early Quaker community was varied. All they consumed they had to produce and manufacture. Though the stores sold cane-sugar, the farmers made of maple-sap in the spring both sugar and syrup, and in the fall they boiled down the juice of sweet apples to a syrup, which served for "sweetness" in the ordinary needs of the kitchen. Every man was in some degree a farmer, in that each household cultivated the soil. On every farm all wants had to be supplied from local resources, so that mixed farming was the rule. The land which its modern owners think unsuited to anything but grass, because it is such "heavy, clay soil," was made in the eighteenth century to bear, in addition to the grass for cattle and sheep, wheat, rye, oats, and com, flax, potatoes, apples. Of whatever the farmer was to use he must produce the raw material from the soil, and the manufacture of it must be within the community. A list of names mentions six occupations: the farmer, blacksmith, tailor, shoemaker, carpenter, and laborer. With these six a frontier community could live, for every man of them was a potential butcher, tanner, trader. There is record of others in later years, when the communal life had become differentiated. There were at various times in the Quaker century stores at four places on the Hill. The Merritt store, at Site 28, descended to the sons of Daniel Merritt, and finally to James Craft. There was a store in Deuell Hollow, kept by Benjamin and Silas Deuel for several years. There is extant one bill of merchandise 204 THE RURAL COMMUNITY purchased by them of Edward and William Laight, mer- chants of New York, the amount being £200 and the date Feb. 25, 1785. The Akin stores, at Sites 47 and 46, were kept by Daniel and Albro Akin, and the store at Site 53, by John Toffey. These stores during the period of the Quaker community were in trade largely by barter, taking all the commodities the farmer had beyond his immediate use, and selling sugar, coffee, cloth, and other commodi- ties which after 1815, as will be shown later, rapidly in- creased in number and in quantity. The use of money increased at the same period. The phrase still lingers in Quaker Hill speech: "I am going to the store to do some trading," though the milk farmer has engaged in no barter for fifty years. In the culminating period of the Quaker Community, which followed the Revolutionary War, the following were some of the occupations practised on the Hill, the record or remembrance of which is preserved. Abram Thomas was a blacksmith, at Site 14, and is said to have made the nails used in building the Meeting House. George Kirby, at Site 99^4, had a blacksmith- shop; there was another at Site xioo, now abandoned on Burch Hill, kept by Joel Winter Church, where Wash- ington's charger was shod, and the bill was paid at the close of the war. But the most notable smithy was at Site 41, where now stands one of the oldest houses on the Hill. Here Davis Marsh wrought in iron, and the sound of his trip-hammer audible for miles smote its own remembered impression upon the ears of those ancient generations. Doubtless the favored location of Marsh's shop in the neighborhood most central . . . gave it greater use. There was at one time a forge in the Glen at Site 66, to which magnetic ore was hauled from Brewster to be worked. A "smith shop" is also noted on Erskine's map for Washington in 1778 at Site xiii. The most important manufacturing business of the community, however, was the wagon-worker's shop at Site 45, kept by Hiram Sher- man. Under the general title of wagon-maker he manu- '^^sis<<^;4 '^^^^x^^^ '^ ''t'4('^- ^.^% > ^ c I .a TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 205 factured all movables in wood and iron, from fancy wagons to cofRns. Other trades were of increasing variety as the century of isolation proceeded. Shoemakers went from house to house to make shoes for the family, of the leather from the backs of the farmer's own cattle, tanned on the farm or not far away. Reed Ferris was a shoemaker, in whose residence at Site 99 Washington was entertained in Sep- tember, 1778, until he took up Headquarters at John Kane's. Stephen Riggs was a shoemaker. Three tan- neries were maintained on the Hill in the bloom of the Quaker community by Ransom Aldrich about Site 13; Amos Asborn, at Site X2i, who also made pottery there; and Isaac Ingersoll, at Site 134. Albro Akin had a sawmill in the Glen, and a grist-mill was also located there in an early period. William Taber had a grist-mill and also a cloth-mill, consisting of carding- machine, fulling-mill, and apparatus for pressing, coloring, and dressing cloth. John Toffey, at Site 53, and Joseph Seeley, at Site 15, and some of the Arnolds, near Site 12, were hatters. Jephtha Sabin, at Site 74, and Joseph Hun- gerford were saddlers and harness-makers. Every farmer and indeed every householder raised hogs. Pork was salted, as it is to-day, for winter use, in barrels of brine. Hogs also were extensively raised and butchered for market, at a year and a half old, the meat being taken to Poughkeepsie by wagon, and thence to New York. Many who raised more pork than their own use demanded exchanged it at the stores. Fields of peas were raised to feed the hogs. Sheep also were raised for their wool; their meat af- forded an acceptable variety in farmer's fare and their hides had many uses. David Irish, Daniel and David Merritt, Jonathan A. Taber were farmers whose products of wool was notably fine and abundant. Jonathan Akin Taber "kept about eleven hundred sheep, some merino, and some saxony." Butter and cheese were an important part of the busi- ness and income of the farmer's family, the butter being 206 THE RURAL COMMUNITY packed and sent weekly to the Hudson River boats for New York market, or to Bridgeport or New Haven — a two-days' journey in either Ccise. The cheese was ripened or cured, being rubbed and turned every day, and kept until the dealers came around to inspect and purchase. On every farm was kept a flock of geese, which were picked once in six weeks to keep up the supply of feather-beds and to furnish the requisite number for the outfit of each daughter of the family. Amusements in the Quaker Community The Quaker community had little time for amusements and less patience. The discipline of the Meeting levelled its guns at the play spirit, and for a century men were threatened, visited, disowned if necessary, for "going to frolicks," and "going to places of amusement." The Meet- ing-House records leave no doubt as to the opinion held by the Society of Friends upon the matter of play. An account is given elsewhere of the discipline of the Meeting in its struggle against immorality and "frolick- ing." The following quotation from James Woods' The Purchase Meeting, vividly depicts the confused elements of the social life of that time: "On great occasions such as the holding of a Quarterly Meeting, the population turned out en masse. Piety and worldliness both observed the day. The latter class gathered about the meeting- house, had wrestling matches and various athletic sports in the neighboring fields, and horse races on the adjacent roads. The meetings regularly appointed committees as a police force to keep order about the meeting-house dur- ing the time of worship and business." The Meeting not only provided no play opportunities, but it forbade the attendance of its members upon the "froUicks," which then were held, as nowadays they are held, in the countryside. A gathering with plenty to eat, and in those days a free indulgence in drink on the part TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 207 of the men, with music of the fiddler and dancing, this was a "f rollick" — that horror of the meeting-house elders. Indeed, it was of incidental moral detriment; for it was outlawed amusement, and being under the ban, was con- trolled by men beyond the influence or control of the meet- ing. The young people of the Quaker families, and some- times their elders, yielded to the fascinations of these gatherings. The unwonted excitement of meeting, the sound of music, playing upon the capacity for motor re- actions in a people living and laboring outdoors, inflamed beyond control by rum and hard cider, soon led to lively, impulsive activities and physical exertions, both in im- moderate excess and in disregard of all the inhibitions of tradition and of conscience. That there was a close rela- tion of these "frollicks" with the sexual immorality of the period is probable. The recreation of the body of the working population of the Hill was incidental to the religious assemblies. In these meetings they took an intense and a very human plceisure. Their solitary, outdoor labor was performed in an intense atmosphere of communal interaction. He who raised hogs was to sell them, not to a distant market, but to Daniel Merritt, or John ToflFey, the storekeepers. He who made shoes went from house to house, full of news, always talking, always hearing. He who wove heard not his creaking loom, but the voice of the storekeeper or of the neighbor to whom he would sell. The cheeses a woman pressed or wiped in a morning were to be sold, not far away to persons unseen, but to neighbors known, whose tastes were nicely ascertained and regarded. The result w£is that meetings on First Day and Fourth Day were times of intense pleasure, occasions of all-round interest; not mere business interest, but incidentally a large satisfaction of the play instinct, especially for the working and mature persons. The young, too, had their happiness and enjoyment of one another in a multitude of ways, in addition to those boisterous games. described 208 THE RURAL COMMUNITY above by Mr. James Wood. Their intense friendships and lively enterprises were probably not so easy to con- fine to the bounds of sober, staid meetings, but no less did their merry good spirits fill those assemblies. The Ideals of the Quakers In the introduction to Professor Carver's Sociology and Social Progress is a passage of great significance to one who would understand Quaker Hill, or indeed any com- munity, especially if it be religiously organized. The writer refers to: "a most important psychic factor, namely the power of idealization." This may be defined, not very accurately, as the power of making believe, a factor which sociologists have scarcely appreciated as yet. We have such popular expressions as "making a virtue of neces- sity," which indicates that there is a certain popular ap- preciation of the real significance of this power, but we have very little in the way of scientific appreciation of it. "One of the greatest resources of the human mind is its ability to persuade itself that what is necessary is noble or dignified or honorable or pleasant. For example, the greater part of the human race has been found to live under conditions of almost incessant warfare. War being a neces- sity from which there was no escape, it was a great ad- vantage to be able to glorify it, to persuade ourselves that it was a noble calling — in other words, a good in itself." «•••••• • The quotation from Professor Carver bears the impres- sion of incompleteness, or rather of suggestiveness. If "making a virtue of necessity" is ideeilization, is not sym- bolism also a form of "make believe"? If the "ability to persuade oneself that what is necessary is noble or dig- nified or honorable or pleasant," is exhibited on Quaker Hill as a "most important psychic factor," so is also the idealization of the commonplace the "making believe" that peace and plainness, that simple, old-fashined dress, TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 209 and seventeenth-century forms of speech are spiritual and are serviceable to the believing mind. The power of idealization is nowhere exhibited as a social force more clearly than in a Quaker community. Professor Carver's word, "make believe," is most accurate. Quakers act with all sincerity the drama of life, using costume and artificial speech, and attaching to all conduct peculiar mannerisms; casting over all action a special veil of com- placent serenity; all which are parts in their realization of the ideal of life. Their fundamental principle is that the divine spirit dwells and acts in the heart of every man ; not in a chosen few, not in the elect only, but in all hearts. Quaker Hill to this day acts this out, in that every person in the community is known, thought upon, reckoned and estimated by every other. Towns on either side have a neglected population area, but Quaker Hill has none. Pawling in its other neighborhoods has forgotten roads, despised cabins, in which dwell persons for whom nobody cares, drunkards, ill-doers, whom others forget and ig- nore. Quaker Hill ignores no one. There are, indeed, rich and poor, but the former employ the latter, know their state, enjoy their peculiarities, relish their humor. It has apparently always been so. Elsewhere I have de- scribed the measures taken by popular subscription to replace the losses suffered by the humbler members of the community, in the tools of life. ... It need not be said the poorer members bear the rich in mind. Every person resident on the Hill has come to partake in this sense of the community, this practice of new Quakerism. No one is out of sight and yet there is no dream of equality behind this communal sense. It is as far from a commu- nistic, as from a charitable state of mind. It is the result of years of belief in common men and common things. Before the period of the mixed community this power of idealization, of "making believe," had wrought its greatest effects, but it still has full course and power with- out highest direction. The minds of the residents of the 2IO THE RURAL COMMUNITY Hill are very suggestible; but the persons who have the power to implant the suggestion are no longer inspired as of old, with a sublime and unearthly ideal. They are only animated with an economic one. But the result is the same. It is social, rather than religious. It was one thing for the early Friends to cement together a commu- nity through the feeling that in every man was the spirit of God. A wonderful appetite was that for the assimila- tion of new members coming into the community. It was a doctrine that made all children birthright members of the Meeting and so of the community. But in our later time, between i8i95 and 1905, this power of "making believe" had suflFered the strain of a division of the Meeting. It was harder to believe that the Spirit of God was in all men, when hali the community was set off as "unorthodox." It had suffered the strain of seeing the wide social difference caused by money. Yet it bravely played the game. Children are not more adept at "mak- ing believe" than were these old Friends. They deceived even themselves; and their "pretending" assimilated into the communal life every newcomer. For it created underneath all differences a sense of oneness; it kept alive, in all divisions, many of the operations of unity. It com- pelled strangers and doctrinal enemies to "make believe" to be friends. I find it difficult to describe this elusive force of the communal spirit in the place, just as the communal char- acter of the place is itself evanescent, while always power- ful. I know clearly only this, that it proceeded, and still on Quaker Hill proceeds from the old religious inheritance, and from the present religious character of the place; that it tends directly to the creation of the community of all men, of all different groups, and that it is ready at hand at all time, to be called to the assistance of any one who knows how to appeal to that communal unity; and that it is a power of idealization, meaning by that "a power of making believe." In this power, I recognize this com- munity as being more expert and better versed than any I have ever known. TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 2ll The dramatic expression of an ideal has had great social power. Upon the casual observer or visitor it has wrought with the effect of a charm to impress upon them in a subtle way the ideal of Quakerism. Expressed in words, it would have no interest: acted out so quaintly, it awakens ad- miration, interest, and imitation, not of the forms, but always in some degree of the substance of the Quaker ideal. Thus the Quaker ideal has given authority to the Friends, especially to the older and more conservative of them; has furnished a subtle machinery for assimilat- ing new members into the community and thus has been an organizing power. Morals of the Quaker Community From the first the members found themselves subjected to a clear, simple standard, of morals. Its dominion was unbroken for one hundred years, and came to an end with the Division of the Meeting; though that event was a result as much as a cause of its termination. For one hun- dred years a local ethical code prevailed. While they lived apart the Quakers in their community life rejoiced in the unbroken sway of a communal code of morals, the obedience to which made for survival and economic suc- cess. When, with better roads to Poughkeepsie and to Fredericksburg, newcomers began to invade the com- munity; when, in 1849, the railroad came to the neighbor- hood, immersing the Quakers in the world economy, the Quaker code was insufficient, retarded rather than as- sisted survival, and rather forbade than encouraged suc- cess. It, therefore, lost its force. Only in a few individ- uals has it survived. The residents of the Hill, from their earliest settlement in 1728 to the time of the Division in 1828, knew no other government than that of the Meeting. They accepted no other authority, hoped for public good through no other agency, even read no other literature, than that of the Quaker Monthly Meeting of the Oblong. The religious 212 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Meeting-House was also the City Hall, State-House, and Legislature for the patriotism, as it was the focus of the worship and doctrinal activity of this population. This cannot be stated too strongly, for there was no limit to its effect. It explains many things otherwise diverse and unexplained. During all the periods of war the Quakers showed their separateness by refusing to pay taxes, lest they contribute to the support of armies. In the Revolution, the Meeting exercised unflinching discipline, for the purpose of keep- ing members out of the patriot armies, and punished with equal vigor those who paid for the privilege of exemption for military duty and those who enlisted in the ranks. In every act of the discipline of the Quaker Community appears the purpose of the Meeting, namely, to keep its members to itself and away from all other moral and spiritual control. This will appear in definite illustrations below. The standard of morals which the Meeting thus up- held with jealous care was a simple one, and logically de- rived from the distinctive doctrine of the Society of Friends. That the Spirit of God dwells in every man was their be- lief, and from 1650, when Fox was called "a Quaker" before Justice Bennett at Derby, England, to the Divi- sion in 1830, they applied this doctrine in practical, rather than in metaphysical ways. They were a moral rather than a theological people. It will appear in this chapter that only when the moral grip of the Meeting was broken in a division did doctrinal questions come to a discussion on the Hill. A sense of personal degradation underlay their opposi- tion to poverty among members. There is record of an order of the Meeting, in 1775, for the purchase of a cow " to loan to Joseph ." The practice thus early observed has since then been unbroken. The member of the com- munity who comes to want is at this day taken care of by popular subscription. Through the early century the TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 213 Meeting accomplished this end, sometimes by formal, sometimes by informal methods. In the later years of the nineteenth century, it was accomplished by special funds to which everybody gave. Thus simply was poverty forestalled. The family assisted soon came to self-support again. No debt was incurred, and no obligation remained to be discharged; but every member of the Meeting and of the community felt obliged to give and was glad to give to this anti-poverty fund. The basis of it seems to have been respect for human embodiments of the Divine Spirit. It is evident from the foregoing that the Meeting main- tained control over the community, at least of its own members, by possessing an effective power to approve or to disapprove of the economic and the marital condition of each individual. The code of morals practised in this community re- quired strict business honesty. The Quaker has moral discretion in economic affairs. He "expects to get what he pays for, and he expects to give what he has agreed." The honesty of "stroke-measure," by which bushels are topped off, the faithful performance of contracts and pay- ment of debts were inculcated by the Meeting and en- forced by its discipline. The Transition The whole character of the neighborhood was changed by a revolution in transportation. Not turnpikes effected the change, but railroads. The early years of the nine- teenth century were filled with expectation of new modes of travel. Robert Fulton was building his steamboat amid the derision of his contemporaries, and to their amaze- ment steaming up the Hudson against the tide. At that time Quaker Hill was the most prosperous com- munity for miles around. . . . The coming of the railroad changed the whole aspect of things. The demand for 214 THE RURAL COMMUNITY milk to be delivered by farmers at the railroad-station every day, and sold the next day in New York, began at once. It soon became the most profitable occupation for the farmers and the most profitable freight for the railroad. Eleven years after the first train entered Pawling, came the war, with inflated prices. The farmer found that no use of his land paid him so much cash as the "making of milk," and thereafter the raising of flax ceased, grain was cultivated less and less, except as it was to be used in the feeding of cattle, and even the fatting of cattle soon had to yield to the lowered prices occasioned by the importation of beef from western grazing lands. The making of butter and cheese, with the increased cost of labor on the farms, was abandoned, that the milk might be sold in bulk to the city middleman. The time had not come, however, in which farmers or their laborers imported condensed milk, or used none. Quaker Hill farmers lived too generously and substantially for that; but they ceased, during the Civil War, when milk was bought "at the platform" for six cents a quart, to make butter or cheese. Thus the Harlem Railroad transformed Quaker Hill from a community of diversified farming, producing, manu- facturing, selling, consuming, sufficient unto itself, into a locality of specialized farming. Its market had. been Poughkeepsie, twenty-eight miles away, over high hills and indifferent roads. Its metropolis became New York, sixty-two miles away by rail and four to eight miles by wagon-road. With the railroad's coming, the isolated homogeneous community scattered. The sons of the Quakers emigrated. Laborers from Ireland and other European lands, even negroes from Virginia, took their places. New Yorkers became residents on the Hill, which became the farthest terminus of suburban travel. The railroad granted com- muters' rates to Pawling, and twice as many trains as to any station farther out. The population of the Hill be- came diversified, while industries became simplified. In TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 215 the first century the people were one, the industries many. In the Period of the Mixed Community, in the second century, the people were many and the industries but one. I speak elsewhere of these elements of the mixed community. Suffice it to have traced here the simplifying of the economic life of the Hill, by the influence of the railroad, which made the neighborhood only one factor in a vaster industrial community, of which New York was the centre. When the Meeting-House and the Mer- ritt store were for a century the centres of a homogeneous Quaker community, it was a solid unit, of one type, doing varied things; when Wall Street and Broadway became the social and industrial centres, a varied people, no less unified, did but one thing. Economic Changes The growth of trade in John Toffey's store is summa- rized below. In this table may be seen also the growth of economic demand. The increase of the number of com- modities in each period evidences the acquirement of varied tastes by this people of the Hill. JOHN TOFFEY'S STORE Commodities 1814-16 1824 1833 Costume 5 5 5 25 29 18 18 38 36 21 24 Food and medicine Tools and materials House furnishings Daily wage $i.-$i.5o 65C.-75C. The above summary of the importations to the Hill in the years 1814-1833 casts light upon the social and religious history of the period in question, in which oc- curred the greatest social convulsion this community has ever known. In the year 1828 the Religious Society of the Friends was divided, never to be united, the integrity of the community as a social and religious unit was ended, 2l6 THE RURAL COMMUNITY the lies of a century were severed, and instead of the "unity" of which the Quakers are always so conscious, came mutual criticism, recrimination, and excommunica- tion of one-half of the community by the majority of the Meeting. Thus ended the communal life of Quaker Hill, and began the disintegration of the community which is now almost complete. We have, then, in John Toffey's day-book a reflection of conditions which had to do with the break up of the community, as truly as did the theological difference be- tween Elias Hicks and the Orthodox. Comfortable living, diversified and intensified industry, importation of ex- pensive and stimulating comforts, leisure with its sources in wealth and its tendencies toward reflection, and espe- cially a differentiation of the homogeneous community into diverse classes, owing to lowered wages and multi- plied embellishments of life, made up altogether the raw materials of discontent, criticism, and division. These factors go with a state of growing discontent and disintegration. The men and women possessed of leisure cultivated a humanist state of mind, with which arose a critical spirit, a nicer taste, and a cultured dis- crimination. They were offended by literalism, bored by crudeness, however much in earnest, and disgusted with the illogical assertions of pietists. The imperative mandate of the meeting awakened in them only opposi- tion. They found many to sympathize with their state of mind. On the other side there were those who seriously feared the incoming of luxurious ways. They distrusted books, remembering the values of one Book to the laborer who reads it alone ; they believed in plainness, and their minds associated freedom of dress with freedom of thought. They resented the new privileges conferred on some by wealth, because to most had come only harder work with discon- tent. TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 21 7 The schism which rent the community was an economic heresy, the belief in the use of money for the embellish- ment of life. All the Quakers regarded with favor the making of money. The Liberals, however, saw ends be- yond money, and processes of ultimate value beyond ad- ministration and business. They looked for household comforts, books, travels, and the leisure with great souls who have written and have expressed the greatest truths. They believed in a divinity such as could have made, and regarded with favor, the whole teeming world. The Orthodox saw the values of prosperity only in plainness of life, recognized no divinity in humanized manners, and, sternly but ineffectually, called the com- munity back to idealized commonplaceness, and to hear the utterances of rude ploughmen and cobblers in the name of Deity. One ventures to believe, too, that there was a falling away from all religious exercises at this time, and that the pious of both schools were troubled about, and accused one another. The poor were too hard worked and too poorly paid to feel anything but discontent; and the leaders of the community differed as to the solution of the religious problem. Hence came division. The Quakers were conscious of religious "unity," but their mode of life is a true economic unity. The Quaker Community was rearranging itself economically, but the members felt a religious change. Class division was com- ing upon them, and they felt it as a sectarian division. It was indeed the end of the old community ruled by re- ligion, and the formation of a new neighborhood life; a new Quakerism, ruled by economic classes: the persons of influence being invariably persons of means and the dominating leaders rich. Doubtless the Quakers who led in the Division of 1828 hoped, in each party equally, to maintain the old religious domination. The community has never granted that leadership to the divided Meeting, neither to the Orthodox, nor to the Hicksites. The real power has, since a period antedating the division, been 2l8 THE RURAL COMMUNITY in the hands of those who have owned farms centrally located; who, in addition to owning land centrally located, have been possessed of large means: the "rich men" and "wealthy women" have possessed a monopoly of actual leadership. If, also, they have been religiously inclined, their leadership has been absolute. The Mixed Community from 1880 to the Present Among the changes wrought by the railroad was the introduction of new social elements into the community. The Quaker population had become divided into rich and poor, but all were of the same general stock. The parents of all had the same experience to relate. Their fathers had come to Quaker Hill in the early or middle part of the eighteenth century, had endured together the hard- ships of pioneer days, had known the "unity" of Quaker discipline for one hundred years, and had held loyally to the ideas and standards of Quakerism. With the approach of the railroad came Irish laborers, who settled first in the valley below, generally in the limits of Pawling village, and later came on the Hill as workers on the farms in the new forms of dairy industry to which the farmers were stimulated by the railroad. This im- migration continued from 1840 until i860. In that time, a period of about twenty years, there came laborers for almost all the farmers on the Hill. I am informed that in the decade following the Civil War the work on all the farms, "from Wing's corner to the North End," was done by young Irishmen. The first Irishmen of this immigration whose names appear on the tax-lists of the town of Pawling are Owen and Patrick Denany, who are assessed upon one hundred acres in 1845, the land upon which they first settled being in the western part of the town. These two brothers came before the railroad was extended to Pawling, in 1840. In 1867 Patrick moved to Quaker Hill and bought a place, midway between Sites 128 and 131. Thomas Guilshan in TYPES OP COMMUNITIES 219 1858 and years following was taxed upon nine acres, the land upon which his widow still lives, at Site 93. John Brady lived for years at Site 71, and in a house now re- moved except for traces of a cellar, about fifty feet south- eeist of the Akin Free Library, lived Charles Kieman. Among the earliest Irish Catholics came James CuUom and Margaret, his wife, who acquired land at Site 34. Other names of the early Irish generations are Hugh Clark, who acquired land at Site 116, James Rooney, Fergus Fahey, James Doyle, Kate Leary, James Hopper, who settled in Pawling or Hurd's Corner, and David Burns who became a landowner at Site 117. The Irish Catholics early differentiated into two classes, only one of which, with their children, remain to the pres- ent day. There were the "loose-footed fellows," who followed the railroad, worked for seasons on the farms, drifted on with the renewal of demand for railroad laborers, and disappeared from the Hill. Their places were taken, in the years following 1880, by American laborers, and a very few other foreigners, of whom I will speak below. The other class of Irish Catholics sought to own land. The details given above indicate their promptness in ac- quiring interest in the soil. From them has been recruited almost all the present Catholic population of the Hill, which in 1905 amounted in all to twenty-five households and one hundred persons. Whereas the early immigration of Irish worked in all the dairies from one end of the Hill to the other, the land owned by Irish-Americans now is all in the central por- tion of the Hill, within a radius of one mile from Mizzen- Top Hotel. Within this mile, also, all the Irish laborers employed on the Hill are at work. They are employed about the Hotel, on the places of the wealthier landowners of the Hill, and in such independent trades as stone-mason, blacksmith, or wheelwright. Only an occasional Irish- American is found among the hired hands on the dairy farms. In contrast to the indifference of the original population of the town to education, it is worthy of note that the 220 THE RURAL COMMUNITY grandson of an Irish-American named above promises at this writing to be the first youth born in the town to graduate from a higher institution of learning, being in his last year at West Point. The Catholic population of the Hill is now equal to the Quaker population, there being of each twenty-five house- holds; the old and the new. But each has gone through striking changes since the Catholics came, sixty years ago. "When I was a boy," says a prominent Irish-Amer- ican, "you could hardly see the road here for the carriages and the dust, all of them Quakers going to the Old Meet- ing-House, on Sunday, or to Quarterly Meeting. But now they are all gone." The religious faithfulness of those Friends of two generations ago has descended upon no part of the population more fully than upon the handful of Catholic families, who now drive to Pawling every Sunday in great wagon-loads, while the members of the Quaker households have closed their meeting-houses for- ever. It was said above that Quaker Hill has shown great power of assimilating foreign material, and of causing newcomers to be possessed of the communal spirit. The agency which from the first accomplished this was religious idealization, embodied in the Meeting, the dress, language, and manners of Friends. Generally, the Meeting was re- cruited from births, and members were such by birthright. In former times the community and the Meeting were one. The assimilating of foreign material by social imi- tation to the Quaker type, and into organic subjection to the Quaker Hill community, was wrought by six agencies. They were language, manners, costume, amusements, worship, and morals. In each of these the Quakers were peculiar. In the use of the "plain language" the Quakers had a machinery of amazing and subtle fascination for holding the attention, purifying the speech, and disciplining TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 221 the whole deportment of the young and the newcomer. No one has ever been addressed with the use of his first name by grave, sweet ladies and elderly saints, without its beginning an influence and exerting a charm he could not resist; the more so that the Quaker, in so doing, is guarding his own soul, rather than seeking to save his hearer. The word that has formed the social mind of Quaker Hill has been not "the Spirit," not "the inner light," but "orthodoxy" or "plainness." For this community, it must be remembered, had no great thinkers. It discour- aged study, stiffened reason in formulas, and dissolved thinking in vision. To its formulas the Hill has been ex- ceedingly devoted. He who upheld them was accepted, and he who rejected them, as well as he who ignored them, was to the early Quaker Hill as if he did not exist. This shibboleth has indeed always been religious. Even to-day the way of direct access to the common heart is a religious one. Catholic as well as Protestant, Quaker no more and no less than "the world's people," welcome religious approaches, respect confessions, and believe ex- periences. Nothing can assemble them all which does not originate in religion and clothe itself in religious sanc- tion. History is religious history. Business prosperity is approved when prosperity has followed religious pro- fession. In all these matters Quaker Hill was a population socialized by religion. Central to it all was the worship of the Meeting on First Day, and on other occasions; and the great solemnity of the annual Quarterly Meeting. Fascinated by the "silence that can be felt," men came from far. They would come as readily to-day. They went away under the domination of the idea of pure and spiritual faith, which kept a whole houseful of men silent for an hour in communion. 222 THE RURAL COMMUNITY As I have looked into this matter it has seemed to me that the induction to be drawn from the history of Quaker Hill is this: Religion was a true organizing power for this social population. Whatever the meeting determinedly strove to do, it accomplished. If it had tried to do more it would have succeeded. The ideal of the common mind of Quaker Hill is the practice of inner and immaterial religion. It looks for the effect of certain dogmas, effects expressed in emo- tions, convictions, experiences. The ideal contains no thought of the community or of its welfare. It is purely individual, internal, and emotional. It was a mind consciously framed to serve personal development, with no thought of public or common in- terests. Yet, subconsciously the Quaker was acutely aware of common interests. A Quaker frequently uses the ex- pression " I feel myself in unity with them." Their doc- trine of the indwelling of the divine in every man made them quick to feel common emotion. Their group-sym- pathy was lively and strong. They felt the community, though they never thought upon it. Subconsciously, though not consciously, they were public-spirited. They acted upon a fine social spirit, though they taught no social gospel. I think the end for which the Quaker Hill population have lived could be called Individual-Social. They are consciously individual, and unconsciously, inevitably social. These people have sought, generation after generation, for personal salvation and personal gain. "And that," says a resident, "that is why the place is dying." Yet, the com- mon interest was a logical corollary of the Quaker doctrine of God in every man, and, therefore, a community was formed, a community indeed which was no one's conscious care. In the chapter upon "The Common Mind," above, I have shown that all the leaders of the community as tYP£S OF COMMtTNlTtES H^ a whole, save one, have been outsiders, who came to see the integrity of the community with eyes of "the world's people," and these leaders in communal service have been grudgingly followed. VI. THE SCHOOL COMMUNITY 1. PLEASANT HILL (From A Rural Survey of Lane County, Oregon, Country Church Work Board of Home Missions Presbyterian Church in the U. S. A., 1916) The most clearly defined, and in many respects the most interesting open-country community in Lane County, has its centre on Pleasant Hill, twelve miles southeast of Eu- gene, between the Coast Fork and the Middle Fork of the Willamette. Here the five neighborhoods of Eden- vale, Coastfork, Enterprise, Trent, and Pleasant Hill join in supporting the oldest open-country high school in Ore- gon. Earlier histories of Lane County speak of the village of Pleasant Hill. There never was such a village. There is no feeling of diversity of interests between the people at the centre of trade and those on the outskirts of the high-school district. The store, the new blacksmith-shop, the district school, the church, the hall, the cemetery, and the high school border the road at dignified distances which make it clear that here is no thought of an organized town. Until recently the store was a mile and a half from the blacksmith-shop. The Pleasant Hill neighborhood grew up about the farm of Elijah Bristow, first settler in Lane County. Bristow, a veteran of the War of 1812, sturdy pioneer, member of the Disciples of Christ, father of fifteen, was a native of Kentucky, but came to California in 1845 as an emigrant from Illinois. In 1846, he came to Oregon and in 1848 took a donation land claim, built the first house in Lane County and later asked the Legislature for permission to name his farm Pleasant Hill. Bristow and his family entered upon this fertile land 224 THE RURAL COMMUNITY and possessed it with a thoroughness which must be con- sidered the most significant factor in establishing the unity of the Pleasant Hill community. They initiated and for many years controlled the religious and educational ac- tivities of the community. For more than fifty years the centre of the Pleasant Hill community remained where Bristow made the first settlement. The stones of the chimney of his house are Map Showing Location and Extent of Pleasant Hill Community now preserved in a memorial watering-trough in front of the post-office, only a few hundred yards from the site of the original building. In the spring of 1910, when the site of the union high school was definitely fixed, the real centre of the district may be said to have moved some- what. The high school was established in 1907. When the proposition was made by the County Superintendent and some members of the faculty of the University of Oregon, to organize the first open-country high school in Oregon, the five districts comprising the neighborhoods of Eden- TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 225 vale, Trent, Coastfork, Enterprise, and Pleasant Hill, voted without any serious opposition to make the experi- ment. Union High School Number One is the strongest force now operating to hold the Pleasant Hill community to- gether. It was established just in time. Otherwise, the community would even now be breaking up, following a tendency toward disintegration that becomes more notice- able as the farms fill up with people who knew not Elijah and who owe no allegiance to the Christian Church. From the first the high school has offered four years of work. For six years it has graduated at least seven students an- nually. The high school holds within its student body practically the entire high-school population of the district, some forty young men and women. Nothing but the high school could have preserved the integrity of the community against the influence of the small towns by which it is surrounded. Each of these towns has a logical claim to some part of the Pleasant Hill territory, but not one of them can at present effectively enforce its claim, because not one of them can offer to the country people any social or educational advantages su- perior to those at present available in the ppen country. Goshen, geographically an ideal grange and trade eentre, ought naturally to serve the Coastfork neighborhood. There is a good level road from Coastfork to Goshen. Goshen is on the railroad and the Pacific Highway. Yet the people of Coastfork look up toward the Hill. What is more, the young people of Goshen itself find their best high-school opportunities on Pleasant Hill. Here we have the phenomenon of children leaving town and railroad to go to high school in the country, a phenomenon easily understood when we realize how completely Goshen has failed to live up to its possibilities. Jasper, long connected with Edenvale by ford and ferry, now has a bridge. Jasper is on the Oakridge railroad and has some advantages in price-making which the thrifty farmers of Edenvale are quick to appreciate. But the same bridge which carries some trade across to Jasper, 226 THE RURAL COMMUNITY makes access more easy from Jasper to the union high school and another small town becomes tributary to the educational centre in the open country. Jasper is some- thing of a centre for the young people who like to dance. A public dance is a thing unheard of on the Hill. The Christian Church at Jasper has been making some effort to serve people of all denominations. Dexter, being ofif the railroad and up-stream, is the least formidable rival of Pleasant Hill. Much of the high school district is served by rural free delivery from Creswell. This well-established country town would have become the high school town for much of the present union district had not the country high school been established. The church at Pleasant Hill is not a unifying influence except with people of its denomination. The oldest church in the county, with a fine new building, it serves a com- paratively small number of people and renders this service without a resident pastor. The preaching is usually done by a student from the Bible University at Eugene. A resident pastor of the right type would probably supply the one influence necessary to make the rural com- munity of Pleasant Hill proof against the disintegrating influences which may radiate from Jasper and Goshen. There is no sufficient reason to suppose that the Methodist Church at Trent or the Church of God at Enterprise will become a community church in the near future. The annual picnic at Pleasant Hill is the biggest gather- ing of its kind in the county. The neighborhood has much subconscious respect for its traditions and some conscious- ness of the significance of being the eldest of Lane County communities. This feeling is particularly in evidence on picnic day. The several organizations, high school, Sun- day-school, and choir, do not co-operate in managing the picnic — they take turns. Pleasant Hill has no grange. Its people are by no means fully converted to the gospel of scientific farming. Most of them, however, care enough for their farms to hold on to them. To-day, as in the early days, most of the farms on TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 227 the Hill are homes and the dwellers look to the soil rather than to speculation for their living. This comparative stability of population, together with the development of the high school, has thus far preserved the integrity of the Pleasant Hill community, in the face of seemingly adverse geographical and economic condi- tions. The people have many of the lessons of co-operation yet to learn, but from all present indications, they stand a better chance of learning these lessons in the open country, than under the tutelage of any of the neighboring towns. VII. THE "EXCEPTIONAL" COMMUNITY (From A Rural Survey in Maryland, by Dept. of Church and Country Life Board of Home Missions of the Presbyterian Church in the U. S. A., 1912) 1. SANDY SPRING NEIGHBORHOOD Sandy Spring is not a town or village or civil division of any sort, but a natural division, a neighborhood, whose people are united by the bonds of religion and blood kin- ship, and contrasted more or less sharply with the people of the adjoining territory by differences of thought, feel- ing, and custom. The first settlement was made by the Society of Friends and the community has always been under their predominant influence. The limits of the sec- tion at present occupied by this community are clearly defined. Most of the territory lies within the Olney Dis- trict, but a part of the Colesville District, as far east as Spencerville, is included. The real centre of the community is in the vicinity of the Sandy Spring Post-Office where are located the meeting-houses, the school, the Lyceum Hall, the old library, and the banks, institutions upon which the life of the community has been built. There is no town or railroad within 10 miles of this point. It is not easy to say just when the first settlement was made, but the earliest land records date from the begin- ning of the eighteenth century, having to do with grants 228 THE RURAL COMMUNITY of land some of which are still in part held by the families to which they were originally patented. There are records of a considerable number of land transfers prior to 1750. The Friends' Meeting, always the mainspring of the com- munity life, has had a recorded existence since 1753, a mention of it being contained in the minutes of the Monthly Meeting at the Cliffs and Herring Creek under that date. Many incidents in the subsequent history of this com- munity are highly important for an understanding df its present, and would be exceedingly interesting ; but^e can only pass them hastily in review. Before the opening of the Revolutionary War, the meeting took up "the testi- mony against slavery"; 1775 may be set as the approxi- mate date after which there was no settled policy of slave- holding in Sandy Spring. Economically, as well as in other ways, the freeing of the slaves was a step attended by important results, and the subsequent experiment of free-labor owning the soil proved this to be a sounder economic policy than the slaveholding system which it displaced. Shortly after 1830 local option was voted for the terri- tory adjacent to the meeting-house, nearly 50 years be- fore it was voted for the county as a whole. And it is safe to say that it was the influence of this community, work- ing through those many years, which ultimately brought about the victory of the temperance cause in the county. Many institutions, closely associated with the develop- ment of the community life, and still enjoying a flourish- ing existence, had their beginnings about the middle of the nineteenth century. In 1842 a Library Company was organized and a library started at Sandy Spring. In 1844 the first Farmers' Club for men, and in 1857 the first club for women were organized. These were probably the earliest societies of their kind to be organized in the United States. The next twenty years witnessed the organiza- tion of four other societies. In 1858 the Lyceum Stock Company was formed and the Lyceum Hall was built. Here began one of the most interesting of local institutions. It was found difiicult to muster a quorum for the annual TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 229 business meeting of the Stock Company. The brilliant idea was conceived of appointing an AnnaHst, a neighbor- hood historian, who should keep the record of all hap- penings and read that record at each annual meeting. The first historian was appointed in 1863. It was the wisdom of experience that knew that people always like to hear themselves talked about. The annual meeting never thereafter lacked a quorum. After a number of years the Annals were published in book form; three volumes/have been issued to date, giving the history of Sandy ppring from its earliest records. And now, after 50 years, though the Lyceum Hall is little used, the Lyceum Stock Company is a flourishing institution, and interest in the Annals is as keen as ever. The Mutual Fire Insurance of Montgomery County began operations in 1848. The Savings Institution was established in 1868. The first turnpike in this section was built in i860. A railroad has been "about to be built at once" for more than fifty years. In 1872, the first annual convention of Farmers' Clubs of Montgomery County was held. The Olney Grange weis organized at about this time. The Maryland Woman's Suffrage Association was originated here in 1889. Something of the significance of these various institutions, all of which are still in existence, will be discussed at a later point. The interesting thing to be noted here is that this community should so early have developed many of those social institutions which most rural districts, by a long and painful process of education are just now being brought to see the vital im- portance of, and that it should have maintained them and enlarged them as it has. There is much that is interesting also in the economic development of the community. Beginning with soil naturally rather poor, it subjected it to the same exhaus- tive tobacco cultivation that prevailed through the re- mainder of the county. Here, as elsewhere, the price of land dropped to a very low figure, reaching its lowest point about 1835. On account of this deterioration of the soil some slight tendency to emigration westward appeared. 2^0 THE RURAL COMMUNITY The first fertilizer experiments were made about this time with lime. In 1838 there were 19 lime kilns within a short radius, the stone being brought 5 to 10 miles. Subsequent experiments demonstrated the value of bone-dust. In 1844, Peruvian Guano was introduced. The new methods of agriculture which followed these experiments ushered in a period of rapidly increasing prosperity. To-day the soil of this section is more than ordinarily fertile, and the farmers are more than ordinarily prosperous, results brought about by 60 years of superior farming. No other section of this county and few farming sections anywhere show to a more marked degree the evidences of a sub- stantial prosperity, fine homes, excellent farm buildings, well-kept farms, strong banks, and a strong school and church meeting the needs of rural life. In 1900, the white population of the Sandy Spring neighborhood was estimated at about 700, and the colored population at about 1,000. It is unlikely that there has been much change since that time. The white population has been exceedingly stable. Not all the people living within the limits of the neighborhood belong, strictly speaking, to the community. But of those who are mem- bers of the Sandy Spring social group, at least 90 per cent are of the families of "old residents." These families are practically all interrelated. We have said that the community has always been pre- dominantly under the influence of the Society of Friends, and this still holds true. Within recent years, some of other faiths have been received as members of the group, but they are also for the most part old residents. During the summer there is always an influx of people from near- by cities, whose annual coming has wrought social changes of some importance. But in general we may say that we are here concerned with a group very highly homogeneous. The distinctive Friend's dress has been abandoned, and among the younger generation the distinctive speech is to some extent being dropped. This is a population whose main characteristics are re- markably permanent and who have attained a rare sort TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 23 1 of social solidarity which permits them to retain the in- stitutions of the past while still making room for the best that the present has to offer. They cling tenaciously to many of their old traditions; societies and customs are very often much longer lived than are the individuals who father them ; yet no community has been readier to adopt improved methods of agriculture or more active in the support of reform and progress along all lines. We have, moreover, a highly cultured group, strong in its advocacy of good schools and thorough education. Illiteracy is altogether absent here, while indolence and shiftlessness are practically so. It would doubtless be easy to show that this uniformly high cultural level is fundamentally responsible for the high degree of prosperity which the community has been able to maintain. The usual rural-community problem of holding the young people has been a more or less vital issue here. During the last 50 years 75 or 80 young men have gone out into business in various parts of the world. The farms have been divided as much as is economically desirable, and there has seemed to be nothing to hold these young people. But many of the farms are now being operated by an older generation, and in many instances there are no young men in their families who can be looked to to carry them on. The Annalist cites that in 1884 there were 77 spinsters in the community. A similar comment might be made of the present. Within the next 50 years a period of reorganization, with possible disintegration, must be faced. Institutions of long standing will be sub- jected to a severe test in such a period of transition as seems inevitable. The vitality of this community is very high. It is not practicable to separate out the vital statistics for this neighborhood from the statistics for the entire county, but it is abundantly evident that if this could be done a very low death-rate would be shown. There are more than 20 people in this group who are 80 years of age or older. A year or so ago, the average age of the 13 directors of the Savings Institution was over 70 years. 232 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Throughout the community the average length of life is great. In many ways this neighborhood keeps in close touch with the outer world, and this in spite of the fact that it is ten miles from a railroad. Those of its members who have left to take up residence in the cities usually remain in some sort of close touch with the community to its de- cided advantc^e. The annual summer visitor serves some- what the same purpose. A large proportion of the young people go away to schools and colleges, many of them re- turning to Sandy Spring to live. Then, too, there has been a more than ordinary amount of travelling by mem- bers of the community. The Annals record many trips to the large cities of the country, visits in the North or far West, and tours through Europe; for example, 140 people from this neighborhood attended the Chicago World's Fair in 1892. All this has tended to give to their life many semi-urban characteristics. The negroes of this section are for many reasons in- teresting enough to deserve extended mention. This Sur- vey however made little attempt to study them except for their churches and schools. These are discussed for the entire county in another place and will not be con- sidered here. Reference is again made to the special study of the negroes of Sandy Spring by Prof. William Taylor Thom, published as a part of the Bulletin of the Depart- ment of Labor, No. 32, under date of January, 1901. This is a very careful and exhaustive study and precludes any necessity of discussing further the topics of which it treats. In many respects the criticisms which are usually di- rected against agricultural communities are here disarmed. For example, it is customary to say that the farmer lacks organization, that his social life is at low ebb, and that he has altogether inadequate recreation facilities. Such com- ments would be pointless as regards Sandy Spring, for it is at just these points that the community is most highly developed. Fraternal organizations do not prosper, but it is because there seems to be no need for them. The TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 233 place which they would occupy in the social life of the group is otherwise well filled. Here, as elsewhere, societies have come and gone. The Annals contain records of various organizations no longer in existence. But more often they have come than gone. As long as an organization performs any real function it is maintained. There are at least six societies forty or more years old. Nineteen societies now enjoying vigorous health may be enumerated. Ten of these are in some sense agri- cultural societies. A list follows, giving the name, number of meetings per month (expressed % or %, meaning one meeting a month or two meetings a month), the member- ship and, in some cases, the average attendance at the meetings (expressed 75-50, meaning membership 75, at- tendance 50), and the date of organization in the case of societies more than 40 years old. The Agricultural soci- eties are marked by an*. FOR MEN ONLY * Montgomery Farmers' Club : >^. 16 & 3 honorary. 1872. * The Senior Club : }4- i6. 1844. * The Enterprise Club : %. 16. 1865. The Physicians' Social Club : %. 9. * The Sandy Spring Fruit Growers' Association: 26. * The Milk Producers' Association of Md., Va.,and D. C: 450. (This is an interstate organization with con- siderable local strength.) * The Pigeon Club: %. 17. (For boys.) FOR LADIES ONLY The Benevolent Aid Society. The W. C. T. U. (four branches in this vicinity.) The Association for Mutual Improvement : 1857. 45-70. The Wednesday Club : %. 36-25. October to June. FOR BOTH SEXES * The Olney Grange No. 7; }4- 89-50. The Lyceum Stock Company. 234 THE RURAL COMMUNITY The Montgomery Co. Woman's Suffrage Assoc: lOO. * The Horticultural Society: }i. 75-50. 1863. May to October. * The Home Interest Society: %. 25-25. 1870. * The Neighbors' Society: %. 50-50. The Whist Club: yi. 50. The Book Club: Two branches; 30 families in each. Several of these organizations have already been dis- cussed in previous sections, as, for instance, the Fruit Growers' and the Milk Producers' Associations. Some- thing of the significance of the other agricultural clubs will be taken up later. For the present it will be sulificient to in- dicate the sort of work which is undertaken by these soci- eties. Both the men's societies and those which are for both men and women combine social features with the dis- cussion of all manner of topics important to their members as farmers. They give opportunity for informal meeting, as well as for the exchange of ideas. The programme of a meeting of one of these clubs may be cited as typical. This is taken from a meeting of the Home Interest Society on the night of the 26th of February last. Although it was raining very hard sixteen members and some eight or ten guests were assembled by six o'clock, some of them having driven upwards of five miles. The order of the evening was as follows: i. Supper — the rule of the club stipulates that this shall always be a' one-course meal, a rule which is observed in letter but not in spirit. (We might at this point interject the observation that a monumental banquet is a feature of almost every gathering of this neighbor- hood.) 2. Music and informal conversation. 3. The reading of the minutes of the last meeting held at this house and also of the last regular meeting. 4. Vote on proposed members. 5. Reports of the various commit- tees. (a) The committee of delegates to a recent anti-saloon league convention, (6) The peace committee. A committee appointed to inform the senator of this State of the favorable attitude TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 235 of this club toward the peace treaties, then pending in Congress. (c) The committee appointed to prepare a memorial to the deceased daughter of two of the members. {d) The forethought committee, whose advice to the club was to trim the grape-vines, to have oxate of lead ready to spray them, etc., regarding blackberries and rhubarb and vegetables. 6. One of the members told of a recent visit to Ber- muda, and described the way its farmers raised three crops of potatoes a year, and perform other like agricultural miracles. 7. Questions and discussion. (c) "I should like to read a letter from a student of the Maryland Agricultural College, who would like a job for the summer. Will any one need the help of such a young man?" {b) "We are going to build a tenant house. Should we build a cellar under it? The tenants will probably not keep it sanitary. Will such a cellar do more harm than good ?" This was discussed pro and con, the pros having it. (c) "Has anybody been able to keep cabbage this winter?" Some have by putting leaves on it. {d) "What kind of asparagus root would you plant? How old should it be? How should one plant it?" (Answer too technical for the investigators to grasp.) (e) "If cider freezes will it make vinegar?" Better get some "new mother" and put in it. (/) "Has any one any hens setting?" No, not even laying. (g) "How should I make rebellious cream butter?" Use buttermilk as a starter. (A) "I have a colored man who has been forty-five years on my place. Several years now he has not been able to do a half a man's work. I have continued to pay him full wages, higher than most farm hands receive in this district. He has never saved any of his money nor made any attempt to do so. He is now 65 years old. 236 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Living with him are his wife, daughter, and mother-in- law, who all depend upon him for support. Shall I con- tinue to pay this man his full wages, shall I turn him out, or what shall I do with him ?" Here was indeed a fine ethical question, which was dis- cussed at some length without arriving at any definite conclusion, but it was the sense of the club that the ques- tioner had fulfilled his duty and that the problem had now become one of charity. Following this an adjournment was taken at ten o'clock. From this it will be seen that a great variety of topics relating to every aspect of farm life and work are discussed in these clubs. In the men's clubs more technical ques- tions of fertilization, of methods of planting, of stock- breeding, and many similar branches of farming are dis- cussed. The Pigeon Club is doing for the boys what these other clubs do for their elders. Its scope is wider than its name. In it the boy receives preliminary initiation into the mys- teries of the farm. This club holds an annual poultry- show at the Lyceum Hall. The social significance of these clubs is very great. The week of the full moon is always a steady round of festivi- ties, as most of these societies date by the moon. Even if the community had no other opportunity for recreation than that furnished by its clubs, it would be better pro- vided for than is the average rural community. However, the activities of the clubs do not begin to exhaust the list of amusements of this neighborhood. Each season has its lectures and its musicals, at least two or three of each, and a half-dozen or more of home-talent plays and school entertainments. These are held in the school assembly- room or in the Lyceum Hall, and are usually very well attended. The same sort of a change has been going on here as elsewhere in the county, during the last thirty years or more. Lecturers on sober topics do not now speak to the large, enthusiastic audiences that once faced them. However, these entertainments, of whatever sort, are all of more than ordinary high class. There are usually four TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 237 or five dances a season in the Assembly Hall, sponsored by the High School. These are invitation dances with an admission fee. The average attendance is fifty, plus plenty of chaperons. A number of other dances are usually held in the Grange Hall at OIney or in private homes. On the road between Ashton and Ednor there is a club- house which has been in process of completion for a num- ber of years. It is still rather airy for winter use, but oc- casional dances are held there during the summer, per- haps four a season. In addition to these forms of amuse- ment there are all the various outdoor activities of a well- organized community. There are three tennis-courts in Sandy Spring, and many play. There is an annual tourna- ment which attracts considerable interest. The High School has a baseball team, and during the summer there is a neighborhood team. The games are all fairly well attended. There is no admission charged. Of course, there is the annual game of the "Hasbeens" and the " Never-were-anything-muches," without which the life of no community would be complete. Basket-ball and soccer are played at the High School. There are many private picnics and outings during the course of the year. This is an exceedingly social neigh- borhood, due in part to the fact that its people are so closely interrelated, and there is in consequence a great deal of social visiting. If it is true that the problem of the main- tenance of a high standard of social morality is very vitally connected with the problem of providing adequate recrea- tion facilities, then one would expect to find here, what is actually found, that the moral plane is quite above the average. The term moral is used in a broad sense. It is evident that not only are all gross violations of the ac- cepted conventions quite absent; but also the lesser vices of social intercourse, those things which are the making of neighborhood scandals, the gossipings and petty dis- honesties are conspicuously absent. The discipline of the Friends' meeting admonishes its members to observe simplicity, to encourage kindness and gentle dignity, and to guard against corrupt conversation. The spirit of this 238 THE RURAL COMMUNITY discipline prevailing in the community means the culti- vation of social virtues of high order. The entire organization of the community, in fact, serves this same end. This is not the place to discuss the char- acteristics of the Friends' religion, other than to say that it is a religion that concerns itself vitally with the affairs of common life, with the dress and conversation, and the daily deportment of its people. The meeting occupies a much larger place in the total life of the neighborhood than a church usually fills in this age. We have reserved the discussion of the real social im- pact of such institutions as the Club and the Meeting for a later paragraph. The one aspect of the religious life which concerns us here is the philanthropic work of the Meeting. A new plan has just been adopted for carrying out this philanthropic work, which a member of the Meet- ing, in a letter to the investigators, describes as follows: "That the whole Meeting be constituted a philanthropic com- mittee, with a call during our business proceedings in the second, fifth, eighth, and eleventh months: "That a superintendent be appointed for each branch of our philanthropic work, to make a detailed report to the Meeting at least once a year, in the eighth month, and at other periods as they deem necessary: "That the following branches of social service be selected: " Peace and arbitration. " Purity and Demoralizing Publications. "Work among Colored People, also for Women and Children. "Tobacco and Narcotics. "Temperance, Prisons, Asylums, and Hospitals. "Lotteries, Gambling, and Kindred Vices. "Equal Rights for Women." The variety and scope of these interests will be at once remarked. Closely associated with this philanthropic work, though done, for the most, quite informally, is the care which the community takes of its poor and unfortunate. No one living within the bounds of the neighborhood is know- ingly suffered to be in want. This does not apply only to the members of the Meeting but to all, white and colored TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 239 alike. This is a well-established practice, which permits the one in need to accept help as readily as it is offered without loss of self-respect. As regards the negroes, this attitude of helpfulness has always expressed itself in very practical ways. Since the members of the Meeting first manumitted their slaves and declared themselves com- mitted to freedom from bondage and equal opportunity for all, they and their descendants have encouraged the colored churches, supported the schools, and assisted the negroes to reach and maintain a condition of economic independence. The main school of the neighborhood is admirably adapted for the needs of country life. We may anticipate the discussion of educational conditions in the county sufficiently to sketch the main characteristics of the school at Sandy Spring. It is the outgrowth of a long established Friends' school, taken over by the county some years ago. The old building was enlarged and remodelled. It is now a modern rural school in every respect, with eleven grades, offering four-year courses in Elementary Agriculture, Do- mestic Science, and Music. It has an efficient teaching force, and material equipment reasonably ample for all its needs. Provision is made for the social and recreational life of the pupils. The school is under the influence of the Friends, whose educational ideals are notably high. There are other elementary schools within the borders of the neighborhood, but the educational life of the com- munity centres about this High School. The social organization of this neighborhood is sharp and distinct. There are three economic and three social classes. Class lines are definitely drawn. Among the members of the Sandy Spring social group, there is a dis- tinct class consciousness. There is no wealth qualifica- tion for admittance to this circle, but the qualifications of education, morality, and congeniality. Another class is composed partly of farm owners and partly of tenants. A third class is the group of laborers and small renters. This last-named class have little or no social life. They are within the neighborhood, but are not of it. The second 240 THE RURAL COMMUNITY class mentioned is somewhat more compact than these. But practically, we may say, the Sandy Spring community means that social group which we have been discussing. Class consciousness is here a form of community con- sciousness. The question of social control within this group is a peculiarly interesting one. There are forces at work which have long since produced a distinctive type and which now induce adherence to it. There are forces working for the continuity of social institutions and for a high form of what we may call social cohesion. There is, for example, the force of their common religion, distinctive and dif- ferent from the faith of the people round about them. This serves both to separate them from others and to bind them closely together. Had the line of cleavage here been less distinct it is doubtful if the community could have retained its individuality through so long a period of time. Then too this is, as we have said, a religion which emphasizes practical ideals dealing directly with neigh- borhood activities and associations, and having intimate relation with all that is important in their daily life. The Meeting provides for them a programme of service as well as a stimulus to worship, and by working together, so con- stantly and in such a diversity of ways the social group becomes solidified. This result is made the easier of achievement since the membership of the Meeting has always included practically all of those who are prominent in the community socially. The Annals, which we have mentioned, affect the com- munity in helping it to maintain a sense of its own con- tinuity. The present is intimate with the past to a degree not at all true of the typical rural community. There is a constant awakening of the memory of former days ; and a consequent cherishing of community ideals and stand- ards; promoting, in turn, the persistence of all neighbor- hood interests. As long as a community is unable to for- get its own history, especially when that history is a dis- tinctively worthy and inspiring one, it is impossible for it to sink far below the level of its past. TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 24 1 The various forms of neighborhood activity, past and present, which have found outward expression in such institutions as the school, the Lyceum Hall, the banks, the insurance company, and the library, all serve to in- crease the homogeneity of the social group. These are the monuments of co-operation and community endeavor. Of course the stability of the population and the great degree of intermarriage help to weld the community to- gether, so that within the neighborhood itself there are practically no divisive forces. But the most potent form of social control expresses itself in what we may call the community conscience. The clubs and the Grange share with the Monthly Meeting the func- tion of providing this conscience. In the programme which we cited of the Meeting of the Home Interest Society, it will be recalled that among the questions brought up for discussion, was one which was properly an ethical prob- lem. This is very frequent. Many personal problems whose significance is social are solved by the club or the Meeting. In many ways, not always easy to trace, stand- ards of conduct are created, which determine for the in- dividual what his course should be. It is the Group Will imposing itself upon the individual, or rather it is the Will of the individual finding expression through the Will of the Group. The force of this cumulative social pressure must be great; greater, probably, than the individual is apt to realize. This sort of control prepossesses leadership and here, more clearly than elsewhere in the county, can the source and the activities of that leadership be dis- cerned. Economically it is the leadership of the farmer who has himself succeeded; morally and religiously it is the leadership of the older, tried members of the Meet- ing. Always it is quite unostentatious and self-effacing. So far we have been looking at the favorable aspects of this community and have been constrained to praise rather, than to criticism. But in conclusion we may point out that if this community is to reach its maximum develop- ment and fill the place of its maximum usefulness, if in- deed it is to maintain its present level, there are certain 242 THE RURAL COMMUNITY pertinent problems for which it must find a solution. There is its race problem, less acute here than elsewhere, and also in process of solution, but importatnt, nevertheless. Had Sandy Spring had for its negro population only the de- scendants of that group of negroes originally given their freedom, and trained there under such admirable auspices, its problem would not now be a very serious one. But the negroes have been migratory; favorable conditions have attracted to the neighborhood many brought up under very different circumstances, and it is never easy to make a shifting population respond to the stimulus of social standards. The problem of the relation of the negro to the rural community is in many respects more acute now than ever before; even though apparently nearer solution. Sandy Spring must remember that the status of the entire community may be expected to be influenced, intellectually and morally and certainly eco- nomically, by the status of the negro within its bounds. It must make more determined efforts than ever to raise him to a higher level of industry, morality, and trained efficiency. There is also a present social problem, the problem, we may say, of a social ministry. There is a class of whites living in this neighborhood on a distinctly inferior level; a class almost without social life ; a class with lower stand- ards and ideals. These are the marginal people of the community, and they are the people whose welfare must ultimately condition the welfare of the community as a whole. The service to the marginal man is not charity; it is necessity. How this problem is to be solved is for the community itself to determine. The Grange began as a levelling and uniting force, reaching, to be sure, only a small portion of these people, but now, after forty years of existence, it has ceased to fulfil that function and has become an organization of a single group. Closely connected with this is the problem of achieving a closer degree of co-operation with the rest of the county. Friends are known as propagandists and reformers, and have a reputation of being clannish. These two things TYPES OF COMMUNITIES 243 have made it hard for them to exert the influence which they should exert upon the county. There is room for aggressive leadership along many lines; better farming, more thorough co-operation, more efficient organization, and greater social compactness and continuity. Lastly we may mention the problem of self-preservation. We have already pointed out the source of this problem and we can hardly venture an opinion as to its solution, but the indications are that it will be more acute in fifty years than now. These are problems which the community must set it- self to solve. To aid it, it has strong memories, a developed social pride, and a high degree of social compactness, along with those prime necessities, a sound economic policy and a developed and apparently permanent prosperity. CHAPTER VII INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY I. THE FAMILY 1. RURAL LIFE AND THE FAMILY BY PRESIDENT KENYON L. BUTTERFIELD, AMHERST, MASS. (From The American Journal of Sociology, May, 1909) This paper does not pretend to be a scientific statement of all of the reactions which environing conditions may bring to bear upon the family living in the open country. So far as I am aware, this whole matter has not been worked out by any one with any degree of fulness. I wish that some of our sociologists would take up seriously the study of the effect of typical rural life, not only upon the rural family, but upon the rural individual, and determine the relationships between the rural environment and the rural mind. I am here merely setting down some observa- tions which are the result of considerable association with the rural people in different parts of the country, and of some attempts to study the structure and influence of various rural social institutions. Isolation is the chief social characteristic of rural life. But, so far as isolation is a physical fact, rather than a state of mind, the word must be used in a wholly relative sense. Isolation of country life varies all the way from the occasional hamlets and villages of the closely populated irrigation districts, to the genuine loneliness of the almost boundless stock-ranges, with all gradations between. It is, however, the one great fact that stands out in any com- parison between the social environment of a family living on the land and a family living in the town and city. This isolation is a separateness of the farming class from 244 INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY 245 other classes. Consequently, a family belonging to this separated class must be influenced by the characteristics and the standards common to the class as a whole. It is also an isolation of families. A very small proportion of our American families live in hamlets or villages. The families of the farm are scattered; few farm homes are closely adjacent, at least from the point of view of the city man. Of course it is to be observed that physical contact in the city means nothing, from the family point of view. Contiguity does not necessarily breed acquaintanceship. Probably the mere fact of farmhouses being twenty rods apart, or half a mile apart, is not so significant as the fact that separateness of the farming class and scattered farm homes produce a lack of social friction between individuals, between families, and between classes, that has a signif- icant bearing on all those concerned. What, now, are the chief influences of this isolated mode of living upon the life and characteristics of the family, considered as a unit? I list them as follows: 1. Family life in the country is tied to the industry of the country. This unquestionably makes for interest in the work of the farm. Of course, it may also result in hatred of farm work. It makes drudgery easy. It makes it difficult to get away from one's work. But this much is true, nevertheless, that the farm family may be con- sidered an industrial, as well as a social unit, whether the influences of this condition are good or bad, or both. It probably has both good and bad effects ; but, on the social side, it certainly has a significant result which may become our second point. 2. There is a co-operative unity in the farm family that is rather striking. The whole family is engaged in work that is of common interest. The whole family often "turns to," when a task is to be carried out. When the holiday comes, the whole family takes part in it. Com- pared with the average city family, individual interests are subordinated. Each member of the family knows what is going on. Each is in touch with the plans of the head 246 THE RURAL COMMUNITY of the family, in general if not in detail. The mother's work is ever before the eyes of all the members of the family, including the boys and men. This co-operative unity must have a powerful effect upon the life of the family. Perhaps it has a tendency to give that life too much of an industrial character. There may be too much inclination to "talk shop." There may be too little op- portunity for the cultivation of the heart life, or of the hearth life, of the family; but there is a certain solidarity in the farm family that makes for the permanency of the institution. 3. Speaking particularly now of the youth growing up in the farm family, it can hardly be gainsaid that family life in the open country is remarkably educative. First, by reason of the fact that both the boys and girls, from even tender years, learn to participate in real tasks. They do not merely play at doing things, they do them. They achieve real results. They take part in the world's work; and secondly, by association with older heads in this work, by having a share in these real problems, by under- standing at an early age the good or evil results that come from definite lines of action, there comes a certain matur- ity of mind, a certain sureness of touch, when a job is to be done, that must be a powerful means of development, particularly in an age when the achievement of tasks is the key-note of success. 4. I believe that, on the whole, the moral standards of the farm family, as a family, are kept on a very high plane; partly by the fact of farm interests already alluded to, and partly by the openness of life prevalent in country districts. There are in the country few hiding-places for vice, and vice usually has enough modesty not to wish to stalk abroad. I do not mean to say that the moral in- fluences of the country are only good ; but I do say that, so far as the purity of the family as an institution is con- cerned, the country mode of living is conducive to a very high standard. Thus far I have named those reactions of the environ- INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY ^47 ment upon the rural family which seem to be, on the whole, favorable. There is something to say on the other side. 1. Probably, on the whole, mediocre standards are en- couraged. If you are brought up in the Ghetto of New York, and manage to get money enough together, you can move up on Fifth Avenue, if you want to. The av- erage farmer doesn't move unless he moves to town, or to a new region. If low standards prevail in the com- munity, a particular family is likely to find itself influenced by these lower standards. There is a tendency to level down, because of the law of moral gravitation, and be- cause it takes a long time to elevate any community standard. The average country communities are illus- trating some of the disadvantages, as well as some of the advantages, of democracy. . In some farm communities, the presence of hired laborers in the family circle is dis- tinctly deleterious to good social customs, if nothing else. In the country there is a tendency toward a general neigh- borhood life on the social side. There is a probability that that aspiration, for either personal or community ideals, will get a set away from the farm, with the result that those ideals are likely to lapse in the country. 2. A great deal of farm life is of such a character that it makes it very hard for the mother of a family. Per- haps the effects of isolation are more abiding in her case than in that of any other member of the family. This is not to give currency to the popular, but I think erroneous, notion that there is a larger proportion of insanity among farm women than among other classes; but it cannot be denied that the type of work in the farm home in many communities, and few social opportunities, are likely to give a narrowness that must have its result on the general life of the family. 3. The health of the average individual of the country is all that could be desired, at least during the earlier years; but it is not unfair to say that the sanitary conditions, from the public point of view are not good in the average 248 THE RURAL COMMUNITY open country. This must have considerable effect, in the long run, upon the health of the family, and must have a bearing upon the development of family life. 4. There is, on the whole, a serious lack of recreative life in the open country, and this fact unquestionably has a strong influence upon the atmosphere of the average farm home. It tends to give a certain hardness and bare- ness that are not proper soil for the finer fruits of life. 5. The lack of steady income of the farmer's family is a factor that has a great deal to do with the attitude of the members of the family toward life, toward expendi- tures, toward culture wants, and toward those classes of people that have salaries or other steady income. . It should be noted that country life develops certain traits in the individual, which, without any special re- gard to the question of family life, must nevertheless in- fluence the general spirit of the family. I refer partic- ularly to the intense individualism of the country, and the lack of the co-operative spirit. There is neighbor- liness in the country; there is intense democracy; there is a high sense of individual responsibility; there is initia- tive; but this overdevelopment of the individual results in anaemic social life, which in turn reacts powerfully upon the general life of the family. To my mind, the advantages of the country, in respect to family life, far outweigh its disadvantages. This state- ment must, of course, be understood to have in mind the great mass of farm families, as compared with the great mass of urban families of somewhat similar industrial and social standards. I make no defense of many woe- begone rural communities that can be found in all sec- tions of the country. But I do believe that, on the whole, the family life of the open country, whether judged with respect to its intrinsic worth, its effect upon growing chil- dren, its permanency as an institution, or its usefulness as a factor in our national civilization, is worthy of high praise. INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY 249 II. THE CHURCH 1. TEN YEARS IN A COUNTRY CHURCH BY MATTHEW B. M^NUTT (From The World's Work, December, 1910) The simple story of a decade of ministerial work, such as the magazine has requested me to write, is this: One cold Saturday morning in February, 1900, a semi- nary fellow student thanced to meet me. "Hello, Mac," he said, "don't you want to preach to- morrow, thirty miles out of Chicago ? I have two appoint- ments." I told him that I would go. I boarded the first train and landed about noon in Naperville, 111. I was met at the station by an old gentleman whom I took to be a far- mer. I was right, and he informed me that his church was six miles in the country. This was rather unwelcome news, for the day was disagreeable and I was not clad for such a drive; but I was treated to a good dinner and we made the venture. The good roads attracted my atten- tion at once,' and my farmer friend told me that all the roads were thus paved with gravel. And such splendid farm-buildings as we passed I had never before seen on my travels. We saw horses and cattle that looked as if they had just come from a state fair. My expectations had risen high at what I had observed and I was eager to see that country church. At last it hove in sight — a very plain structure, built half a century before, with a single room and with sur- roundings that gave a stranger the impression that the church was the last thing in the community to receive any consideration. It was altogether incommensurate with its thrifty surroundings. The fences about the manse and church lots had toppled over, and the old horse-sheds were an eyesore to every passer-by. The manse seemed to be about the only house in the community that was void of all comforts and conveniences. One of the Elders 250 THE RURAL COMMUNITY a farmer, had been preaching for three years, until he died ; and the last regular minister had resigned with $400 due on his salary, which the church borrowed to square ac- count. Six of the nine Sunday-school teachers were mem- bers of one family — and they were good teachers, too. The three Elders were also trustees, and each taught a class in the Sunday-school. One of these Elders was also Sunday-school superintendent, Sunday-school treasurer, church treasurer, and treasurer of benevolences. A hall had been fitted up in the neighborhood to be the home of an organization that called itself "The New Era Club." But dancing seemed to be the only amusement, though the club's original promoters had hoped for better things. No one had united with the church for five years. The only services were preaching and Sunday-school on the Sabbath, and a meeting of the Women's Missionary So- ciety. Collections were taken once a year for missions and ministerial relief, and this was practically the extent of the benevolence. Here was a church that had lived in a community for sixty-seven years. Its organization had been effected beneath some trees with a tribe of Indians curiously watch- ing the proceeding from a distance. Many of the original Scotch, English, and Yankee families had moved away or died; and their places had been often filled by Ger- mans, who were invariably of a different faith. How to sustain the life of this institution had become a serious problem that worried those who were responsible for its direction. Some of the people were thinking that the country church had outlived its usefulness. None knew better than the leaders that things were not going well with their kirk, and none were more grieved about it. I preached that Sunday and was invited to preach again the following Sunday. I did so, and at the close of the service was asked if I would consider a call. I replied that I would finish my work in the seminary in May and would then be ready for a job somewhere; and that I saw no good reason why I should not become the pastor of a farmers' church. The salary proposed was $600 a year, INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY 25 1 with a manse and five acres of land. In the meantime a letter came from a presbytery in the West (where I had preached during two summer vacations), strongly urging me to go there and take charge of three churches at nearly double the salary offered here. That looked like a much larger proposition — financially and otherwise — and I was drawn toward it. Why I Did Not "Go West" The Du Page people were to decide by vote the follow- ing Sunday whether or not they wanted me. Sick from a cold that I had contracted on the first trip, I had asked a classmate to go in my stead — requesting him to wait at his room until I had prepared a message asking the congregation not to consider me as a candidate. For some reason the classmate did not wait. I hastened down-town, thinking that I could overtake him at the station, but I reached the gate just in time to see the train disappearing around the bend. The vote was taken and the result came to me two days afterward in a letter from one of the el- ders, saying that out of forty-eight ballots there had been only one "no." A letter from the same man came the next day explaining that the one negative vote had been cast by a little 13-year-old girl who had not understood how to prepare her ballot. Here was truly a great opportunity looking me squarely in the face — a call from the country I I reconsidered the matter and concluded that I would cast my lot with those country folk — for better or for worse. Why I came to this country church, six miles from a railroad and without even a village surrounding it, I can- not explain. I had received no special training for it other than that I had been born on a farm and brought up in a country church. The days spent in college and in the seminary were so full of hard study that the thought of where my "homiletic bias" should eventually be turned loose never once entered my mind. I simply had a gen- eral feeling that in due time there would be some good, hard work for me somewhere, I cared not where. 252 THE RURAL COMMUNITY When I came to the field the first of May, I was sur- prised and not a little disappointed to find that these good people would not consent to an installation until they had tried the new minister at least a year. This was the Scotch conservatism that was lurking in the congregation. However, I did not feel so badly when I discovered that this was their regular custom. There was no one to occupy the manse with me, so I furnished two rooms for myself and arranged to take my meals with a neighborly farmer. When a year had passed, the people were then willing enough to install; but the pastor, somewhat dissatisfied with this lonely way of liv- ing, and with no immediate prospects of anything better, thought it unwise to form a permanent relationship with the church. Another year fled and there was a "better- half" in the manse. The congregation voted again — unanimously as before — and the installation took place. One of the hardest things to overcome was their pre- conceived notions about the church and about country life. I found it difficult to change the old way of doing things. The only hope of progress seemed to be in train- ing in the younger generation. But how to train it and in what, were the great problems to be solved. One thing was certain: the church society as it was organized and conducted did not seem to be all that the community needed. Many of the people had grown indifferent to the church, and those who were interested did not seem to know just what was lacking. Where could this coun- try church and pastor look for light ? Not to other coun- try churches, for they, too, were in the dark. Not to the town and city, because their methods were devised for an environment presenting altogether different conditions. There was nothing left for us to do, therefore, but to study the situation and work out the solution ourselves. And that is just what we have been doing. I soon realized that, in order to succeed in a community like this, a country parson must do a great deal more than preach and visit his flock. His duties must vary, as mine did, from janitor to head financier — depending upon how INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY 253 much the people have been trained to do, and also upon how much they are able to do. Setting a Countryside to Music The first work that we attempted (apart from what is ordinarily considered church work) was to develop sys- tematically the musical talent of the community. This was done through an old-fashioned singing-school. All the young people were taught to read music and to sing. Quar- tets were formed; musical instruments of various kinds were purchased by individuals, and an orchestra was started. There are few homes in the parish now that do not have music of some kind. A great many of the young men and women have been encouraged to take private lessons in voice and on the piano, violin, and cornet. Some of them had thought that they possessed no talent for music; they got their start in the singing-school. This musical talent was put to good use. The chorus choir has done fine work — singing around in the different homes one or two evenings every week — for the sick, for the aged, and for those who cannot go anywhere to hear music. Our quartets have been in demand to sing in the surrounding towns on special occasions, such as funerals and farmers' institutes. There are many special entertainments at the church in which our musicians take a prominent part. At our last Children's Day service a chorus of eighty voices sang, accompanied by a number of instruments. Some of our young women are now teach- ing music in the community. Training Orators and Athletes Parallel with the music, we cultivate the art of public speaking. Even the very small children are given places on our programmes. Extemporaneous speaking is prac- tised in all our societies. These public occasions are a great stimulus to our young folks to do their best in declaiming. In many cases the parents become interested and send their children to some 254 THE RURAL COMMUNITY teacher in elocution for more thorough training, especially when the son or the daughter is to read or debate at some big event. Last fall a team from our young men's society debated the income-tax question with a team of business men from town. At different times we have given plays in the church. The last was a story from one of the maga- zines which a woman of this parish dramatized for the occasion. These home-talent entertainments have proved to be more popular than the attractions we get from the lyceum bureaus, some of which cost $ioo a night. We have had audiences of between 400 and 500 people. Many town- folks drive out to their country-neighbors' entertainments. We have found that to the great majority of our people this kind of work is far more attractive than the cheap amusements which they are apt to get outside of the com- munity at the public parks and shows in the surrounding towns. The pride of the community is our band of athletes. It is a sight to see these husky farmer-boys in baseball suits. We have a number of teams; and if a stranger were to come along almost any Saturday afternoon in the base- ball season, he would find a game in progress near some farmhouse. No Sunday baseball here ! It is no less a delight to see a goodly number of country "fans" in evi- dence, from both sides of the house. The annual field- day is one of the notable events of the year. Hundreds of people assemble to witness the athletic contests and its ball games. The young men of the church, prompted by a spirit of patriotism, have undertaken to rescue the Fourth of July from the shameful and degrading way in which it is so often celebrated. They plan to make it first of all a day of patriotic inspiration. A good local programme is provided, supplemented by the best public speaker that can be secured from outside. Then it is made a social event as well as a day of innocent sports and pastimes. Some of the folks who went last Fourth to an adjacent city, to see a flying-machine that didn't fly, came back INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY 255 in the afternoon to our celebration, saying tiiat it was "lots better fun" to watch the country sports. A Bible-Class with "A Heap of Fun" Come with me now to one of our young men's meet- ings — the young men's Bible-class. The programme for this evening is a moot court trial. The case in hand is Jones vs. Brown, for assault and battery with intent to do great bodily injury. The judge, very dignified, sits on the bench. Before him are the plaintiff and the de- fendant, with their favorite attorneys, and all the neces- sary court officers. The jury is carefully selected; the witnesses are examined; the case is tried in due form; the jury is charged, and the verdict returned. It is need- less to say that there is "a heap of fun" at such a trial. Besides, the boys learn a great deal about practical affairs, for each is required to look up the duties of his office be- forehand and explain to his associates. Perhaps a water- melon is devoured at the close ; then the fellows visit and sing for a while and go home feeling that they have had "a grand time." Next time it is something else — an old-fashioned spelling- bee, or a story-night, or what-not. They discuss all sorts of questions and do all sorts of things. Every night is interesting and helpful. There are upward of fifty en- rolled in the class now. It also meets every Sunday morn- ing for Bible-study, and these Sunday sessions are quite as well attended as the monthly meetings. It is taught by the pastor. These same lads conduct a lecture course — not for ■ pecuniary profit, but for the sole purpose of bringing wholesome entertainment within reach of all. Everybody attends, irrespective of creed. The young men own and operate a small printing-press and (with the assistance of the pastor) do all the church printing. They hold religious meetings and entertain- ments in the public schoolhouses during the winter and in a grove during warm weather. In the pastor's absence a number of the men speak at the Sunday service. This 256 THE RURAL COMMUNITY class and the young women's class have become great powers in the church. From them we select teachers and officers for the church and Sunday-school. If you were to accompany me to one of our young women's monthly meetings, you would find thirty or more girls and young women with needles, busily engaged in making little garments for poor children in the city, chat- ting as they sew. Some members of the society, who have completed courses in sewing, instruct the others. Or, if we arrive in time for the beginning of the meeting, we might find them studying On the Trail of the Immigrants, The Uplift of China, Korea in Transition, or some other live book or subject. This study is sandwiched in between music and devotional exercises. At the proper time, a signal is given and the young ladies arrange their chairs in groups of four and have placed upon their laps lunch- boards laden with good things to eat that have been pre- pared by the member or members of the society at whose home the meeting is held. Then, home they go. These meetings are much enjoyed by our young women and it is no task to secure their attendance. You would see similar proceedings at the monthly women's meetings except that (if it were winter) you would find a sprinkling of men in the assembly. The husbands and fathers come — mostly for the sociability afforded, though they do discuss, in a very informal way, the lead- ing topics of the day and the business of farming and stock- raising. The mothers, in addition to their mission-study, consider topics pertaining to housekeeping, the care and training of children, home-building, and other practical subjects. This society has forty members. The Church a Social Centre We are obliged to minimize the number of meetings held, on account of the great difficulty that country people have in getting together. We have few meetings and make each count for much. INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY 257 A great deal is made of sociability and fellowship. In fact, the church is practically the social centre of the neigh- borhood. The best socials that we have are those attended by all the family — the older people and the children taking part in the games and the frolic. We are, indeed, just like one family. The mothers come and bring their babies. The little ones romp and play till they grow tired and sleepy; then they are taken to the mothers' room and tucked away in a little bed provided for the purpose — and all goes merrily on. Perhaps the. greatest day in all the year is what we call our "Annual Meeting," which is held on the third Satur- day in March. Its principal objects are inspiration and fellowship, and it certainly does give the dead-level gait a severe jolt. It is an all-day meeting, and the whole coun- tryside assembles in full force. The ladies serve a ban- quet at noon — sometimes to 250 people. We usually have two or three good speakers from outside, besides the best music that our home talent can produce. This is the grand round-up of the year's work. Reports and letters from absent members are read. Some one always speaks ten- derly and lovingly of those who have passed away during the year. A blessed day, this ! Other inspirational meetings are held once in a while for the various societies. One was held recently for the young men's Bible-class and was attended by 100 young men. A new feature which we are planning for this winter is a number of study courses — in Scientific Farming, Do- mestic Science, Sociology, and Civil Government. Land- scape Gardening will also be taken up with a view to en- courage the country people to beautify the environment of their homes. It is not our intention to make of the church a knowl- edge-imparting institution, but rather, through it, to foster the spirit of inquiry and to encourage the investigation of truth by supplying the occasion and the opportunity for such investigation. The desire for knowledge and 258 THE RURAL COMMUNITY development once inspired, the way is found and things get done. A New Church Without a Debt Symbolical of this new life in Du Page Church and one of our greatest achievements is the new church-home re- cently dedicated. It cost, including furnishings, $10,000. This building enterprise was a good test of the confidence and the interest which the community has in the church. Everybody gave to the building-fund — Protestants, Ger- man-Lutherans, Catholics, and men of no church — and they all helped willingly to haul the materials. A new pace was set in church-building by this people when they subscribed all the money before the work of building was begun. No collection was taken at the dedication for building or furnishing purposes. The new church, with a maximum seating-capacity of 500 people, is a model of neatness and comfort. It has a separate Sunday-school apartment (with a number of classrooms), pastor's study, choir-room, cloak-rooms, mothers' room, and vestibule — all on the first floor. These floors are all covered with cork carpet. In the basement are the dining-room, kitchen, toilet, and furnace-room. The building is equipped with lighting-plant, waterworks, and hot-air furnaces. We entertained the Chicago Pres- bytery last fall, and the city brethren all said that they had never seen the like of this church in the open country. And, by the way; more yellow-legged chickens entered the ministry that day at Du Page Church than ever before or since ! Three doors in the old structure and twenty-one in the new — that is an intimation of the increased efficiency and of the greater number of avenues of usefulness which this modem country church seeks to enter. It aims to be of service to the whole man — body, mind, and spirit. It seeks to surround him with an atmosphere that will stim- ulate him to live his own life and to cultivate a harmonious development of all his faculties and powers. INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY 259 A Membership That Has Doubled With all this practical work, the spiritual has not been neglected nor minimized. In fact, more attention has been given to it — in training the youth and in making the public worship attractive and helpful. The people have not grown less religious or less reverent. Quite the opposite. The Sunday services have never been so largely attended nor the interest so well sustained. The member- ship of the church has increased from 80 to 163, and the Sunday-school from 100 to 300. And, in addition to build- ing the church, remodelling the manse, making other re- pairs, and increasing the pastor's salary 40 per cent, the people have contributed to benevolences in the last de- cade $5,270 — as against $6,407 contributed during the fifty years preceding. The effect that this new life is having upon the people of the parish is remarkable. Whole families that formerly had no interest in the church or in the uplift of the com- munity have become active members. Some of them are now officers and leaders. They not only lend their service but they give freely of their means to support the work. Their conception of life is growing larger. They are buy- ing books, pictures, and musical instruments. They are installing in their dwellings the modern comforts and con- veniences, including the daily newspapers, magazines, and religious weeklies, where formerly there were none of these. Many who once gave nothing to benevolences are now regular contributors. Others that formerly gave but a pittance have grown generous. We see in the young people a growing ambition to get an education. They seem to be inspired with a determina- tion to make the most out of their lives. The honor stu- dents at a neighboring high school in town for the last five years have been young people from our community. A number of these young men and women have taken honors at our state university. Nor is the studying all done in college and away from home. The fireside uni- versity is becoming more and more popular. 26o THE RURAL COMMUNITY There is noticeable in the people an increased willingness to take part in the various activities of the community's life, which may be attributed to the fact that they are better prepared for service. They had gained confidence by doing. This is especially true of the younger people. Then, a new community-spirit and harmony have sprung up, with a wholesome pride. This has been brought about by making the church serve the whole community rather than minister to a particular part of it. Land- Values Going Up Whether it be the result of a more abundant life in this vicinity or not, farms here are at a premium. Whenever a farm is advertised for rent, half a dozen applicants are after it the next day. Persons living outside the parish have remarked to pastor and people again and again : "How we wish we lived nearer to your church!" And there has not been in our community the tendency for farmers to sell or rent and move to town. The greatest achievement of all, however, is the orderly, peace-loving, enterprising community that surrounds the church, and the lot of clean, sturdy, capable young people that are growing up in the church. These are the fruits we covet most and by which we wish to be known and judged. III. THE SCHOOL 1. A NEW KIND OF COUNTRY SCHOOL BY O. J. KERN, SUPT. OF WINNEBAGO COUNTY SCHOOLS, ROCKFORD, ILL. (From The World's Work, September, 1908) Beside a country road in Magnolia Township in Put- nam County — the smallest in Illinois — stands the John Swaney Consolidated School, the finest of its kind in the State. For there a small group of people have had the INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY 261 knowledge and the faith to pay out generously their hard- earned dollars that their children in the country may have the corresponding school advantages that the most favored city children have; not the same advantages, for they realize that the teaching which will best adapt a child to life in the country is not that given in the city schools. The people who have built up this country school are not rich. They are simply honest, hard-working farmers, descendants of good old Quaker stock from Ohio and West- ern Pennsylvania, who believe — and are willing to pay for their belief — that their children should have the best possible preparation for living a large, free, country life. Mr. John Swaney, a farmer of moderate circumstances, donated twenty-six acres covered with original growth — oak, elm, walnut, etc. — for school grounds. The school- house, which takes the place of several little old-fashioned country schoolhouses, cost, with its equipment, $16,000. It is a two-and-a-half-story building containing four reci- tation rooms, two laboratories, a large auditorium, two library and office rooms, a boys' manual-training room, a girls' play-room, a furnace-room, and cloak-rooms. All are lighted with gasolene gas generated by a plant the reservoir of which is outside of the building. The labora- tories are also furnished with gas from this plant. The building is heated with steam and furnished with running water supplied by an air-pressure system. The school- house and the grounds set forth, as they should, the highest ideals of the countryside. On the school grounds is a barn for twenty-four horses. Here are stabled the two teams of the two wagons which haul children to school, for when the small schools were abandoned some of the children were left three or four miles from the consolidated school. The extra stable room is for the horses of tuition-pupils from outside of the con- solidated district. The roads are ordinary dirt roads in good weather. In bad weather the dirt becomes mud, Illinois mud, of the very best quality. However, the farm- ers of northern Illinois never fail to get their milk to the central creamery if it takes four horses to do it. The 262 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Putnam County farmers believe that the children are deserving of as much consideration as their milk. One of the w£^ons employed in hauling the children to school makes a round trip of nine miles; the other one goes nine and one-half miles. Each wagon makes twenty-two trips during a school month. The teams are driven by farmer- boys who are in the high-school room. The cost of this transportation is forty dollars per month. As twenty children ride in each wagon it makes transportation for every child about nine cents per day, or about the cost of two street-car fares in the city. The wagons cost about three hundred and twenty dollars and are the property of the district. During all last year not a single trip was missed, neither wagon was tardy a single time, and extra horses were needed only three times. Yes, civilization is advancing in spite of mud. One of the abandoned school-buildings which stands just off the twenty-six acres has been remodelled for a teachers' home at a cost of five hundred dollars. This was done without expense to the district. Three or four farmers took this way of spending their own money to solve the problem of the boarding-place for country teachers. The teachers pay nine dollars a month . rent for the use of the building and hire a competent house- keeper to cook and care for the home. The domestic- science teacher in the high school outlines the daily menu for their table. This farming district has been as wisely generous in hiring teachers as it has in building an adequate plant. The principal is a graduate of the Central Illinois State Normal School, and has had one and one-half years ad- ditional work in the Illinois College of Agriculture. He receives a salary of one hundred dollars per month. The woman assistant in the high school, also instructor in do- mestic science, is a graduate of the Evansville, Ind., High School, with one year's work in Northwestern University and another year's work in Chicago University. She re- ceives sixty dollars per month. The teacher of the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth grades is a graduate of the Cen- INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY 263 tral Illinois State Normal School, and receives sixty dollars per month. The teacher of the first, second, third, and fourth grades is a graduate of the Western Illinois State Normal School and receives sixty dollars per month. The "faith" of these farmers is strong and their "knowledge" is broad enough for them to realize that a well-trained, well-paid teacher will give more efficient service than a cheap, untrained one, and is far more economical in the end. The course of study for the grades below the high school is that outlined for the common schools of Illinois, known as the Illinois Course of Study for the Common Schools. The high school contains the regular studies for high schools in Illinois, but there is a modification in the science course to include agricultural training. It begins with the study of the needs of common grasses, grains, and garden vegetables. There is a course on soil physics — different types of soils, their origin, composition, charac- teristics, and behavior under different treatment — another course which deals with the effect of the rotation of crops and the different systems of farming. There are two courses on animal husbandry and one on horticulture, besides the more usual teaching of manual training and household science. This is the country adaptation of the movement for industrial education, a training for more efficient ser- vice in the age of scientific agriculture. Under the management of the Illinois College' of Agri- culture, at the University of Illinois, there are located over Illinois, in the different soil-areas, twenty- three sub- stations through which the farmers may learn the needs and best methods of improving the soil. One of these is located on ground adjoining the east side of the campus of the John Swaney Consolidated School, which will have the privilege of observing the work of the station and will have access to the results. This is what it means adequately to improve the coun- try schools. The children in these small districts are en- titled to a good building — a workshop, if you please — ^well equipped for doing good work. They are entitled to the 264 THE RURAL COMMUNITY educational influence of trees, vines, shrubs, and flowers in a large playground surrounding a neat building that will contribute toward the spiritualization of country life. They are entitled to the inspirational leadership of a well- trained teacher, who is in sympathy with all that is richest and best in country life. They are entitled to secondary education, a high-school course flavored with agricultural chemistry, agricultural botany, soil physics, manual train- ing, home economics, etc., within the reach of all the chil- dren of a given country district without the necessity of their leaving their homes. The training in the country school of the future should aim to conserve all that is best and richest in a "type of mind and life" distinctively rural. The proper organization and administration of the coun- try school system will supply art, literature, music, social opportunity for the farm. These things should be as ac- cessible along the country road as beside the city boule- vard. In the opinion of the writer this is the definition of the term "adequately improving" the country school. When you have thus vitalized the little country school you have made it the most expensive in the world per capita. Even thus vitalized, it still lacks the social en- richment possible in the consolidated school through a more varied course of study and contact with life. Here will come the trained teachers — so soon as the farmer learns to appreciate the trained teacher. They will vitalize the work of the country school and create a demand for superior work by the character of the service they render. The enlarged social participation is possible only in such a larger unit of administration as the consolidated district affords. This country high school, with a course of study flavored with country life and its interests, promises much for the future, especially when we reflect that under exist- ing conditions in the Middle West 90 per cent of the chil- dren now enrolled in the country schools get no other edu- cation, so far as books are concerned. They cannot, or do not, go to the village or country high school. The con- solidated school is more expensive than the isolated country school. It should be, for it offers far more effective service. INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY 265 The average country school, especially the small school with an enrolment of fifteen pupils or less, is both the cheapest and most expensive, paradoxical as this may seem. A just basis of comparison is to take the unit of work — the day's attendance — and compare that with a like unit of the consolidated school. Let the farmer "ade- quately improve" his school and then count the cost. If one were to formulate an educational creed for farm- ing districts it might well come from the experience of Magnolia Township, and it would read something like this: The country child is entitled to every whit as good an educational opportunity as that now enjoyed by the most favored city child attending the American public school. In order to have this equality of educational oppor- tunity for the country child, the country people must spend more money on the country school and spend it in a better way. The people 6f this one community are acting according to this creed. They are giving a practical demonstration that people of moderate circumstances can make a con- tribution to the enrichment of country life. They are living the eleventh commandment — thou shall enrich and enlarge the life of the country child. IV. THE LIBRARY 1. THE SPREAD OF COUNTY LIBRARIES BY WALTER A. DYER (From The World's Work, September, 1915) It is doubtful if 5 per cent of our total population ever read books or magazines. In our more progressive cities the percentage of readers has been greatly increased by the efforts of municipal public libraries to serve the people, but in the country — representing about 55 per cent of our population — the average often falls frightfully near to zero. 266 THE RURAL COMMUKltY "Much more than half the men, women, and children of the United States live in the open country and in the smaller towns and cities out of the reach of the city libraries," declares Dr. P. P. Claxton, United States Com- missioner of Education. "Probably 70 per cent of the entire population of the country have no access to any adequate collection of books or to a public reading-room. In only about one-third of the counties of the United States is there a library of 5,000 volumes or more. In only about 100 of these do the village and country people have free use of the libraries. In this, as in so many other thihgs, the people who need help most and who would be most benefited by it have been neglected." Only one hundred rural reading depots in the United States that are really doing their job ! One hundred libraries to serve fifty million people ! Is it any wonder that not one American in twenty is a reader? Is it any wonder that publishers find the problem of distribution increasingly difficult? Is it strange that the National Bureau of Education and the American Library Associa- tion, not to mention Mr. Carnegie and his advisers, should have awakened at last to the crying need for rural libra- ries? In New England, and to some extent elsewhere, endowed village libraries are a common solution of the problem; but they presuppose the existence — or death — of a bene- factor, and through them the town becomes an object of philanthropy and paternalism, which is not a system to be advocated or extended if we have at heart the best interests of American democracy. The little local sub- scription library, on the other hand, is too weak and too narrow in its scope to offer a general solution, and the taxable property of most country towns and villages is not sufficient to enable them to support good public libraries unaided. The answer is to be found in the central library owned by county or township, according to local conditions, and operating an adequate number of rural branches or sub- stations to insure direct contact with all the people. The INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY 267 county has been generally accepted as the ideal library unit, though there are sections of the country where the township or some other unit would be preferable. In Wyoming, for example, there are counties larger than the state of Rhode Island, but their population may be smaller than that of a New York township. It will be understood, therefore, that the term "county library" may be changed to "township library" where local con- ditions demand the more restricted unit. "The only help for all," says Dr. Claxton, "is in the county library, supported by taxes levied on all the tax- able property of the county, managed by trained librarians, and having branches in all the towns, villages, and schools of the county." For poor counties there should be state aid. California is at present the leader in this field with twenty-seven active county libraries, most of them estab- lished since 19 10. County library laws have also been passed in Ohio, Wyoming, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Mis- souri, Maryland, Washington, Oregon, Nebraska, New York, and Iowa. All but three of these states provide for a county tax. In New York, Wisconsin, and Min- nesota the county commissioners are permitted to make appropriations which in Wisconsin and Minnesota have a limit of $500 annually. The movement has also taken root in Indiana, Illinois, and Texas, and early action is expected in a few other states. Minnesota has eleven county libraries, Wyoming nine, and Ohio eight, the other states following with fewer. School-district libraries are receiving the greatest encouragement and most adequate support in Oregon. In Indiana the township has been generally adopted for rural library organization. Many of these states have passed their laws and started the county-library • movement within the last four or five years, so that it might be considered too early to form an estimate of the efficiency of the plan were it not for the striking success of three or four county libraries in the Middle West, of which the one at Van Wert, O., Wcis the pioneer and is still perhaps the best example. Started 268 THE RURAL COMMUNITY nearly ten years before the birth of the California move- ment, it has been actively and comprehensively serving an entire rural county since January i, 1901, and has raised the proportion of readers among its constituency from the deadly 5 per cent to at least 55 per cent, and probably much more. The population of Van Wert County is about 30,000. In 1914 there were more than 16,000 borrowers. More than 92,000 books were circulated. How have such results been obtained? Van Wert, though peirticularly favored in some few respects, has done nothing beyond the powers of the average rural county. South, East, or West. The county lies in the northwestern part of Ohio. Its 406 square miles are divided into twelve townships. Its population, when the 1910 census was taken, was 29,119, mostly Americans of English, German, and Welsh descent, besides about 400 Negroes of the more industrious type. It is a strictly rural county, containing only two towns of more than 1,000 inhabitants, the largest being Van Wert with about 8,000. There is no large city near, and the county is pre- dominantly agricultural. Of its 259,497 acres, 229,580 are under cultivation. Considerably more than half the population live on farms. So much to indicate the nature of the field. The library movement had its modest beginnings in 1 89 1, when a dozen ladies in the little city of Van Wert organized a reading-room association. In 1893 this had become a subscription library, and the Van Wert Library Association was incorporated. By 1894 they had accu- mulated 600 books and a fund of $600 and they decided to throw open their library to the public. A room was hired and was opened in September, 1894, with a librarian in charge. In 1896 the City Council voted a tax levy of three-tenths of a mill for the library, which netted $559 a year, and it was made a free city library. There were still only 1,400 books, and money was needed for more, so that the Li- brary Association continued to raise funds by solicitation and by giving entertainments. INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY 269 One of the most generous and constant patrons of the library was Mr. John Sanford Brumback, a Van Wert merchant and banker who had grown up and prospered with the community. He became vitally interested in the future of the library and conceived the idea of extend- ing its activities and benefits to include not only the town of Van Wert, but the entire county. He developed the outline of a plan for a county library and considered the erection of a building adequate for this purpose, but fail- ing health made it impossible for him to carry out his in- tention. Mr. Brumback died in December, 1897, leaving a will in which he provided for the erection of a substantial li- brary building on the condition that none of his heirs — two sons and two daughters — should raise any objection. They not only voted unanimously to accept this provision, but actively set about to carry out their father's wishes. They drew up a contract to be entered into by the Brumback heirs, the Library Association, the city of Van Wert, and the county commissioners, providing for the erection of the building by the heirs and its donation to the county, an agreement on the part of the county to support the library by a half-mill tax, the turning over to the county of the books and property of the Library Association, and the permission of the city to erect the building in its cen- tral park. It further provided for the management of the library by a non-partissm board of trustees, two to be appointed by the Library Association, three by the county commissioners, and two by the Brumback heirs, the Common Council of Van Wert City to make the ap- pointments in the event of any of the parties failing to do so. The trustees were to serve for overlapping terms of three years each. This proposal was promptly accepted by the city of Van Wert and by the Library Association. The county commissioners were unable legally to do so, and Mr. Or- ville S. Brumback, one of the heirs and a former member of the state legislature from Toledo, prepared a bill making it lawful for Ohio county commissioners to bind their coun- 270 THE RURAL COMMUNITY ties to the support of libraries by taxation. This bill was introduced March 25, 1898. Its passage was vigorously urged by the Pomona Grange and other organizations of Van Wert County and it became a law April 26, 1898. This was the first effective county-library law to be passed in the United States. Some opposition to the tax arose in the county through a misunderstanding of the scope of the plan, but this soon disappeared and on July 30, 1898, the county commis- sioners voted to sign the contract and to levy the half- mill tax. The comer-stone of the Brumback Library was laid with Masonic ceremonies on July 18, 1899. It was a big day for Van Wert. Business houses closed their doors and the whole community turned out. The streets were gay with bunting and hundreds of country people drove in to witness the parade and listen to the speeches. And it was a big day for the United States of America, too, for Van Wert laid the comer-stone of an institution that some day will probably extend over the entire Nation. The building was erected at a cost of about $50,000 — a substantial stone stmcture, with steel-truss, tile-covered roofs. The commodious interior provided space for 40,000 volumes, and included a main reading-room, two-story stack, basement, and rooms for the librarian and the trustees, and for juvenile and reference works. The Brumback Library was dedicated January i, 1901, and was opened to the public on January 28th. Thus a building and a library of 1,800 volumes became county property before a cent of the taxpayers' money had been spent. The first year $5,000 was available for new books and running expenses. Since then this amount has been increased, but in recent years the county has not been called upon to appropriate the full sum allowed by law. In 1913 the total expenditures of the library amounted to $8,500. Previous to the opening of the library the trustees en- gaged a trained library organizer, Miss Janet M. Green, of Chicago, to put into operation a circulation system and INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY 27 1 to catalogue the 1,800 books turned over by the Library Association. After the first of the year 2,700 more volumes were purchased and a permanent librarian was engaged. The first borrower's card was made out to Mrs. Brum- back, widow of the donor of the building. Scores of patrons came in the first day, and in three days about 300 books had been drawn out. One farmer drove in eleven miles with a list of books that he wanted to read. As soon as the work of the central library was well under way the trustees turned their attention to the task of ex- tending its benefits throughout the county. They found no precedents for their work, no model to guide them. It was their duty to provide reading for all the residents of the county, however remote from the county-seat, and they realized that Mahomet would not come to the moun- tain: the mountain must go to Mahomet. The establishment of substations or branch libraries was the logical procedure, and the first steps were taken early in 1901. The town of Willshire, one of the most remote points in the county, was the first to receive a col- lection of books. On February 19th, about 100 volumes were installed in a bookcase in a Willshire hardware-store. Other branches were established as rapidly as satisfactory arrangements could be made, not only in the towns but at convenient crossroads points. The books were in- trusted to the care of storekeepers and postmasters, who at first performed their duties as branch librarians without pay. In a few months, however, it was decided that the work would be better done and necessary requirements could be more freely exacted of the branch custodians if they should receive a small salary. The trustees con- sequently voted to pay $50 a year to each in semiannual instalments. During 1901 an experimental system was devised for peissing on the collections from station to station, and 1,000 books were purchased for the branches, to be re- turned to the shelves of the central library after going the rounds. This plan was soon modified so that each branch librarian must return his collection to the central 272 THE RURAL COMMUNITY library for inspection, repairs, and recording before it was sent to the next station. A date schedule was carefully worked out to secure the best possible results. A total of 2,800 volumes were sent to the nine branches estab- lished the first year. At the end of 1901 the library owned 6,750 volumes, and the average circulation for the year was 107 books a day. In 1902 other branches were established and an assis- tant librarian was engaged to take charge of this depart- ment. Still more brsmches were opened in 1903 and 1904, and the system and the schedules of distribution were improved. In 1906 another lot of 2,000 books was pur- chased for the branches and in 1908 a system of circulating periodicals through the stations was introduced. This system was improved in 1910, so that now the farmers of Van Wert County have the privilege of reading with a fair degree of regularity such publications as Harper's, Scribner's, The Century, The World's Work, and St. Nich- olas. There are now fifteen active branches, geographically well distributed, located at Willshire, Ohio City, Convoy, Middle Point, Venedocia, Cavett, Dasie, Wetsel, Glen- more, Converse, Scott, Dixon, Wren, Elgin, and in the public library at Delphos. Not to go too deeply into the details of the distribution system and date schedules, it is sufficient to say that six- teen boxes of about 125 books each are kept constantly in service, four of which are renewed each year. At the larger stations these are regularly supplemented by ad- ditional collections. Each box contains a balanced collec- tion of juvenile, fiction, and general works, for which the branch custodians are responsible until their return. Each station is supplied with a bookcase, cards, printed lists, and other accessories. The efforts of the Brumback Library to encourage read- ing in the remotest sections of the county have borne gratifying fruit. By this means scores of isolated families have been placed in contact with the world's best thought. Hundreds of men, women, and children, nreviouslv de- INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY 273 prived of the advantages of good reading, have been reached and influenced by this rational, tax-supported agency. Another development of the extension work of the Brumback Library has been in connection with the schools. The work of the rural schools and the schools of the small towns of the county, resulting in a circulation even greater than that of the branches, is now an important element in the activities of the library and is cared for in a special department under a special assistant. In 1902 a request came from the superintendent of the Van Wert city school for teachers' cards.- The request was granted and the privilege was extended to all the teachers in the county. Clergymen and other special workers are now included. By the end of 1903 fifty-two teachers' cards had been issued. In 1907 the total number of special cards registered numbered 192, and many of the county schools used col- lections ranging from ten to fifty books. A special county school collection of 678 volumes was established and was supplemented by more than three hundred volumes from the central library. This department became more and more popular, and in 191 2 sixty-seven school libraries were in use, and the school collection had been increased to 3,200 volumes. The circulation showed a gain of 8,500 in one year. Dur- ing 1913 more than 4,200 volumes were lent to teachers in the county, and by 1915 ninety of the 113 schools outside of Van Wert city had availed themselves of the privilege of obtaining school libraries, representing more then 2,900 unregistered borrowers. A new law in Ohio requires that every rural school in the state shall have a collection of at least fifty books, so that all 113 of the Van Wert county schools will now avail themselves of the advantages of the Brumback Library, affecting 6,000 pupils. In addition to the rural schools the city schools have been served. The library is regularly used for reference by the 340 high-school pupils, and a reading course is now a high-school requirement. 274 THE RURAL COMMUNITY In the other city schools a carefully selected collection of ten volumes is placed in each of the sixteen rooms rep- resenting the first four grades, and the books are lent by the teachers to the children for home reading. These collections are exchanged every two months. During last school year the circulation on these i6o books was 4,332 or twenty-seven circulations for each book. It has been the policy of the Brumback Library at all times to have a trained librarian at its head. The staff now includes five efficient workers besides the janitor. They act not only as library operatives but as missionaries of good reading throughout the county, answering all manner of inquiries, addressing teachers' institutes, and visiting the schools and branch stations. The library now owns 25,897 volumes. The total circu- lation for 1 9 14 was 92,026, including 46,432 for the central library, 15,368 for the branches, and 25,844 for the county schools. The total showed a net gain of 1,173 over 191 3. Total number of borrowers, 16,197. Since the establishment of the Brumback Library Van Wert County has experienced an awakening all along the line. Good county pikes, county parks, a county fair, a county hospital, and a county Chautauqua are among the evidences of its progressiveness. To these are soon to be added an endowed county Y. M. C. A. and an en- dowed county Y. W. C. A. Van Wert County has provided for its most isolated citizens an open road to the world of books. Its achieve- ment is an encouragement to the friends of popular edu- cation in America. V. THE HOSPITAL 1. A NEW KIND OF COUNTY HOSPITAL BY WALTER A. DYER (From The World's Work, September, 1915) In Clay County, northern Iowa, there is a country doc- tor with a vision and with the will to do. His name is E. E. Munger, and he lives in Spencer, a city of about INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY 275 3,000 inhabitants. He is a general practitioner with a large rural practice in the surrounding country. From him there came a cry out of the wilderness, and to him has been given the privilege of leading American civilization a step in advance. He is the inventor of the county public hospital system now in operation in at least five states. Like most country doctors he had lost many cases that might have been saved if the country offered a man as fair a chance for life as the city affords. His sympathy went out to these country patients and their disadvantages oppressed him. He knew that many of these rural deaths would be preventable if there were adequate facilities at hand for proper surgical or medical treatment. Since these facilities were lacking he was forced to see men and women and children die unnecessarily, and he cared tre- mendously. About seven years ago, heartsore at these lost lives that might have been saved, he started a long, hard fight, which he has partly won and partly lost, but in which he is bound to triumph in the end. It was a fight for public hospitals in rural counties. "If hospitals are good for city people," he asked, "why not for country people?" His experience had taught him to believe that public county hospitals, readily accessible to the country people, would save lives, make doctors more efficient, prevent malpractice, train nurses, teach hygiene to the community, increase longevity, and lower the rural death-rate. In 1909, Dr. Munger prepared a paper for the State Conference of Charities and Correction held at Daven- port in November, entitled. The County Public Hospital as an Economic and Educational Institution. It was the first presentation of a new idea, the first gun in a cam- paign not yet ended. In this paper he called attention to a number of interest- ing facts. He pointed out, for example, that, of the 12,800 mothers who die annually in the United States during childbirth, a large proportion could be saved by proper care and scientific attention. He spoke of 30,276 babies dying from premature birth, and 10,052 from lack of care. 276 THE RURAL COMMUNITY "What do these figures stand for?" he asked. "Race suicide, race murder, or just plain carelessness?" Since that time these figures have grown materially, and the fact remains that the country districts, where lack of care prevails, are responsible for a large propor- tion. The death-rate from typhoid is larger in the country than in the city, and typhoid is a diseeise demanding trained nursing. Appendicitis and other troubles requir- ing surgical treatment also flourish in the country where facilities are lacking. The efficient county hospital offered the only hope; that was Dr. Munger's conviction. "There should be developed," he declared, "a public hospital system fash- ioned somewhat after the public school system, and our national health should be made an ever-increasing national asset" — a big idea for a country doctor to cherish. Gradually his plan took form. He conceived the idea of a public hospital in every county in Iowa. In the coun- ties not including a city hospital, he proposed a public hospital to be supported by a county tax and controlled by an elected board of trustees. "There will be neither incentive nor opportunity to make such a hospital a money-making institution," he wrote. "Crime and graft in the form of illegal and un- necessary operations, wrong diagnoses for the sake of pro- longed treatment, unwarranted division of fees, and other evils cannot go on undiscovered and unexposed. It will furnish its care at the lowest price requisite for proper maintenance; it will not concern itself with the fees of its physicians and surgeons except in those cases in which patients are subjects for charity. It may, however, frown on exorbitant and extortionate charges. It will be con- ducted on a strictly ethical basis and be made the health centre for a community — a centre from which health information will be disseminated by both precept and example. Its equipment will be complete with every facility for up-to-date work; it will have a pathological and bacteriological laboratory, which should be auxiliary to the laboratory of the state board of health. An am- bulance service will be provided. ^ n<»^»ccarv and mnst- INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY 277 important adjunct will be a training-school for nurses. An X-ray laboratory will confer great benefits on both patients and physicians." Such a hospital should be open to all who might need it, without regard to nationality, creed, or resources. The need for such hospitals in Iowa seemed very ap- parent to Dr. Munger. The city hospitals were over- crowded, and were located chiefly along the eastern, southern, and western boundaries of the state. "For the whole interior of this great commonwealth," said he, "with approximately 2,000,000 people, there are only 799 hos- pital beds, or one bed for about every 3,000 persons. Au- thorities estimate that every civilized community requires one hospital bed for every 100 inhabitants." Most cities of 15,000 inhabitants had hospitals, but no counties of 15,000. In Iowa 80 per cent of the popula- tion lived in small towns and rural districts, and long, difficult journeys, often dangerous to a sick or injured person, separated most of them from hospital aid. Dr. Munger's chief concern was naturally for a public hospital in his own county, but he discovered that in Iowa counties had no legal authority to build or maintain hos- pitals. Iowa's hospital law provided for the establish- ment of hospitals in cities of 5,000 or more people, and there were only twenty-five such cities in the state. To provide hospital benefits for the rural counties an enabling law was necessary; so Dr. Munger was forced to turn his attention to the subject of legislation. This was a new and untried field for a country doctor, but he had enlisted for the war. He went down to Des Moines, and with the help of the state librarian drafted a bill providing that Iowa counties might, if so voting, establish hospitals, nurses' training-schools, and facilities for treating tuberculosis, to the end that county hospitals might be established throughout the state "with equal rights to all and special privileges to none." It provided that the county supervisors might issue bonds and levy a tax for this purpose, not to exceed two mills on the dollar for a period of time not exceeding twenty years. The bill was introduced into the Thirty-third Iowa 278 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Assembly on February 5, 1909. Senator John Foley of Chickasaw County was its sponsor in the Senate and B. F. Felt, Jr., of Clay County, in the House. It passed the Senate with comparative ease on February 19th, but in the House it struck a snag. In the first place opposition arose in the county of its birth. Dr. Munger had secured the support of the Spencer Ministerial Union, the local Wom- en's Club, and other organizations, and Representative Felt went into the fight with a fixed purpose, but the physicians of Spencer attacked the bill. A long, hard fight followed, but, at last, within a week of the end of the session, Mr. Felt and Dr. Munger won. The bill was passed on March 31, 1909, and became a law September 6th — the first specific legislation for rural public hospitals enacted in the United States. Enthusiastic individuals in several counties brought the hospital question before the people, but Iowa conservatism prevented prompt action. Dr. Munger and others saw the need for a campaign of education. They appealed to Mr. Aretas E. Kepford, official lecturer on tuberculosis connected with the State Board of Health. He spread the doctrine of peoples' hospitals throughout the state, but by the end of 1910 only one county — ^Washington — had taken favorable action. Warm campaigns were con- ducted in Buena Vista and Cherokee counties, but a rural prejudice against taxes prevented constructive action. The county hospital proposition was also voted down in Woodbury, Montgomery, Scott, Story, Decatur, Ap- panoose, Polk, and other counties. Dr. Munger's own county, Clay, rejected the opportunity. But the work of Munger, Felt, and Kepford was not wholly in vain. Down in the southeastern part of the state, in the older section, there were two counties which voted Yes on the proposition and erected the first two public county hospitals in America that are open to all patients and to all legally qualified practitioners of medi- cine. In Washington County the moving spirit was Dr. C. A. Boice. He secured the assistance of Mr. Kepford and INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY 279 the backing of the County Medical Society. With the help of Mr. Marsh W. Bailey, a local attorney, he drew up a plan for a one-mill tax for four years to produce a building fund and to be decreased later. The proposition was carried by a majority of 784 at the election on Novem- ber 8, 1910. A plot of eleven acres was presented to the county by Mr. and Mrs. William Perry Wells, in the southern part of the city of Washington, and here the pioneer county hospital was erected under the direction of Mr. Bailey, who was appointed chairman of the first board of trustees. It was dedicated and ready for occupancy July 15, 1912. Owing to the generosity of churches, clubs, lodges, and individuals in furnishing the rooms, the board was able to spend the entire appropriation of about $30,000 in con- struction work. The hospital is 80 x 40 feet, built of rein- forced concrete, brick, and stone, and is absolutely fire- proof. It has three stories and basement, with nineteen private and two five-bed rooms, accommodating twenty- nine patients. The building is designed to furnish sun- light and adequate ventilation in every room. Every room has telephone and electric-fan connections, and an indirect lighting system is used throughout. The floors are of terazzo and easily cleaned. Large, light operating, maternity, and sterilizing rooms are located on the third floor, equipped with the latest and most serviceable ap- pliances, including two portable X-ray machines. On the first floor is a clinical laboratory. Dining-room, kitchen, and storage-rooms are in the basement, presided over by a graduate in domestic science. There is also an elevator- shaft in which an elevator is soon to be installed. Of the eleven acres of ground, two acres are in garden, which supplies the hospital with fresh vegetables. On November 7, 191 2, a Women's Auxiliary to the Washington County Hospital was organized and has proved most effective in furnishing supplies, etc. It now numbers 196 members. A nurses' training-school is conducted in connection with the hospital. The three-year course of instruction. 28o THE RURAL COMMUNITY is considerably in excess of the requirements of the State Board of Health. Lectures and demonstrations are given by the nursing staff and physicians from September to June. During 1913-14 there were two pupils; during 1914-15 there have been five. The regular staff consists of the superintendent and two graduate nurses. The first year, 131 patients and nine infants were cared for at a total cost of about $8,700 to the county; the second year 256 patients and nineteen infants were cared for at the same expense; in two and a half years the total had grown to 526 patients. The first year the deficit was $3,920 ; the second year it was $1,957. I" a- y^^'i' or two more, it is hoped, the hospital will be self-supporting. Already the Washington County hospital has more than justified its existence. Many patients have received skilled hospital treatment who would otherwise have been deprived of it, and incidentally the physicians and sur- geons of the county have been growing more careful and efficient. In near-by Jefferson County, Dr. James Frederick Clarke started a vigorous campaign with Mr. Kepford's assis- tance early in 191 1, and secured the support of the local physicians. A special election was held on March 27, and the county, by a majority of 493, voted a bond issue and a half-mill tax for ten years. A board of seven trus- tees — all laymen — ^was organized April 4. The tax levy yielded $27,000, and $4,200 was raised by subscription. Equipment valued at $8,000 was also donated. The building was erected in Fairfield, the county-seat, dedicated September 17, 1912, and opened October 2. In size and equipment the Jefferson County Hospital is similar to its neighbor. It is a three-story building with accommodations for twenty-five patients. It is not en- tirely fireproof like the Washington County Hospital, but in addition to its neighbor's equipment in operating, sterilizing, and laboratory rooms it owns a $1,700 X-ray apparatus, an ambulance, an electric elevator, and a sun porch for winter and summer use. Auxiliary societies have been formed and they furnish supplies. INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY 28 1 The nurses' training-school was organized November i, 1912, and provides a three-year course leading to a full certificate. A nine-room cottage was rented near by and furnished as living quarters for the two graduate and five pupil nurses. The superintendent lives in the main build- ing. The report for the first fifteen months showed 296 pa- tients admitted, and twenty-six births. There were 174 surgical cases. The earnings for the period were $10,244 and the expenses $11,392, so that the net expense to the county for maintenance was only a little more than $1,000. The hospital is open to all legal practitioners in the county on an equal footing. The board of trustees have complete authority, and there is an advisory committee of three physicians chosen by the County Medical Society. These two hospitals are the only ones thus far that have been established under the Munger Law, except a special county tuberculosis and isolation sanitarium at Daven- port, Scott County, established under Mr. Kepford's di- rection. It was opened July 4, 1914, cost $75,000, and has a capacity of forty patiwits. Woodbury County has voted $100,000 for a similar hospital at Sioux City, but definite action has not yet been taken. Constructive agita- tion is now being carried on in other counties. But despite the tardiness with which Iowa has taken advantage of its county hospital law, the Munger idea is spreading. Indiana, Kansas, Texas, and North Ceu-olina have all passed county hospital laws, and New York has a township hospital law which bears the Munger earmarks. South Dakota and one or two other states are planning to take early action. In January, 191 1, Dr. H. O. Hyatt of Kinston, N. C, started an agitation for county hospitals by writing articles for the newspapers. About a year later the Munger law was passed in North Carolina with some additions looking toward a broad, state-supervised, county health organiza- tion, which is now being put into operation by Dr. Rankin, head of the state board of health. In 1913, after consulting with Dr. Munger, the Texas 282 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Board of Health prepared a bill requiring county hospi- tals in counties which include cities of 10,000 population or more, and permitting other counties to build them. This law was passed and was put into operation July i, 1913. In one year four counties had taken favorable ac- tion — Bexar, Tarrant, Wichita, and El Paso. In 1913 Representative J. W. Carnahan of Clay Centre, Kansas, introduced a bill which was passed in March, 19131 by the Kansas legislature. It is almost identical with the Munger bill, but applies only to counties of less than 40,000 population or all except six counties which include large cities. Indiana's law is the same as Iowa's law except that provision is made for a veterinary laboratory. At Colum- bus, Ind., a movement was recently launched for the building of a $100,000 county hospital. Thus the movement is growing. "I predict," said Dr. Munger, "that inside of twenty years every state in the Union will adopt some public hospital system that will offer opportunities to all in the state, including the rural population, and that will be under state supervision." "What is America's health problem ? " he asks. " Briefly, it is to prevent preventable disease, cure curable disease, relieve suffering, and prolong life. Toward the solution of this problem much is being done by states and cities through more and more efficient health departments. But not- withstanding the advantages of natural environment, rural people have not the same opportunity for health conservation that urban residents have. The object of the county hospital law is to make it possible for rural people to provide themselves with the same advantages that city people have in dealing with accident and disease." The small county hospital offers trained care and good facilities near at hand, the prompt aid that often saves lives, and a short journey for the ill or injured. It offers its advantages at half the cost of equal care at home. It offers sunlight, pure air, freedom from smoke, noise, and dust, and the individual attention of trained nurses. INSTITUTIONS OF THE COMMUNITY 283 The public hospital is no longer a charity for the sick poor; it is a public requirement in country as well as in city. It is no longer a house of mystery, but a shelter for its own proprietors. Furthermore, the county hospital may be made the centre of an important work in the dis- semination of hygienic knowledge. This is the big movement that an Iowa country doctor has started. It is in line with the other movements look- ing toward the better organization of country life in Amer- ica — in all its social, educational, and economic phases. CHAPTER VIII EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY I. STAGES OF DEVELOPMENT 1. EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY BY WARREN H. WILSON (From The Evolution of the Country Community) I. The Pioneer The earliest settlers of the American wilderness had a struggle very different from our own, who live in the twentieth century. Their economic experience deter- riiined their character. They appear to us at this distance to have common characteristics, habits, and reactions upon life; in which they differ from all who in easier times follow them. They have more in common with one an- other than they have in common with us. They differ less from one another than they differ from the modern countryman. The pioneer life produced the pioneer type. To this type all their ways of life correspond. They hunted, fought, dressed, traded, worshipped in their own way. Their houses, churches, stores, and schools were built, not as they would prefer, but as the necessities of their life required. Their communities were pioneer com- munities: their religious habits were suitable to frontier experierice. Modern men would find much to condemn in their ways, and they would find our typical reactions surprising, even wicked. But each conforms to type, and obeys economic necessity. There have been four economic types in American agri- culture. These have succeeded one another as the rural economy has gone through successive transformations. 284 EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 285 They have been the pioneer, the land farmer, the exploiter, and the husbandman. Prof. J. B. Ross of Lafayette, Ind., has clearly stated ' the periods by which these types are separated from one another. It remains for us to con- sider the communities and the churches which have taken form in accordance with these successive types. Prof. Ross has spoken only of the Middle West. With a slight modification, the same might be said of the East- ern States, because the rural economy of the Middle West is inherited from the East. His statement made of this succession of economic types should be quoted in full: "The agrarian occupation of the Middle West divides itself into three periods. The first, which extends from the beginnings of immigration to about the year 1835, is of significance chiefly because of the type of immigrants who pre-empted the soil and the nature of their occupancy. The second period, extending from 1835 to 1890, had as its chief objective the enrichment of the group life. It was the period in which large houses and com- modious bams were erected, and in which tie church and the school were the centres of social activity. The third period, which began about the year 1890, and which is not yet com- plete, is marked by a transition from the era of resident pro- prietors of the land to that of non-resident proprietors, and by the fact that the chief attention of the landowners is paid to the improvement of the soil by fertilization and drainage and to the increasing of facilities for communication and for the marketing of farm products." Each of these types created by the habits of the people in getting their living, had its own kind of a community, so that we have had pioneer, land farmer, exploiter, and husbandman communities. Indeed all these types are now found contemporaneous with one another. We have also had successive churches built by the pioneer, by the land farmer, by the exploiter, and by the husbandman. The present state of the country church and community is explained best by saying that it is an effect of transition from the pioneer and the land-farmer types of church and community to the exploiter and husbandman types. ' The Agrarian Changes in the Middle West, by J. B. Ross, in American Jour- nal of Economics, December, 1910. 286 THE RURAL COMMUNITY The pioneer lived alone. He placed his cabin without regard to social experience. In the woods his axe alone was heard and on the prairie the smoke from his sod house was sometimes answered by no other smoke in the whole horizon. He worked and fought and pondered alone. Self- preservation was the struggle of his life, and personal sal- vation was his aspiration in prayer. His relations with his fellows were purely democratic and highly independent. The individual man with his family lived alone in the face of man and God. The following is a description by an eye-witness of such a community which preserves in a mountain country the conditions of pioneer life.* It is pitiful to see the lack of co-operation among them. It is most evident in business but makes itself known in the chil- dren, too. I regard it as one reason why they do not play; they have been so isolated that they do not allow the social instinct of their natures to express itself. This, of course, is all uncon-- sdously done on their part. However, one cannot live long among them without finding out that they are characterized by an intense individualism. It applies to all that they do, and to it may be attached the blame for all the things which they lack or do wrongfully. If a man has been wronged, he must personally right the wrong. If a man runs for office, people support him as a man and no questions are asked as to his plat- form. If a man conducts a store, people buy from him because he sells the goods, not because the goods commend themselves to them. And so by common consent and practice, the individual interests are first. Naturally this leads to many cases of law- lessness. The game of some of our people is to evade the^law; of others, to ignore the law entirely. The pioneer had in his religion but one essential doc- trine — the salvation of the soul. His church had no other concern than to save individuals from the wrath to come. It had just one method, an annual revival of religion. The loneliness of the pioneer's soul is an effect of his bodily loneliness. The vast outdoors of nature, forest or prairie or mountain, made him silent and introspective even when in company. The variety of impacts of na- ture upon his bodily life made him resourceful and self- ' Rev. Norman C. Schenck. EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 287 reliant; and upon his soul resulted in a reflective, melan- choly egotism. His religion must therefore begin and end in personal salvation. It was a message, an emotion, a struggle, and a peace. The second great characteristic of the pioneer was his emotional tension. His impulses were strong and change- able. The emotional instability of the pioneer grew out of his mixture of occupations. It was necessary for him to practise all the trades. In the original pioneer settle- ment this was literally true. In later periods of the settle- ment of the land the pioneer still had many occupations and representative sections of the country even until the present time exhibit a mixture of occupations among coun- try people most unlike the ordered life of the Eastern States. Adam Smith in Wealth of Nations makes clear that the practice of many occupations induces emotional conditions. Between each two economic processes there is generated for the worker at varied trades a languor, which burdens and confuses the work of the man who practises many trades. This languor is the source of the emotional instability of the pioneer. The pioneer's method of bridging the gap between his many occupations was simple. When he had been hunt- ing he found it hard to go to ploughing, and if ploughing, on the same day to turn to tanning or to mending a roof. When the pioneer had spent an hour in bartering with a neighborhood he found it difficult to turn himself to the shoeing of a horse or the clearing of land. For this new effort his expedient was alcohol. He took a drink of rum as the means of forcing himself to the new occupa- tion. The result is that alcoholic liquors occupy a large place in the economy of every such pioneer people. In the mountain regions of the South, where the pioneer remains as an arrested type, the rum jug occupies the same place in the economy of the countryman as it oc- cupied in the early settlements of the United States gen- erally. These "contemporary ancestors" of ours in the Appalachian region have all the marks of the pioneer. Their simple life, their varied occupations, and the rela- 288 THE RURAL COMMUNITY tive independence of the community and household, pre- sent a picture of the earlier American conditions. It is obvious among them that the emotional condition of the pioneer grew out of his economy and extended itself into his church. This emotional instability of the pioneer shows itself in his social life. The well-known feuds of the mountain people exhibit this condition. Feeling is at once violent and impulsive. The very reserve of those unsmiling and serious people is an emotional state, for the meagre diet and heavy continued strains of their economic life poorly supply and easily exhaust vitality. The frontier church exhibited emotional variability. It expressed itself in the pioneer's one method: namely, an annual revival of religion. In the pioneer churches there were few or no Sunday-schools or other societies. In those regions in which the pioneer has remained the type of economic life Sunday-schools do not thrive. So- cieties for young people, for men, women, and children do not there exist. The church is a place only for preach- ing. Religion consists of a message whose use is to excite emotion. Preaching is had as often as possible, but not necessarily once a week. Essential, however, to the pioneer's organization of his churches is a periodical, if possible an annual, revival of religion. The means used at this time are the announcement of a gospel message and the arousing of emotion in response to this message. There is little application of religious imperative to the details of life. There is no recognition of social life, be- cause the pioneer economy is lonely and individual. The whole prociess of religion consists in "coming through"; in other words, the procuring of an individual and highly personal experience of emotion. Beneath the surface of life in these people so conservative, and so indifferent to change as it is, there runs a strain of in- tense emotionalism. When storms disturb the calm exterior, the mad waves lash and beat and roar. And in religion this is most apparent. With them emotionalism and religion are al- most interchangeable quantities, if they are not identical.' ' Rev. Norman C. Schenck. EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 289 It is in the revival service that you see the heart of the stolid mountain man unmasked. The local mountain preachers know this fact well and use it with great effect. A word must be said about these men who work all thtough the week alongside of their fellows and preach to them on Sunday. In some places there is a custom of holding service on Saturday and Sunday. These men have generally "come through" — a term used to describe the process beginning with "mourning" and continuing through repenting and being saved. And generally they are men of personality. They have a certain power with men, any- way, and they are keen to see the effect of things on their au- diences. Some of them have learned to read the Bible after they have been converted. It is not so much what they say that counts. If people looked for that they would go away un- filled. But they have another thing in mind. They want to feel right. They go to church occasionally during revival drought, but always during revival plenty. They go to get "revived up." The preacher who has the best voice is the best preacher. He sways his audience. The more ignorant he is, the better, for then the Spirit of God is not hindered by the wisdom of man. The spirit comes upon him when he enters the pulpit. He speaks through him to the waiting congregation. Of course they do not know what he is saying for the man makes too much noise. But they begin to feel that this is indeed the place where relig- ion can be found and where it is being distributed among the people. Generally revivals occur as they have always done, about three times a year. At these services the method requires that exhorters should be present and perform. Several do so at the same time. The confusion is great but the people breathe an atmosphere that begins to infect them. Sooner or later weep- ing women are in the arms of some others' husbands begging them to come to the mourning bench. Young girls single out the boys that they like best and affectionately implore them to begin the Christian life. All the time the choir is singing a swing- ing revival hymn; the preacher is standing over his audience shouting "Get busy, sinners," and two or three boys are scurry- ing back and forth carrying water to the thirsty ones, while little groups of the faithful are hovering over a penitent, smothering sinner, trying to "pull her through." During this kind of a meeting which I attended at one time a woman "got happy" and went around slapping every one she could get her hand on, and skipping like a schoolgirl. The pioneer church has not fully passed away. Its one doctrine and its one method have still a place in the more elaborate life of the modern church. Like the rum jug 290 THE RURAL COMMUNITY which is preserved for medicinal purposes, the revival has a use in the pathology of modem church life. The doctrine of personal salvation which is of chief concern, in the ministry to the adolescent population^ of the modern church is just as vital as ever; though it is not the only doctrine of the church of the husbandman, which has come in the country. A relic of the pioneer days is the custom known as the "Group System." By this a preacher comes to a church once a month, or twice, and preaches a sermon, returning promptly to his distant place of residence. The early settlers of this country who originated this system were lonely and individualized. They believed that religion consisted in a mere means of salvation, so that all they required was to hear from a preacher once in a while. But the districts in which the "Group System" is used have grown beyond this religious satisfaction and the "Group System" no longer renders adequate religious service. Religion has become a greater ministry than can be rendered in the form of a message, however well preached. Like all outgrown customs, this one breeds abuses as it grows older. Its value having passed away, it has forms of offensiveness. In sections of Missouri where the farmers are rich they say with contempt, "None of the ministers lives in the country." The "Group System" in a terri- tory of Missouri comprising forty-one churches, organizes its forces as follows: these forty-one churches have nine ministers who live in five communities and go out two miles, ten miles, sometimes thirty miles, in various directions, for a fractional service to other communities than those in which they live. Each of the two big towns has more than one minister and none of the country churches has a pastor. Thus the value of the family life of the preacher is cancelled. After all this organization and division of the men into small fractions among the churches, there are sixteen of these churches which have neither pastor nor preacher. > Youth, by G. Stanley Hall. EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 29 1 This "Group System" can be improved, as is done in Tennessee, by the shortening of the journeys which must be made by the minister from his home to his preaching point. Nevertheless, it gives to the country community only a fraction of a man's time. He can interpret religion in only three ways; in the sermon, the funeral service, and the wedding. Unfortunately, mankind has to do many other things besides getting married, buried or preached at. The country community needs a pastor. It is better for the minister who preaches to the country to live in the country. There are some parts which cannot support a pastor, but the minister to country churches should know the daily round of country life. Religion can never be embodied in a sermon; and when religion comes to be limited to a formal act it is tinged with suspicion in the eyes of most men. Sermons and funerals and weddings become to country people the windows by which religion flies out of the community. Especially among farmers, religion is a matter of every-day life. What religion the farmer has grows out of his yearly struggle with the soil and with the elements. His belief in God is a belief in Providence. His God is the creator of the sun and the seasons, the wind and the rain. The man who does not with him share these experiences cannot long interpret them to him in terms of scripture or of church. The policy of the newer territories of the church must be to translate the "Group System" into pastorates. The long-range group service should be transformed into short and compact group ministry; the pastor should live in the country community and the length of his journey should never be longer than his horse can drive. A group of churches which are not more than ten miles apart con- stitute a country parish. Some few active ministers are able to make thirty to forty miles on horseback on a Sun- day, among a scattered people. This is well, but as soon as the railroad becomes an essential factor in the monthly visit of ministers to the country, religion passes out of that community. The service of the country preacher, in other words, 292 THE RURAL COMMUNITY is essentially confined to the country community, and the bounds of the country community are determined by the length of the team haul or horseback ride to which that population is accustomed. Within these bounds religious life and expression are possible. Immersed in his own community, the life of the minister and his family attain immediate religious value. The whole influence of the minister's home, the service of his wife to the people, which is often greater than his own, and the development of his children's life, these are all of religious use to his people. A recent speaker upon this matter said, "I doubt if even the Lord Jesus Christ could have saved this world if he had come down to it only once in two weeks on Satur- day and gone back on Monday morning." The pastor, then, is the type of community builder needed in the country. The pastor works with a maximum of sincerity, while sincerity may in preaching be reduced to the lowest terms. He is in constant, intimate, personal contact. The preacher is dealing with theories and ideals not always rooted in local experiences. The pastor lives the life of his people. He is known to them and their lives are known to him. The preacher may perform his orator- ical ministry through knowledge of populations long since dead and by description of foreign and alien countries. It is possible to preach acceptably about kingdoms that have not yet existed. But the work of a pastor is the de- velopment of ideals out of situations. It is his business to inspire the daily life of his people with high idealism and to construct those aspirations and imaginations out of the daily work of mankind, which are proper to that work and essential to that people. An illustrious example of such ministry is that of John Frederick Oberlin,' whose pastorate at Waldersbach in the Vosges consisted of a service to his people in their every need, from the building of roads to the organization and teaching of schools. It would have been impossible for Oberlin to have served these people through preaching ' Story of John Frederick Oberlin, by Augustus Field Beard, 1909. EVOLUTION OP THE COMMUNITY 293 alone. Being a mature community, indeed old in suffer- ing and in poverty, they needed the ministry of a pastor, and this service he rendered them in the immersion of his life with theirs, and the bearing of their burdens, even the most material and economic burden of the community, upon his shoulders. The passing away of pioneer days discredits the minis- try of mere preaching, through increasing variation of communities, families, and individuals. The preacher's message is not widely varied. It is the interpreting of tradition, gospel, and dogma. His sources can all be neatly arranged on a book-shelf. One suspects that the greater the preacher, the fewer his books. On the con- trary, the pastor's work is necessitated by growing differ- ences of his people. He must be all things to many different kinds of men. In the country community this intimate intercourse and varying sympathy take him through a wider range of human experience than in a more classified community. He must plough with the ploughman, and hunt with the hunter, and converse with the seamstress, be glad with the wedding company, and bear the burden of sorrow in the day of death. Moreover, nobody outside a country community knows how far a family can go in the path of poverty and still live. No one knows how eccentric and peculiar, how reserved and whimsical the life of a household may be, unless he has lived as neighbor and friend to such a household. The preacher cannot know this. Not all the experience of^the world is written even in the Bible. The spirit shall "teach us things to come." It is the pastor who learns these things by his daily observation of the lives of men. The communities themselves in the country differ widely, even in conformity to given types, and when all is said by the general student, the pastor has the knowl- edge of his own community. It belongs peculiarly to him. No one else can ever know it and there are no two com- munities alike. In the intense localism of a community, its religious history is hidden away and its future is in- volved. The man who shall touch the springs of the 294 THE RURAL COMMUNITY community's life must know these local conditions with the intimate detail which only he commands who daily goes up and down its path. This man is the pastor. Ex- cept the country physician, no other living man is such an observer as he. The end of the pioneer days means, therefore, to relig- ious people, the establishment of the pastorate. The religious leader for the pioneer was the preacher, but the community which clings to preaching as a satisfactory and final religious ministry is retrograde. In this retarding of religious progress is the secret of the decline of many communities. The great work of ministering to them is in supplanting the preacher, who renders but a fractional service to the people, by a pastor whose preaching is an announcement of the varied ministry in which he serves as the cure of souls. The pioneer days are gone. Only in the Southern Ap- palachian region are there arrested communities in which, in our time, the ways of our American ancestors are seen. The community builder cannot change the type of his people. He can only wait for the change, and enable his people to conform to the new type. For this process new industries, new ways of getting a living are necessary. The teacher or pastor can do something to guide his people in the selection of constructive instead of destructive in- dustry. In East Tennessee and in the mountain counties of North Carolina lumbering industries are for the time being employing the people. The result will be a deeper im- poverishment; for the timber is the people's greatest source of actual and potential wealth. The leaders of the mountain people should teach reforestation with a view to maintaining the people's future wealth. In a mountain county of Kentucky a minister seeing that his people needed a new economic life, before they could receive the religious life of the new type, organized an annual county fair. To this he brought, with the help of outside friends, a breed of hogs better than his moun- tain people knew. He cultivated competition in local EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 295 industries, weaving and cooking; and started his people on the path of economic success of a new type. In conclusion, the pioneer was individualistic and emo- tional. These traits were caused by his economic experience. While that experience lasted, he could be made no other sort of man than this. To this type his home and his busi- ness life and his church conformed. Within these char- acteristics the efficiency of his social life was to be found. II. The Land Farmer I shall use the term land farmer to describe the man who tilled the soil in all parts of the country after pioneer days. He is usually called simply the farmer. This is the type with which we are most familiar in our present-day literature and in dramatic representations of the country. The land farmer, or farmer, is the typical countryman who in the Middle West about 1835 succeeded the pioneer, and about 1890 was followed by the exploiter of the land. In the Eastern States pioneer days ended before 1835. The land farmer was the prevailing type throughout New England, New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania as early as 1800. In the South the contemporary of the land farmer was the planter or slaveholder. The modified type in the South was due to an economic difference. The labor problem was solved in the South by chattel slavery; in the North by the wage system. It is true that throughout much of the South the small farmer held his own. These men conformed to the type of the land farmer. But in the South they did not dominate social and political life as the slaveholder did. In the Eastern States the whole social economy was, until a generation after the Civil War, dominated by the land farmer. The characteristics of the land farmer are: first, his cultivation of the first values of the land. His order of life is characterized by initial utility. He lived in a time of plenty. The abundance of nature, which was to the pioneer a detriment, was to the land farmer a source of wealth. He tilled the soil and he cut the timber, he ex- 296 THE RURAL COMMUNITY plored the earth for mines, seeking everywhere the first values of a virgin land. As these first values were exhausted, he moved on to new territories. All his ideas of social life were those of initial utility. The rich man was the standard and the admired citizen. The policies of government were dominated by the ideas of a landhold- ing people. Individualism proceeded on radiating lines from any given centre. The development of personality is the clue to the history of that period. The second characteristic of the land farmer was his development of the family group. He differed from the pioneer, whose life was lonely and individual, in the per- fection of group life in his period. He differs from the exploiter who succeeds him in the country to-day in the fact that exploitation has dissolved the family group. The experience of the land farmer compacted and perfected the household group in the country. The beginnings of this group life were in the pioneer period, but there was not peace in which the family could develop nor were there resources by which it could be endowed. The classic period of American life is that of the land farmer. The typical American home, as it lives in sentiment, in literature, and in idealism, is the home of the land farmer. Third, the land farmer owned his home. He built upon his farm a homestead which in most cases represented his ideal of domestic and family comfort. He built for permanence. So far as his means permitted he provided for his children and for generations of descendants after them. He consecrated the soil to his people and to his name by setting apart a graveyard on his own land, and there he buried his dead. Fourth, the land farmer had neighbors. His well- developed family group would not have been possible without other groups in the same community and the independence of the family group was relative, being per- fected by imitation and economic competition. The land- farmer type came to maturity only when the whole of the land was possessed, when on every side the family group was confronted with other family groups, and neigh- EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 297 borliness became universal. The family group is dependent through intermarriage and relationship upon other groups in the community. Family relationships thus came in the land-farmer communities to be very general. Some rough and crude forms of economic co-operation also grew up in this period, as modifications of the competition on which the land-farmer type is based. "The farmer type produced a definite social life," says Prof. Ross. "The second period, extending from 1835 to 1890, had as its chief objective the enrichment of the group life." Fifth, the land farmer competed, by group confiic-t, with his neighbors. Property was regarded by the land farmer as a family possession. Competition was between group and group, between household and household. The moral strength as well as the moral deficiencies of this type of man flow from this competition. He considered him- self essentially bounden to the members of his own group by obligations and free from moral obligations to others. The son received no wages from his father for work on the farm and the daughter did not dream of pay or of an allowance for her labor in the house. The land farmer conceived of his estate as belonging to his family group and embodied in himself. Therefore he had no wage obligations to son or daughter and he felt himself obliged so to distribute his property as to care for all the members of his household. This economic competition compacted the family group and formed the basis for the social economy of the country community. The land farmer had no ideal of community prosperity. His thought for generations has been to make his own farm prosperous, to raise some crop that others shall not raise, to have a harvest that other men have not and to find a market which other men have not discovered, by which he and his farm and his group may prosper. It is hard to con- vince the land farmer, because of his immersion in his group conflict, that the farmer's prosperity is dependent upon the prosperity of other groups in the community. The presence of the small group is the sign of normal 298 THE RURAL COMMUNITY social life. The group is not complete in itself, but is a unit in human association. So that the farmer economy had its social life and its own type of communities. The economy of the farmer period represents the ideals born in the pioneer nation. The community of the farmer is the destined period of the life of the pioneer. The farmer still practises a variety of occupations. His tillage of the soil and his household economy are the most conservative in all American population. He uses modern machinery in the fields, but to a great degree his wife uses the old mechanisms in the kitchen and in the household. The laborers employed on the farm are received into the farm- er's family under conditions of social equality. The man who in this day is a laborer may in a decade be a farmer. The dignifying of personality with landownership has been such a general social experience in the country that every individual is thought of in the farmer period as a potential landowner. The institutions of the rural community of the land- farmer type are the country store, the rural school, and the church. The country store deals in general merchan- dise and is a natural outgrowth of the stores of the pioneer period in which barter constituted the whole of the com- merce of the community. In the pioneer store but a few commodities were imported from the outer world. The greater part of the merchandise was made in the com- munity and distributed in the store. But the farmer's rural economy is the dawning of the world economy and the general store in the farming community becomes an economic institution requiring great ability and centring in itself the forces of general as well as local economics. The general storekeeper of this type in the country is at once a business man, a money lender, an employer of labor, and the manager of the social centre. He sells goods at a price so low as to maintain his local trade against outside competition. He loans money on mortgages throughout the community, and sells goods on credit. Judgment of men and of properties is so essential to his business that if he cannot judiciously EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 299 loan and give credit he cannot maintain a country store. Around his warm stove in the winter and at his door in summer gather the men of the community for discussion of politics, religion, and social. affairs. In addition to all else, he has been usually the postmaster of the community. The one-room rural school which is the prevailing type throughout the country is a product of the land-farmer period. Its prevalejice shows that we are still in land- farmer conditions; and the criticism to which it is now subjected indicates that we are conscious of a new epoch in rural life. It fits well into the life of the land farmer because it gives obviously a mere hint of learning. It has been the boast of its advocates that it taught only the "three Rs." Its training for life is rudimentary only: it gives but an alphabet. The land farmer expected to live in his group. Secure in his own acres and believing himself "as good as anybody," he relied for his son and daughter not upon trained skill, but upon native abilities, sterling character, independence, and industry. Of all these the household, not the school, is the source. So that the one-room coun- try school was satisfactory to those who created it. In another chapter the common schools are more fully discussed. Here it may be said only that the creation of such a system was an honor to any people. The farmers who out of a splendid idealism placed a schoolhouse at every cross-roads, on every hilltop, and in every mountain valley, exact a tribute of praise from their successors. The unit of measurement of the school district, on which this system was based, was the day's journey of a child six years of age. Two miles must be the longest radius. The generation who spanned this continent with the measure of an infant's pace, mapped the land into districts, erected houses at the centres, and employed teachers as the mas- ters of learning for these little states, were men of states- manlike power. The country school is a nobler monu- ment of the land farmer than anything else he has done. The rural "academy" was the most influential school of the land farmer's time. Situated at the centre of lead- 300 THE RURAL COMMUNITY ing communities, in New England, Pennsylvania, and the older Eastern States, it was often under the control or the influence of the parish minister. It generally exerted a great influence for the buiilding of the church and the community. Its teachers were men of scholarly ideals. Its students were from the locality, being selected by am- bition for learning, and by their ability to pay the tuition. The development of the high schools has generally re- sulted in the abandonment of the academies. A few have survived and have adapted themselves to new times. But it is to be doubted whether the common schools have done as much for building and for organizing country communi- ties, for providing local leadership, for building churches, as did the rural academies of New England, Pennsylvania, and other Eastern States. The farmer's church is the classic American type of church at its best. The farming economy succeeded to the pioneer economy without serious break. The troubles of the country church have their beginnings in the period of the exploiter which is to follow, but the farmer de- veloped the church of the pioneer with sympathy and consistency. The church of the farmer still values per- sonal salvation above all. The revival methods and the simplicity of doctrine have remained, but the farmer has added typical methods of his own. The effect of this individualism is exhibited in the multi- plication of churches among farmers. So long as it is ad- mitted that the church is for personal salvation, it does not need to be a social institution. A small group is as ef- fective as a large one for securing salvation for individuals. Two churches or three may as well serve a community as one, if personal salvation be the service rendered. The gospel is for the farmer good tidings, — not a call to social service. The result of the farmer period has been, there- fore, the multiplication of competitive country churches. An instance of this competitive condition is: the com- munity in Kansas in which among four hundred people resident in a field, there are seven churches, each of them attempting to maintain a resident pastor. In Centre EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 3OI County, Pa., in a radius of four miles from a given point, there are twenty-four country churches. In the same territory within a radius of three miles there are sixteen of these country churches. This condition is satisfactory to the ideals of the farmer. If the farmer type were per- manent these churches might serve permanently for the ministry of personal salvation. They are well attended by a devout and religious-minded people. Their con- demnation is not in the farmer economy but in the in- evitable coming of the exploiter and the husbandman with their different experience and different type of mind. In this period the minister frequently is himself a tiller of the soil. Many bf the older churches had land, ten or twenty or forty acres, which the minister was expected to till, and from it to secure a part of his living. A church at Cranberry, N. J., had a farm of one hundred acres until the close of the nineteenth century. But with the coming of the exploiter and the husbandman the minister ceases to be an agriculturist. Like unto the tillage of the soil by the minister was the "donation" to the minister, of vegetables, com, honey, and other farm products. At one time this filled a large place in the supply of the minister's living. In various communities the custom has remained with fine tenacity in the presentation to the minister of portions of farm prod- uce throughout the year. But the portions so given are fewer, as years pass, and the total quantity small. The donation of vegetables and farm produce has survived in but a few places. The modes of life which succeeded to the farmer economy are dependent on cash for the dis- tribution of values, and the "donation," if it remain at all, is a gift of money. Frequently the "donation" has survived as a social gathering, being perpetuated in one of its functions only, its earlier purposes and its essential form being forgotten. The church of the land farmer corresponded by logical social causation to the social economy of this type. It was seated with family pews generally rented by the family group and sometimes owned in fee. In the South the slave- 302 THE RURAL COMMUNITY holding churches, which have all passed away, had galleries for the slaves, who worshipped thus under the same roof with their masters. The preaching of this period was directed to the development of group life. Its ethical standards were those of the household group, in which private property in land, domestic morality, filial and domestic experiences furnished the stimuli. The land farmer's church had some organizations to correspond to the differences in social life. The presence of children in the family group is represented in the Sun- day-schools and parochial schools built during this period. The schools are in many cases highly organized, with sepa- rate recognition of infancy, adolescence, and middle life. In Protestant churches the particular concerns of women and the religious service rendered by them take form in women's societies in the churches, mostly charitable and missionary. Finally at the close of the land-farmer period, about 1890, there sprang up the young people's societies, which in the ten closing years of the land-farmer period reached a membership of hundreds of thousands among the Protes- tant churches. These societies of young people were organized in the churches to correspond to the growing self-consciousness among adolescent members of the land farmer's household. The young men and women in the maturing of the family group came to have a life of their own. As frequently happens, the family group reached its highest development and perfection just before it was to pass away. The church of the land farmer is the typical Protestant church of the United States. So influential has the farmer been in national life that organized religion has idealized his type of church. It has been transported to villages and towns. It has become the type of church most fre- quent in the cities. Nearly all the Protestant churches in New York are land-farmer churches; " and that," says a noted city pas- tor, "is what ails them." * This church centres its activi- ' Rev. Charles Stelzle. EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 303 ties in preaching, rents or assigns its pews to families, and organizes societies for the various factors of the family group. It has Sunday-schools, women's, men's, and young people's societies, with only one minister to supervise them all. The transformation of this type of church, so deeply rooted in the idealism of the whole people, into a church better suited to city, factory town, and mining settlement, has been the problem for Protestant bodies to solve in the past twenty years. The beginning of this transforma- tion, it is striking to observe, came at the end of the land- farmer period, about 1890. The land farmer, then, whose period, according to Prof. Ross, extended from 1835 to 1890 in the Middle West, is the best known agricultural type. He is the typical countryman as the countryman is imagined in the cities and recorded in our literature. It has been the American hope that he should be the landowner of the days to come. In East Tennessee the farmer is still the type of landowner in country communities. In some portions of Michigan and Minnesota the farmer type gives character to the whole population, but generally throughout the country the processes described by Prof. Ross have undermined the integrity of the farmer type and broken his hold upon leadership of the country population. Within the last two decades, since 1890, the farmer has been gradually discouraged, and has realized that his economy is not suited to survive. The most representative farming communi- ties to-day are those of Scotch or Scotch-Irish people, whose instinctive tenacity, their " clannishness," has per- petuated longer than in other instances the rural economy and the country community. In using the term land farmer I am aware of its close resemblance to the term exploiter. This word itself points to exploitation of land. The land farmer has used the raw materials of the country. He has tilled the soil until its fertility is exhausted, and then moved on to the newer regions of the West, again to farm and to exploit the virgin riches of a plenteous land. The planter in the South, pos- 304 THE RURAL COMMUNITY sessing frequently more than a thousand acres, was ac- customed to till a portion of one hundred, two hundred or four hundred acres, until its fertility had been ex- hausted. Then he moved his slaves to another section, cleared the land, and cultivated it until its power to pro- duce had also been exhausted. The difference between land farming and exploitation is the absence of specula- tion in land in the former period. III. The Exploiter The third type in American agriculture is the exploiter. Between the farmer and the husbandman there is an eco- nomic revolution. In fact the exploiter himself is a transi- tion type between the farmer and the husbandman. "The fundamental problem in American economics always has been that of the distribution of land," says Prof. Ross. The exploiter is, I presume, a temporary economic type, created in the period of redistribution of land. The char- acteristic of the exploiter is his commercial valuation of all things. He is the man who sees only the value of money. It was natural that with the maturing of an American population, the exploitation of the natural resources should come. We have exploited the forest, removing the timber from the hills, and making out of its vast resources a few fortunes. We wasted in the process nine-tenths for every one-tenth of wealth accumulated by the exploiter. We have exploited the coal and iron and other minerals. The exploitation of the oil deposits and natural gas reservoirs has been a national experience and a national scandal. The tendency to exploit every opportunity for private wealth has characterized the past two decades.* There are those who exploit the child vitality of the families of working people, and the States have put legal checks in the way of child labor. The exploitation of the labor of women has gone so far as to threaten the vitality of the generation to be bom, and laws have been passed ' The Consenation of National Resources in the United States, by Van Hise. EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 305 which forbid the employment of women except within limit. The ethical discussion of the past decade is largely a keen analysis of the methods of exploitation of resources, of men, and of communities, and an attempt to fix the bounds of the exploitation of values for private wealth. There are those who exploit the farm. "Farms which from the original entry until 1890 had been owned by the same family, or which had changed owners but once or twice, and whose owners were proud to assert that their broad acres had never been encumbered with mortgages, since 1890 have been sold, in some instances as often as ten times, in more numerous instances four or five times, and a large part of the purchase price is secured by en- cumbering the estates !" * Agriculture, especially in the Middle West, is affected in all its parts by the exploitation of land. To a traveller from the Eastern States, the selling and reselling of farm land, without fertilization or improvement by any of the successive owners, is a source of amazement. The new lands opened under the Homestead act of half a cen- tury ago were often exploited for temporary profit by soil rob- bers who were experts of their kind. Owing to such farm manage- ment, the yield of the acre in the United States gradually de- creased. Very little intensive farming was done.' The commercial exploitation of land dissolves every permanent factor in the farm economy. The country community of the land-farmer type is being undermined and is crumbling away under the influence of exploitation. The pioneers were a Westward emigration, pushing West- ward the boundaries of the country at the rate of fifty miles in a decade; but since 1890 emigration has been eastward, and is made up of farmers who move to ever cheaper and cheaper lands to the East, the tide of higher prices coming from the West. Already in central Illinois the values of land seem to have reached the high water- 'J. B. Ross, Agrarian Changes in the Middle West. ' Secretary of Agriculture James Wilson, at the United States Land and Irrigation Exposition, Chicago, Nov. 19, 1910. 306 THE RURAL COMMUNITY mark. About Galesburg "the Swedes have got hold of the land and they will not sell." Among the last recorded sales in this district were some at prices between two hun- dred and two hundred and fifty dollars per acre. It is not generally understood that this exploitation of farm lands has extended over nearly the whole coun- try. Its spread is increasingly rapid in the last two years. In the Gulf States and the Carolinas and in Tennessee and Kentucky prices of farm land have increased in the last five years from twenty-five to one hundred per cent. Even in the most conservative counties in Pennsylvania the prices of farm land have increased twenty to twenty- five per cent. The sign of this exploitation is a rapid increase in the market values of farm land, due to frequent sale and pur- chase. This increase is independent of any increase in essential value to the farmer. The net income of the farmer may have been increased only five per cent, as in the State of Indiana, whereas the values of farm land have increased in the same period more than one hundred per cent. That is, the speculative increases have been twenty times as much as the agricultural increase. Along with this change in farm values goes the increase or decrease in the number of tenant farmers and the shift- ing of the ownership of land to farm landlords. In some part of the country this exploitation has taken a purely speculative form. In all parts it is speculative in char- acter, but in some sections of the country the exploiters are themselves farmers and the process is imposed upon the farmers by economic causes. This is true of Illinois and Indiana lands, which are under the influence of a sys- tem of drainage, but there are other portions of the coun- try in which the process is chiefly speculative. In some Western States the exploitation of farm land is in the hands of speculators themselves, doing real-estate business purely as a matter of trade. It would be a mistake, however, to attribute a process so general as this one to the power exerted by a class of real-estate agents. Its causes are deeper than the commercial process. They go into the EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 307 very roots of modern life. This should be clearly under- stood, because when frankly realized it compels the ad- justment of social, educational, and religious work to the period of exploitation. The effect of this process is upon all the life of country people. It has created its own class of men. There was no intention in the mind of earlier Americans that we should ever have a tenant class in America. The as- sumption upon which all our ideals are built has been that we should be a landowning people, but we are confronted with a tenantry problem as difficult as any in the world. The process of exploiting land has added to the social and economic life of the country the farm landlord, whose in- fluence upon the immediate future of the American coun- try community, church, and school, in all sections will be great, and in many communities will be dominating. The exploitation of land has produced the retired farmer. He is a pure example of the weakness of the exploiter economy. Originally he was a homesteader, or perhaps a purchaser of cheap land in the early days. He expected not to remain a farmer, but hoped for removal to the East or to a college town. The motives which animated him were varied, but among them none was so prominent as a desire for better education than was provided for his children in the country community of the farmer type. So that at forty or fifty years of age he seized an oppor- tunity to sell his land, as the prices were rising, and re- tired to the town with a cash fortune for investment. Immediately the economic forces to which he had sub- mitted himself made of him a new type, for the retired farmer in the Middle West is a characteristic type of the leading towns and cities. Some whole streets in large centres are peopled with retired farmers. The civic policies of scores of small municipalities are controlled in a measure by them, so that journalists, religious leaders, reformers, and politicians have very clear-cut opinions as to the value of the retired farmer. The analysis of this situation is as follows: While the land which he sold continued to increase in value, his small 308 THE RURAL COMMUNITY fortune began to diminish in value. The interest on his money has been less every ten years; whereas he formerly could loan at first for six and sometimes seven per cent, he cannot loan safely now for more than five or six per cent. Meantime the prices of all things he has to buy are ex- pressed in cash, — no longer in kind as on the farm; and these cash prices are growing. In the past decade they have almost doubled. This means that he is a poorer man. His money has a diminished purchasing power and he has a smaller yearly income. In addition to this, his wants, and the wants of the members of his family are increased two or three times. They cannot live as they lived on the farm. They cannot dress as they dressed in the country. The pressure of these increasing economic wants, demanding to be satis- fied out of a diminished income, with higher prices for things to be purchased, keeps the retired farmer a poor man. The result is that the retired farmer is opposed to every step of progress in the growing town in which he lives. He opposes every increase of taxation and fights every assessment. He dreads a subscription list and hates to hear of contributions. Although an intelligent and pious man, he has come to be an obstacle to the building of libraries, churches, and schools and opposed to all hu- mane and missionary activities. He is suffering from a great economic mistake. Before leaving the exploiter it is to be said he also has. his church. The exploiter has built no community. He has contributed the retired farmer to the large towns and small cities of the Middle West. It is natural, therefore, that few exploiter churches are found in the country. But in the larger centres there are churches whose doctrines and methods are those of the exploited. Indeed, at the present time, the exploiter's doctrine in ethics and religion is highly popular. It is the doctrine of the consecration of wealth. There are in the larger cities churches whose business is to give; Sunday after Sunday they hear pleas and con- EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 3O9 sider the cases of college presidents, superintendents of charities, secretaries of mission boards, and other official solicitors. These churches have systematized the dis- cipline of giving. Their boards of officers control the ap- peals that shall be made to their people. Such churches are highly individualistic in character, and the preacher who ministers in such a church has a doctrine of individual culture and responsibility. The exploiter's doctrine of systematic giving has gone into all of the communities in which prosperous people live. It has become a moral code for millionaires, and the response to it is annually measured in the great gifts of men of large means to institutions which exist for the use of all mankind. But not all the farm exploiters retired from the farm. The stronger and more successful have become absentee landlords. These men have invested their cash in farm lands. Distrusting the investments of the city market, and fearing Wall Street, they have purchased increased acreage in the country, and when the local market was exhausted, they have invested in the Southwest and the Far West, buying ever more and more land. They have proven that " It is possible to maintain a vicious economic method on a rising market." ^ These landlords have leased their land in accordance with mere expediency. No plans have been made in the American rural economy for a tenantry. The lease, there- fore, throughout the United States generally is for only one year. This gives to the landlord the greatest free- dom, and to the tenant the least responsibility. Neither is willing to enter into a contract by which the land itself can be benefited. The landlord is looking for the increase of the values of land, and is ever mindful of a possible buyer. Moreover, he is watchful of the market for the crop and of the size of the crop, so that he desires to be free at the end of the year to make other arrangements. The tenant on his part is somewhat eager to do as he pleases for a year. He expects to be himself an owner ' The Rural Life Problem in the United States, by Sir Horace Plunkett. 3IO THE RURAL COMMUNITY and he does not expect to remain permanently as a tenant on that farm. He reckons that he can get a good deal out of the land in the year, and is unwilling to bind him- self for a longer period. "The American system of farm tenantry is the worst of which I have knowledge in any country." ^ It is true that in some part of the country leases of three and five years are granted to tenants by landlords. At Penn Yan, New York, a reliable class of Danes secure such leases from the owners. I am aware, also, that in Delaware, in an old section dependent upon fertilization for its crops, where the land is in the hands of a few rep- resentatives of the old farmer type who have held it for generations, that the tillage of the soil shows specializa- tion. The landlord and the tenant co-operate. The leases, while they are for but a year, specify how the land shall be tilled, how fertilized. They require the rotation of crops and the keeping of a certain number of cattle by the tenants. The landlord personally oversees the tillage of several farms. This seems the beginning of husbandry, instead of exploitation of the land. Another instance of the landlord who is more than a mere exploiter is that of David Rankin, recently deceased. In the last years of his life Mr. Rankin owned about thirty thousand acres of land in Missouri. It was said in 1910 that he had seventeen thousand acres of com. He had a genius for estimating the values of land, the expensive- ness of drainage, and the possibilities of the market. He was an expert buyer of cattle, and a master of the problems entering into progressive farming on a large scale. From his vast acreage Mr. Rankin sold not one bushel of corn. All his crops "went on four legs." "He drove his corn to market," as they say in the Middle West. He bought cattle from the ranches, for none were bred on his own land. He fattened them for market, translating com into beef, and he was well aware of the values of pork in the economy of such a farm. Nothing went to waste. According to the formula in Nebraska, "For every cow ' Dean Chas. F, Curtiss, State College of Iowa, EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 31I keep a sow, that's the how." Mr. Rankin made large profits from his cattle and hogs. It is true that he cared nothing for the community or its institutions. On his wide acres family life was replaced by boarding-houses. Schools and churches were closed, and many farmhouses built by the homesteaders rotted down to their foundations. But David Rankin was a husbandman, if not a humanist. His tillage of the soil was successful in that it maintained the fertility of the soil, that it produced large quantities of food for the consumer, and that it was profitable. The following is a description of community life under the influence of such great landlords by a Western ob- server : — The city of Casselton, North Dakota, was originally started about the year 1879. Thirty years ago the first settlers came to this great prairie region from the New England and Central States. It was shortly before this or about this time that the Northern-Pacific Railroad was built across this western prairie. The government gave to the road every other section of land on each side of the railroad for thirty miles as a bonus. That land was sold in the early days by the railroad for fifty cents an acre. It was some of the finest farming land in the wide world. Out of those sales grew some of the immense farms that have been so famous over the country and while they are great busi- ness concerns managed with fine business ability, yet they are not much of a help in the settling of the country. Here within one mile of Casselton is the famous Darymple farm of twenty- eight thousand acres. This farm employs during the busy season what men it needs from the drifting classes and puts no families on its broad acres. These men are here but a short season in the summer, then are gone. They are rushed with work for that season, Sundays as well as other days, from early morn- ing to late at night, making it almost impossible to touch their religious life or even to count them a part of the community life. Another farm is the Chaffee farm of thirty-five thousand acres. Mr. Chaffee is a thorough business man but is a fine Christian and places a good 'family on each section of land. He allows no Sunday work. Has a little city kept up in beautiful condi- tion in the centre of his land where he lives with his clerks and immediate helpers. Here they have a neat little Congregational church and support their own minister. His fine influence is 312 THE RURAL COMMUNITY felt all over the country. The partners in this farm also have a land and loan corporation and also a large flour-mill in Cassel- ton which employs about twenty-eight men, running day and night during the busy season. There are many farms smaller, from one thousand acres and up. Many also of a quarter section. Casselton was built simply as a centre for this beautiful and rich farming region. It is in the centre of a strip six miles long and twenty-five miles wide which is said to be one of the finest sections in the land. There are other towns sprung up in the same section also. Through the past thirty years farmers have retired, well to do, and moved into the city. Here are maintained excellent schools. In conclusion: the exploitation of farm lands is a process with which the church in the country cannot deal by persuasion. It is an economic condition. They who are engaged in this process or are concerned in its effects are in so far immune to the preacher who ignores or who does not understand these economic conditions. Their action is conditioned by their status. They will infallibly act with relation to the church in accordance with the motives which arise out of their condition. That is, they will act as tenant farmers, as retired farmers or as absentee landlords. They must be treated on these terms. Their whole relation to organized religion will be that of the condition in which they live and by which they get their daily bread. This is a matter independent of personal goodness. The church is dependent not on personal good influences, but upon the response which a man makes in accordance with his economic and social character. For instance, in Wisconsin a church worker found that thousands of acres in a certain section were owned by a Milwaukee capitalist. He found that the tenant farmers on these acres were poor and struggling for a better living, and he could not, among them, finance an adequate church. He promptly went to Milwaukee and secured five minutes of the time and attention of the absentee landlord. When he had stated the case and the reasons why this large owner should give to the country church on his acres, the man promptly said, "You have stated what I never before realized and I will give you a contribution of one hundred EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 313 dollars per year for that church until you hear from me to the contrary." In contrast to this there is in Central Illinois a large estate of five thousand acres. The owner lives in a distant city and his son tills the land. It is knoWn among the neighbors that the son has orders to oppose all improve- ments of churches and of schools, "because there is no money for us in the church or the school." It is useless to complain of the position in which a man is. The minister's duty is to utilize him in his own status and to enable him to practise the virtues which are open to him. The retired farmer can become an active and devoted evangelist, preacher or organizer. He should be made a leader in the intellectual development of the farmer's problem of the region. He has leisure and in- telligence and is often a devout man. It is the business of the minister to transform this into religious and social efficiency. The temperance movement in the Middle West has had generous and devoted support from the retired farmers living in the towns. The families of these one time farmers are seeking after culture. The literary and aesthetic aspects of the community can well be com- mitted to members of these families. Their value for the community is probably in these directions. Above all it is the business of the minister to sympathize with the life they are living and to enable them to live it to the highest advantage. The energies of the church should be devoted to the tenant farmer. Of this more will be said in another place. He also must be treated in sympathy with his social and economic experience and the religious service rendered to him must be the complete betterment of his life as he is trying to live it. He is not a sinner because he is a tenant and what he does as a- tenant is therefore not a misde- meanor, but a normal reaction upon life. The church can help him in purging his life from the iniquities peculiar to a tenant and a dependent. The noblest motives must be brought out and the life he is to lead should be given its own ideals. 314 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Above all the period of exploitation must be under- stood by the teacher and the preacher to be a preparation, a transition through which country people are coming to organized and scientific agriculture. Gradually the influence of science and the leadership of the departments and colleges of agriculture are being extended in the coun- try. Little by little, whether through landlord or tenant, farming is becoming a profession requiring brains, science, and trained intelligence. The country church should promote this process because only through its maturity can the country church in the average community find its own establishment. The reconstruction of the churches now going on corresponds to the exploitation of the land. The duty of the church in the process of exploitation is to build the community and to make itself the centre of the growing scientific industry on which the country com- munity in the future will be founded. The religion of the exploiter moves in the giving of money. Consecration of his wealth is consecration of his world and of himself. The church that would save him must teach him to give. His sins are those of greed, his virtues are those of benevolence. His own type, not the least worthy among men, should be honored in his religion. No man's conversion ever makes him depart from his type, but be true to his type. Therefore the relig- ion for the exploiter of land is a religion of giving, to the poor at his door, to the ignorant in this land, and to the needy of all lands. IV. The Husbandman The scientific farmer is dependent upon the world economy. He is the local representative of agriculture, whose organization is national and even international. He raises cotton in Georgia, but he "makes milk" in Orange County, New York, because the market and the soil and the climate and other conditions require of him this crop. He is dependent upon the college of agriculture for the methods by which he can survive as a farmer. Tradition, EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 315 which dominated the agriculture of a former period, is a disappearing factor in husbandry of the soil. The changes in market conditions are such as to impoverish the farmer who learns only from the past. Tradition could teach the farmer how to raise the raw materials, under the old economy, in which the farmhouse and the community were sufficient unto themselves. But in a time when the wool of Australia goes half-way round the world in its passage from the back of a sheep to the back of a man, the sheep farmer becomes dependent upon the scientist. He cannot afford to raise sheep unless the scientific man assures him that in the production of wool his land has its highest utility. "The American farm land is passing into the hands of those who will use it to the highest ad- vantage." * The dependence of the scientific farmer or husbandman upon the world market and upon the scientists who are studying agriculture enlarges the circle of his life from the rural household to the rural community. In the rural community agriculture can be taught; in the household it cannot. The only teaching of the household is tradi- tion; the teaching of the community is in terms of science. The country school and the country church take a greater place as community institutions just as soon as the farmer passes out of the period of exploitation into that of scien- tific husbandry. The husbandman is the economist in agriculture. He is to the farm what the husband was to the household in old times. One is tempted to say also that the husband- man is he who marries the land. American farm land has suffered dishonor and degradation, but it has known all too little the affection which could be figuratively ex- pressed in marriage. The Bible speaks of "marrying the land." "Thy land shall be called Beulah for thy land shall be married." Side by side in this country we have the lands which have been dishonored, degraded, aban- doned, dissolute, and the lands husbanded, fertilized, en- riched, and made beautiful. The husbandman or rural economist cares more for ' Rural Economics, by Prof. Thos. Nixon Carver. 31 6 THE RURAL COMMUNITY qualities than for quantity. He works not merely for intensive cultivation of the soil, but also for the preserva- tion of the soil and use of it in its own terms, at its highest values. The principle at work is not the increase in the farmer's material gains or possessions. The husbandry of the soil is not a mere increase in market values. It is a deeper and more ethical welfare than that which can be put in the bank. "Agriculture is a religious occupation." When it sustains a permanent population and extends from generation to generation the same experiences, agriculture is productive in the highest degree of moral and religious values. In the words of Director L. H. Bailey, of Cornell, "The land is holy." This is especially true at the present time, when land is limited in amount. Already the whole nation is de- pendent upon the farmer in the degree intimated by the statement of Dean Bailey. "The census of 1900 showed approximately one-third of our people on farms or closely connected with farms, as against something like nine- tenths, a hundred years previous. It is doubtful whether we have struck bottom, although the rural exodus may have gone too far in some regions, and we may not per- manently strike bottom for some time to come." * The service of the few to the many, therefore, is the present status of the husbandman. The very fact that one-third of the people must feed all the people imposes religious conditions upon the farmer. The dependence of the greater number for their welfare upon those who are to till the soil brings that obligation, which the farmer is well constituted to bear, and to which his serious spirit gives response. This means that with the growing consciousness of the need of scientific agriculture there will arise, indeed is now arising, a new ethical and religious feeling among country people. The church which is made up of scientific farmers is a new type of church. A notable testimony to the influence of the church in ' The Country-Life Movement, by L. H. Bailey. EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 317 developing husbandry is by Sir Horace Plunkett,^ who testifies to the religious influence that led to the agrarian revolution in Denmark. My friends and I have been deeply impressed by the educa- tional experience of Denmark, where the people, who are as much dependent on agriculture as are the Irish, have brought it by means of organization to a more genuine success than it has attained anywhere else in Europe. Yet an inquirer will at once discover that it is to the "High School" founded by Bishop Grundtvig, and not to the agricultural schools, which are also excellent, that the extraordinary national progress is mainly due. A friend of mine who was studying the Danish system of state aid to agriculture found this to be the opinion of Danes of all classes, and was astounded at the achievements of the associations of farmers not only in the manufacture of butter, but in a far more difficult undertaking, the manufacture of bacon in large factories equipped with all the most modern machinery and appliances which science has devised for the production of the finished article. He at first concluded that this success in a highly technical industry by bodies of farmers indicated a very perfect system of technical education. But he soon found another cause. As one of the leading educators and agriculturists of the country put it to him: " It's not technical instruction, it's the humanities." I would like to add that it is also, if I may coin a term, the "nationalities," for nothing is more evident to a student of Danish education or, I might add, of the excellent system of the Christian Brothers in Ireland, than that one of the secrets of their success is to be found in their na- tional basis and their foundation upon the history and literature of the country. Every observer in the Danish Folk High Schools testi- fies to their religious enthusiasm, their patriotism, and above all to the songs with which their lecture hours are begun and ended. A graduate of these schools living for years in America, the mother of children then entering college, said, "Those songs helped me over the hardest period of my life. I can always sing myself happy with them." The spirit which pervades the schools was in- fluential in Danish agriculture, as expressed in the title of Grundtvig's best known hymn, "The Country Church ' Ireland in the New Century, by Sir Horace Plunkett. 3l8 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Bells." Under such an influence as this has the agricul- tural life of Denmark taken the lead over its urban and manufacturing life. The modifying influence of husbandry upon the church and its teaching is illustrated in the following incident. A farmer in Missouri had a good stand of corn which promised all through the summer to produce an excellent crop. Abundance of sun and rain favored the farmer's hope that his returns would be large, but in the fall the crop proved a failure. The farmer at once cast about for the cause of his disappointment. He had his soil analyzed by a scientist and discovered it was deficient in nitrogen. The next year he devoted to supplying this lack in the soil and in the year following had an abundant return in corn. "Now that experience turned me away," said he, "from the country church, because the teaching of the country church as I had been accustomed to it was out of harmony with the study of the situation and the conquest over nature. I had been taught in the country church to surrender under such conditions to the will of Providence." The country church of the husbandman must therefore be a church in harmony with the tillage of the soil by science. Like the farm households about it, the church will possess a large wealth of tradition, but the church of the scientific farmer must be open to the teachings of science and must be responsive, intelligent, and alert in the intellectual leadership of the people. A church of this sort is at West Nottingham, Maryland. The minister, Rev. Samuel Polk, had been discouraged by the inattention of this people to his message. He had come to feel that his is an unbelieving age and had surrendered himself to the steadfast performance of his duties, the preaching of the truth faithfully, and the ministry to his people so far as they would receive it. In addition he had the task of tilling forty acres of land which belongs to the church. This he was doing faithfully, but without much intelligent interest. An address on the country church in an agricultural college sent him home with new ideas. He saw that his EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 319 life as a farmer and as a preacher had to be made one. He determined to preach to farmers and to till his land as an example of Christian husbandry. He began as a scholar by studying the scientific use of his land. He found at once that the farmers about him were forced to study the tillage of their soil, because it had been exhausted of fertility by methods of farming no longer profitable. In the first year the preacher raised, by means of a dust mulch through a dry summer, a crop of one hundred and seventy- five bushels of potatoes. Meanwhile his preaching had been enlivened with new illustrations and he was enabled to enforce, to the amazement of his hearers, new impres- sions with old truths. The Scripture teaching which had become dull and scholastic became alive and modem, as he preached the Old Testament to a people who were recognizing the sacredness of land. His audiences began to increase. His influence on his people very shortly passed bounds and reserves. When at the end of the season his potato crop came in, the farmers gave sign of recognizing his leadership as a farmer and as a preacher. Within a year this man had taken a place as a first citizen, which no one else in the community could hold. Because he could become the leading authority upon farming and because he must needs be a farmer he found it possible to preach with greater acceptance. This pastor gave up the methods of bookish prepara- tion for preaching. He preached as the Old Testament men did, to the occasion and to the event. He spoke to the community as being a man himself immersed in the same life as theirs. On a recent occasion when a woman was very sick in one of the farmhouses and had suffered from the neglect of her neighbors, his sermon consisted of an appeal to visit the sick. That afternoon the invalid was called on by thirty-eight people and sent a message before night, begging the minister to hold the people back. There are a few ministers throughout the country who are successful farmers. Many ministers are speculators in farm land. They belong in the exploiter class. One more instance should be given of the preacher who pro- 320 THE RURAL COMMUNITY motes agriculture. In a recent discussion the writer was asked, "Do you then believe that the minister should attend the agricultural college?" and he replied, "No. The agricultural college should be brought to the country church." At Bellona, New York, the ministers of two churches, Methodist and Presbyterian, united with their officers in a farmers' club, to which others were admitted. This club under the leadership of Rev. T. Maxwell Morrison, makes the nucleus of its work the study of the agriculture of the neighborhood and the improvement of it. Lecturers from Cornell University are brought throughout the year into the country community to take up in succession the various aspects of farming which may be improved. The market is studied, by chemical analysis the nature of the soil is determined, and the possibilities of the community are raised to their highest value by careful investigation. This farmers' club has social features as well. Other topics besides farming are occasionally studied but the business of the club is economic promotion of the well- being of the community. Incidentally, it has furnished a social centre for the countryside. The churches which have had to do with it have been enlarged, their member- ship extended, and even their gifts to foreign missions have been increased in the period of growth of the farmers' club. The elements of permanent cultivation of the soil are found in greater numbers among the Mormons, Scotch- Irish Presbyterians, Pennsylvania Germans, who are the best American agriculturists, than among the more un- stable populations of farmers. Those elements, however, are, simply speaking, the following : A certain austerity of life always accompanies successful and permanent agriculture. By this is meant a fixed re- lation between production and consumption.* Successful tillers of the soil labor to produce an abundant harvest. They live at the same time in a meagre and sparing manner. Production is with them raised to its highest power and • Professor Thomas Nixon Carver. EVOLUTtON OF THE COMMUNITY 321 consumption is reduced to its lowest. This means austere living. Such communities are found among the Scotch- Irish farmers. Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, is peopled with them and their tillage of the soil has continued through two centuries. A notable illustration is in Illinois. The permanence of the conditions of country life in this community is in- dicated by the long pastorate of the minister who has just retired. Coming to the church at forty-eight years of age, after other men had ceased from zealous service, he ministered forty-two years to this parish of farmers, and has recently retired at the age of ninety, leaving the church in ideal condition. The Middle Creek Church is distinctly a country charge, located in the Southwest comer of Winnebago Township, of the County of Winnebago. The church was organized in June, 1855, in a stone school- house. The present house of worship was erected and dedicated in 1861. Five ministers served the church as supplies until 1865, when the Rev. J. S. Braddock, D.D., became the pastor and carried on a splendid work for forty-two years, when he laid down his pastorate in 1907, at the age of ninety. This community was settled by homesteaders and pioneers in the early days of the West. Many of them came from Pennsyl- vania and some of them were of Scotch descent. The history of the community has been but the history of the development of a fertile Western Prairie country. It was settled by strong Presbyterian men, and their descendants are now the backbone of the community. There has been little change, but steady growth. The second element in the community of husbandry is mutual support. Professor Gillin of the University of Iowa has described to me the community of Dunkers whom he has studied, being deeply impressed with their com- munal solidarity. Whenever a farm is for sale these farmers at the meeting-house confer and decide at once upon a buyer within their own religious fellowship. In the week following the minister or a church member writes back to Pennsylvania and the correspondence is pressed, until a family comes out from the older settlements in the Key- 322 THE RURAL COMMUNITY stone State to purchase this farm in Iowa and to extend the colony of his fellow Dunkers. Reference is made else- where to the communal support given to their own mem- bers who suffer economic hardship. The serious tillage of the soil necessarily involves mutual support and the husbandman's life is in his community. The third factor in communal husbandry is progress. Every one testifies to the leadership of the "best families" in the transformation of the older modes of the tillage of the soil to the newer. It is impossible for the scientific agriculturist to make much improvement upon a country community until the more progressive spirits and the more open minds have been enlisted. Thereafter the better farming problem is solved. There can be no modern agri- culture in a community in which all are equal. The com- munities of husbandmen will be as sharply differenced from one another, so far as I can see, as men are in the great cities. Leadership is the essential of progress. Gabriel Tarde has clearly demonstrated that only those who are at the top of the social scale can initiate social and economic enterprises. The cultivation of the soil for generations to come must be highly progressive. To recover what we have lost and to restore what has been wasted will exhaust the resources of science and will tax the intelligence of the leaders among husbandmen. For this reason the ministers, teachers, and social workers in the country should not be discouraged but hopeful, when confronted with rural landlords and capital- ists. The business of the community leader is to enlist in the common task those persons whose privileges are superior and inspire them with a progressive spirit. With- out their leadership the community cannot progress. Without their privileges, wealth, and superior education, no progress is possible in the country. If these pages tell the truth, then agriculture is a mode of life fertile in religious and ethical values. But it must be husbandry, not exploitation. Religious farming is a lifelong agriculture, indeed it involves generations, and its serious, devoted spirit waits for the reward, which was EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 323 planted by the diligent father or grandfather, to be reaped by the son or grandson. Men will not so consecrate them- selves to their children's good without the steadying in- fluence of religion. So that agriculture and religion are each the cause, and each the effect, of the other. If this is true, then the country church should promote the husbandry of the soil. The agricultural college should be brought into the country parish, for the church's sake. Indeed the minister would do well if his scholarship be the learning of the husbandman. No other science has such religious values. No other books have such imme- diate relation to the well-being of the people. The minister is not ashamed to teach Greek, or Latin, — dead languages. Why should he think it beneath him "to teach the farmer how to farm," providing he can teach the farmer any- thing ? If he be a true scholar, the farmer, who is a prac- tical man, needs his learned co-operation in the most religious of occupations, that the land may be holy. 2. THE RURAL GROUP AND THE VILLAGE BY SMALL AND VINCENT (From An Introduction to the Study 0} Society") The Rural Group We have seen that by the promulgation of homestead laws, settlers were attracted to the public domain and that several families took up land within two miles of the ferry. These families, eleven in all, including the first comers, form a more or less related social group, which it is our present purpose to describe. First of all, it is important to note that no two of these families are exactly alike in property, personality, educa- tion, customs, and ideals. Three of them are from New England and in general resemble the original settlers, although there are decided differences of temperament and variations of domestic harmony. Two others are German families recently arrived in the country, bringing 'Copyright, i&K, by American Book Company, l/s(4 by permission. 324 THE RURAL COMMUNITY with them their language, their peculiar standards and usages. Another farm is held by a family from Ohio. Still another, by people from Missouri. Iowa sends one family group. The State of New York is also represented. A family from Ireland completes the list. The population includes also a half-dozen single men attached to differ- ent families as hired "farm hands." These people have arrived within a period of a few years and have adopted methods of life determined by acquired character, physical conditions, and certain reactions, which have resulted from social contact. They are at least loosely united by a common purpose to succeed and by a common interest in the progress of the region where they have cast their common lot. Within the whole ag- gregate thus given a measure of coherence, there are other smaller and rather more compactly united groups. The New Englanders are naturally drawn into somewhat inti- mate relations, while the Germans are almost clannish in their associations. Yet these combinations are, at best, potential rather than actual. The arduous toil which the struggle with nature demands, the distances which sepa- rate the members of the community, and the almost entire absence of institutions for social intercourse prevent the realizing of existing possibilities. The government survey has divided the prairie into sections a mile square, which are subdivided into quarter sections, half-quarter sections, and even smaller allot- ments. These rectangular areas have been secured under prescribed conditions of settlement by the families of the group. In selecting their farms, these people have been influenced chiefly by the presence of water, so that we find the location of claims determined by the river and by a creek which winds through the region. The trails, which at first wandered over the prairie along lines of least re- sistance, are now in several cases, where they pass between farms, straightened to approximately accurate east and west or north and south directions. Footpaths and new trails or roads are worn from place to place as the neces- sities of the community require, go that each cabin is con- EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 325 nected with at least the principal lines of travel. So much for the general aspect of the country and the artificial arrangements which it manifests. What of the life of the people ? In general, each family carries on much the same kind of existence as that described in the last chapter. There is varied domestic industry, division of tasks, and educa- tion of children. These activities are not performed equally well by all the families. Two or three parents are slothful, improvident, and neglectful of duties toward their sons and daughters The original resources of the group were not the same, and they are used with varying degrees of intelligence, enterprise, and fidelity. The first family, in point of time, has the advantage of longer permanent settlement, and the accumulation of improvements, and other property, of which the ferry forms an important part. The pioneers, therefore, hold a position of economic, and vaguely of social, pre-eminence. They have been able to provide their neighbors with building materials, seed, food, cattle, and other supplies during the early months of settlement, and have thus added to their own store of wealth, which has been invested in further improvements, such as re- modelling the cabin, building a new ferry raft, extending lines of fences, and buying better implements. But all services rendered to newcomers in the community are not for economic profit. Cabins are now built quickly by many willing hands, and the work becomes an occasion for social gatherings. If a hut or a barn takes fire, the unhappy owner is sure of some neighborly assistance, even though distance renders it far from efficacious. When sickness comes to a home, there are friends who hasten hither with many infallible remedies handed down by tradition from remote grandmothers. Although each household carries on its own production in more or less independence, a tendency to co-operation and specialization early appears. The nearest distribut- ing centre is eighty miles to the east. It is but natural 326 THE RURAL COMMUNITY that the first settler, who has horses and wagons and pro- duces more for the market than his neighbors, should on his frequent journeys execute commissions for them. Gradually, he becomes a common carrier for the group. Thus the task of transformation is, in some degree, al- though not by any means wholly, given over to one who devotes himself largely to the special activity. The ferry service from the very beginning has been a social task of this sort. Every farmer may own horses and wagon, but he does not keep a private raft moored to the river- bank. He pays his neighbor to ferry him across. The products of the several farms, although agriculture is very slightly diversified, are not equal in quantity, and the standards of life vary with the different families. Con- sequently, one household may have a surplus of potatoes and feel the need of corn, while another may be in just the opposite situation. Hence arises the device of ex- change, which is carried on at first by barter. In addition to this local exchange, each family is effecting exchanges of products for finished articles at the distant market town. It occurs to the ferryman and corhmon carrier that con- ditions warrant the establishment of a general store. He, therefore, builds on his farm, near the ferry-landing, a small log cabin, which he stocks with such articles as he thinks his neighbors will need during the next few months. He barters his wares for farm products, which he either dis- poses of again to neighborhood customers, or carriers to the distant trading-post, or he may sell his goods for money. The store thus serves as a clearing-house for local exchanges, and a channel through which to export products and to im- port supplies of manufactured goods. The establishment of the store generally affects the economic activity of the community. Since many things hitherto home-made are now easily obtainable, they become less and less articles of domestic manufacture. Effort is directed more ex- clusively to agriculture, and thus certain branches of in- dustry are little by little turned over to specially organ- ized distant factories with which the store puts the rural EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 327 group into communication. In this way the newly formed community establishes more permanent and systematic relations with society as a whole. The storekeeper extends his enterprises still further by hiring a blacksmith, and setting up a small shop near the store. Iron-working in the vicinity is, after a time, surrendered to this agency until it becomes well-nigh a lost art upon the farm. Several members of them develop con- spicuous abilities in different directions. One man is skil- ful at hewing logs and at rude carpentry, another is re- spected as a veterinary surgeon, a third is a capital builder of clay chimneys. The women, too, have reputations for various talents. In consequence, these skilled laborers are summoned to render services upon which the community comes gradually to rely. True, the dependence is slight, but the tendency to specialize is distinctly traceable. This organic tendency is conspicuous in the early estab- lishment of a school at a point whence branching trails and footpaths radiate toward the cabins, scattered over the rolling prairie. The building, a pole framework cov- ered with "shakes," long writhing-boards hand riven from the knotty oaks of the river-bottoms, serves to protect, except in the severest weather, the children who sit upon the rudest and hardest of benches. A daughter of one of the New England families is installed as mistress of the school, to which she gives almost her whole time. Her compensation is fixed by a committee, who sees that the funds are collected from the parents. These, almost with- out exception, are only too glad to turn their children over to this special educational agency, which they feel can render far better service than their homes can offer. The Germans are pleased that their little ones should have a chance to learn English and to associate with the Amer- ican children. The Irishman is a little dubious about the religious instruction that may be introduced into the school exercises, but on the whole approves, and takes advantage of the plan. One or two families who get the idea that the institution is being dominated by the New Englanders, 328 THE RURAL COMMUNITY hold aloof for a time, but yield finally to the pleading of their children. While the school soon assumes almost the entire respon- sibility for general primary education in the community, the homes continue to train children in various domestic employments which require technical skill. The boys are made more or less proficient in ploughing, planting, reap- ing and threshing, in the care of horses and cattle, in mending harness, splitting fence rails, and in many other things. The girls learn to churn, to make cheese, to bake bread, to fashion garments, and to perform the other tasks which fall to the share of women in this form of society. Manual training is prominent in this rural educational system. The few books and papers, which come rather more frequently now that fairly regular communication is established with the outside world, afford means of keep- ing in at least slight contact with the wider life of society. But even if the press were more active, its influence upon these toiling folks would not be great. They are eager for tidings of great events, especially for news of such gov- ernmental action as may affect their own interests, but they have little time or thought for literature worthy of the name. Letters are now carried back and forth between the post-office at the market town and the store by the ferry, so that each family is in more or less frequent communica- tion with its distant relatives and friends. The distinctly social life of the neighborhood has not taken definite form. The store is, perhaps, the most im- portant social centre. It is a clearing-house not only for economic exchanges, but for facts of observation, and for rumors of all kinds. The clerk in charge, or the casual group of neighbors, is the medium through which news from every household is gathered up and then distributed throughout the community. Information and gossip from abroad are, for the most part, disseminated from this centre. Here the farmers, meeting casually or by habit, discuss crops and cattle, weather and politics. At these EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 329 gatherings "Dutch Jake" and his countryman, if they chance to be present, are kept in due subordination as for- eigners, and the Irishman is treated rather as an object of banter than as an equal. Inasmuch as these men have peculiar traits, are apparently, at least, deficient in trained intelligence, and have such insufficient resources that they are compelled oftentimes to work for their neighbors, they are relegated to a somewhat inferior social position. Among the Americans there are certain antipathies, political and geographical, which give zest to the debates and slowly effect a more or less perceptible grouping of the partic- ipants. Authorities also emerge, who assert superiority and gain recognition by virtue either of manifest ability or strength of personality. These authorities influence their hearers in many ways, dictating opinions, advising plans of agriculture, and urging courses of conduct. The meetings at the store afford opportunities also for ro- mancing. Tales of personal experience, feats of horse- manship, almost miraculous success in fishing and hunt- ing, and stories of other days in the old home, are here recounted. Strangers passing through the district stop at the store, which is also something of a tavern, and repeat rumors which they have heard along their routes, — stories of new towns springing up in a night, or of the California gold-fields. Almost all that is talked of at the store is reported in each family by its representative, usually the father or an elder son. There is nothing which corresponds to the store as a social nucleus for the women, who are kept almost steadily at home by their exacting and persistent duties. Now and then a quilting-party will give excuse for an after- noon of co-operative work and social talk, but such an event is rare. The women, as such, can hardly be said to have any particular social life. An annual picnic in the woods by the river, an event early instituted by the New England colony, is looked forward to with great in- terest, and affords an admirable opportunity to young and old for relaxation and social intercourse. The service, which is held on alternate Sundays in the 330 THE RURAL COMMUNITY schoolhouse under the charge of a good farmer deacon, is made an occasion both of religious worship and of social gossip. There are, besides, during the year, a half-dozen tea-parties, to which nearest or most congenial neighbors are bidden. A few formal visits are paid, chiefly, how- ever, in cases of sickness. A singing-school and an occasional spelling-match bring together the young people especially, and furnish a highly prized element of entertainment, if not a very valuable educational impulse. It is noticeable that these different social gatherings create an interest in dress, particularly among the women, who give slightly more heed to such matters and make for them a place in their conversation, which also deals largely with diseases, weather, and domestic matters. In these specifically social arrangements, the pioneer family asserts, and is more or less graciously accorded, a measure of leadership, in which its most intimate friends among the New Englanders, to some extent, share. Very vaguely, almost imperceptibly, a sort of separation into social layers is taking place among the native Americans themselves. This tendency is clearly shown in their atti- tude toward the Germans and Irish. It is noticeable, also, that social intercourse is affected by the changes in the seasons and the condition of the trails and roads. In summer, the prairie is hard and dry, offering a firm, smooth surface to foot and wheel, but in winter and spring, moisture turns the soil into an adhesive mass, which makes travel extremely difficult. There is rarely enough snow to insure good sleighing, so that, at certain times in the year, the different families are com- paratively isolated, and go abroad only when they must. Religious life in the group is chiefly confined to the in- dividual homes, although, as we have seen, a fortnightly service is held in the schoolhouse. Several different de- nominations are represented in the community. The New Englanders, who predominate, are, with one excep- tion, Congregationalists. There are two Baptist families. EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 33 1 and one Methodist. The Germans are Lutherans, the Irishman is a Roman Catholic and the two other families have no church connections whatever. Theological differences are so pronounced, that the meeting, originally designed to be interdenominational, is soon abandoned by all except the Congregationalists, whose ideas of worship seem to the Methodist cold and formal, while the Baptist insists that both hold danger- ously loose views of doctrines and ordinances. The Ger* mans cannot understand enough English to enjoy the exercises, and the Irishman feels a patronizing pity for the whole company of misguided schismatics. The often acrimonious discussions at the store serve only to em- phasize these differences of belief and prejudice. In con- sequence, irregular family prayers, private devotions, and the occasional reading of sermons constitute, in the main, the religious worship of the neighborhood. Standards of conduct vary, within certain limits, ac- cording to the education and traditions of the different families. There is a general unformulated agreement upon a fundamental code, and transgressions of this are resented, sometimes vaguely, sometimes very definitely, by the community. For example, when it is reported at the store that a farmer — one of the dubious members of the community — has, in a fit of rage, beaten his wife, a most determined committee wait upon him and give warn- ing of dire punishment if the offense is repeated. The careless pollution of the creek by another man is protested against in vain by a neighbor lower down the stream. The matter is laid before the council at the ferry, and the trans- gressor forthwith mends his ways. A "claim jumper" who sets up a cabin on land which has been rightfully pre-empted by another, is put with all his goods into his wagon, driven five miles on the road southward, and there bidden farewell with very forceful injunctions not to re- turn. The governmental machinery of justice has not been regularly established, and meantime, these men are doing work in a vigorous, if not ceremonious, fashion. Moreover, public opinion and imitation are quietly 332 THE RURAL COMMUNITY at work among these people. Almost unconsciously they influence each other and readjust their ideals and prac- tices. The German husbands gradually withdraw their wives from the tasks which they see their neighbors deem unfit for women, and the Irishman reluctantly exiles from his family the pig, which he soon learns is not approved by his fellow citizens as a household pet. The Americans learn, perhaps for the first time, that certain German dishes are worthy of adoption, and several lads are only too glad to acquire the spirited steps of an Irish jig. It has been hinted that certain families are not valuable additions to the economic and social life of the community. In the case of at least two homes, the family life is dis- cordant, and disintegration and degeneration are at work. The husband in one home is lazy, improvident, and brutal. He does little work and spends much of his time loafing about the ferry, now and then getting a drink of liquor from passing travellers. His expeditions to the market town are always occasions for debauchery. The neglected farm yields meagre crops, the cabin, never substantial, goes from bad to worse; the disheartened wife does her tasks perfunctorily. The children, in such circumstances, are ill-clad, undisciplined, and lawless. They attend school very irregularly, and they are looked at askance by parents as dangerous companions for their children. From one journey to market the drunken father never returns. For a time the family struggles feebly for independence, but at last the neighbors have to give aid, and the mother and children become more or less a burden, until the latter are old enough to find employment on the farms of others, or to continue the cultivation of their own. In the second family, matters are hardly less serious. The husband is a domineering, hard, relentless person; the wife a weak, faded, and discouraged creature with very little character and ambition. The contempt which the man displays toward her is manifest to the children, some of whom join their father in abuse and ridicule, while others take up the defense of their mother. The life of the family, thus divided, is unhappy in the extreme. All EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 333 the worst elements of disposition are exaggerated by con- stant and irritating strife. Members of this family are unwelcome guests. They bring discord into all social gatherings. Their influence is not limited to their own home, but in so far as there is common life in the group, they add to it an element of bitterness. We have drawn in mere outline a sketch of this rural group, a collection of families living in primitive log cabins, carrying on early and late the hardest kind of labor, having only the rudiment of social organization in a general store, a school, and occasional gatherings, maintaining precarious connection with the outside world, vaguely regulating, by common opinion or force, the general conduct of in- dividuals, yet advancing step by step from virtual inde- pendence of family groups toward coherent social organ- ization. This progress is hastened by a sudden change in conditions. One morning, a party of travellers cross the ferry, and halt at the store. They examine the spot with interest; they ascend a low hill near the river, and secure a broader outlook. Before sunset a town site has been located and a town association formed. In new countries social evo- lution is rapid. Types of organization, which represent possibly centuries of growth, are at once transferred to the frontier. In a sense it is true that the western town begins at a point which the eastern town has just reached. The men who have organized this company have confidence in the future of this newly opened territory. They be- lieve that centres of trade and industry will soon be needed and that a nucleus wisely placed will gather a population and economic strength with great rapidity. The pioneer of the region and several of the other farmers are induced to become members of the town as- sociation, which lays claim, in accordance with provisions of the law, to a section of land as a town site. The section chosen is near the river and adjoins the original farm. The southeast half-quarter of this section is in dispute between two claimants, one of whom has settled on the 334 THE RURAL COMMUNITY land itself, the other, on the next half quarter to the east, asserting that his quarter section is made up of these two halves. Fearing possible litigation, the town company abandons a triangular piece of land in the southeast corner, which both contestants agree as constituting their whole claim on the section. To compensate themselves for this loss, the company buys from a farmer on the north a some- what larger triangle, which gives the town a river front- age of more than a mile. The site thus modified by circum- stances has a peculiar shape, which remains a monument to a settlers' contest. Surveyors are hired to divide the land into streets and lots, which they do with mathematical precision. In order that the main avenues shall traverse longitudinally the low hills which stretch like waves across the region, they are made to run, not exactly north and south, or east and west, but at an angle of about thirty degrees to these di- rections. By this arrangement the drainage of the future city will be easily effected. The blocks formed by the intersection of these streets are subdivided into lots 75 x 150 feet. When the survey has been completed, the members of the company, in accordance with a prearranged plan, are permitted, in a certain order, to choose a designated number of these lots. When all claims have been satis- fied, the undistributed lots are the property of the com- pany, which may dispose of them by gift or sale as it sees fit For the first few years lots are freely bestowed upon all who will conform to certain requirement as to build- ings and other improvements. They are also given as bonuses to induce business concerns, manufacturies, hotel- keepers, and the like, to settle in the town. The title to the land being secured and the division of lots effected, the company individually and collectively sets vigorously to work. In one way or another all the original farmers of the vicinity are lot owners, and more- over, by virtue of being large landholders in the neigh- borhood, are interested in the progress of the town. EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 335 It is impossible to describe in detail the rapid growth of the next five years, during which the settlement ad- vances to the organization of a village of five hundred inhabitants. The urgent demand for building materials results in the erection of a steam sawmill, to which a grist-mill is soon added. A few feet below the surface of the soil, not far from the town site, quantities of limestone are found, which supplies not only building material, but lime for the mortar as well. A new ferry-boat is built by the ferry- master. A tavern, a new schoolhouse, a new store, and a number of private houses are rapidly put up. A line of stage-coaches is established, which, passing north and south by way of the ferry, maintain weekly communica- tion with the market town to the east, and carry the mails. Thus within the magnificently mapped out area of the coming city a village is formed, which will serve as the subject of our next chapter. The Village In picturing to the mind the prairie settlement as it appears five years after its formal founding, the student must not be misled by the map which shows the official survey, and the division into lots and streets. These broad avenues and capacious blocks are, for the most part, marked only by stakes, which are hidden in the waving grass. The trails and roads, when they leave the hamlet by the ferry, wander over the prairie regardless of the geometrical courses that have been laid down for them. It is only near the river that the relative positions of buildings suggest the rectangular divisions of the town site. The thoroughfare from the landing-place southward has been deflected from its original path to pass for a short distance through the main avenue, whence it returns to its former course. The number of roads and footways, if mere traffic-worn lines in the prairies deserve the names, has been largely increased by the repeated wayfaring of 336 THE RURAL COMMUNITY a growing population. Even where the town survey has been reorganized, the actual course of travel is in meander- ing lines, which only narrowly avoid trespass, now on one side, now on the other. On the main avenue and on one or two neighboring streets, the dark soil has been trodden into footpaths, which connect house with house, but else- where man, beast, and wagon follow the same road. The buildings of the village display various materials and plans of construction. On the bottoms near the ferry-landing is the saw and grist mill framed with hewn Cottonwood timbers and sided with rough boards. The blacksmith's shop has been set up near by. A short dis- tance south, on a corner, stands a store, built by the ferry owner as a successor to the little log cabin in which he first set up shop. This structure is of wood also, and gives testimony to the successful operation of the sawmill. The warehouse opposite is a similar, but rather ruder, build- ing. Two blocks further south is the tavern or hotel, an imposing edifice of three stories, the first two of limestone, the third of wood. On a side-street are the schoolhouse, a marked advance upon the "shake" cabin, and the Con- gregational Church, a very plain, steepleless sanctuary of wood. The dwellings range from the original type of log and mud shanty to a storehouse of some pretensions. These domiciles are scattered along the main avenue and two or three streets. There is apparently no grouping of houses according to size and material. The humblest dugout is neighbor to the best stone dwelling. No cemetery has, as yet, been definitely fixed upon. Up to this time the dead have been buried in what the survey shows to be the middle of a street, as yet untouched by traffic. This common ground is used until the bodies can be transferred to a permanent place of burial. The people who have wrought these changes in the aspect of the region represent many different states and several foreign countries. The New England element still predominates, although there are many men and families from the Central States. Germans, Scandinavians, and Irish have come also, but in much smaller numbers. EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 337 A considerable proportion of the villagers are men who have emigrated in advance of their families. As soon as a plan of permanent settlement is decided upon, wives and children are sent for, and family life is resumed. The motives which have brought most of these folk hither are not wholly economic. A strong political in- fluence has been at work, an earnest desire to people the new territory in the interest of a most important govern- mental policy. We have not time or space to discuss this movement, which so largely explains the rapidity of in- crease in immigration and settlement. As we have seen, several of thfe farmers who formed the original neighborhood group, notably the ferry-master, were concerned in founding the town. These men con- tinue to manage their farms, but three or four of them have built houses in the village and have taken up resi- dence there. In the case of the farmers, it is easy to point out the chief source of income, but it is less easy to discover the means by which many of the villagers support themselves. The wage-earners, the carpenters, the masons, the sawyers, the miller, and the rest derive their means of support very directly. The hotel proprietor, the storekeeper, the mill owner, and the ferry-master also receive revenues readily accounted for, but all these people are largely supported by the population as a whole, including both the permanent residents and transient visitors. Ignoring the latter, we inquire how far the region may be said actually to support its population. The agricultural products of the vicinity, the building materials, wood and stone, are local natural resources which, through the medium of their owners, are put at the service of the community. In addition to these means of support, which, at present, are hardly adequate to the maintenance of the whole group, an element of fictitious or speculative value is attached to the town lots, in which there is a brisk trade, not only between members of the village, but with purchasers from abroad, who are willing 338 THE RURAL COMMUNITY to advance wealth and hold the land for prospective gain. Thus those residents who have accumulated reserve wealth can afford both to retain their original lots and gradually to buy more, while non-residents purchase land and await the results of development. Again, farmers and others, confident of their ability to secure ample returns from the investment of capital in agriculture or industry, bor- row money from abroad, and give mortgages on their property as security. So, in several ways, wealth from many parts of the country is drawn to this spot to aid in maintaining the population, at least temporarily, and in developing natural' resources until they shall prove more nearly equal to the demands of this newly forming society. The store serves the village in much the same way that it did the rural group, offering a channel for the impor- tation of goods and the exportation of products. The increased quantity and variety of the stock bear testi- mony to enlarged and diversified demand of the com- munity. The warehouse is used for the storing of grains, hides, lime, and other materials which are collected from the region. The local demands for these articles having been satisfied, the surplus is shipped away, either by wagon or by one of the light-draft steamers which now and then in the early days make their way up the shallow river. The mill renders an essential service, heretofore un- economically and inefficiently performed by isolated in- dividuals, or left to distant industries. It transforms corn and wheat into meal and flour, and divides logs into even timbers, planks, and boards. These necessary articles are so bulky that they are not easily transported by wagon, and are, therefore, most economically manufactured on the spot. Thus the village possesses two most important industries, and is no longer dependent upon remote centres. The blacksmith-shop has enlarged its operations to include the repairing and even the rebuilding of wagons, and may justly claim a place among local manufactories. The difficulty, and in some places the impossibility, of finding water by means of wells makes it necessary to draw EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 339 it in barrels from the river. Many families perform this service for themselves, but still others give employment to a man, who spends much of his time in this special work. Wood for fuel, obtained chiefly from the groves on the river-bottoms, is either sold by those who have laid claim to wooded lands, or is taken by the community from such sections as have not yet been pre-empted. The local wood- supply is limited, and will not long meet the needs of the population. Not only are the industrial activities being performed by special agencies, but other tasks of society are intrusted to persons pre-eminently devoted to them. Two doctors are now within call if a member of the community falls ill. Three lawyers, one of them a notary public, are ready to aid clients in perfecting land titles, transferring prop- erty, drawing contracts, or pressing suits before the court, which is held thirty miles away. A Congregational minis- ter, supported chiefly by a missionary society, has become resident pastor of the local church. The school is now un- der the charge of a young woman from Massachusetts, who is assisted by a daughter of one of the village doctors. Yet specialization is by no means complete. The doctors and lawyers do considerable work in their own gardens, they take a more or less active part in the real-estate business, and in other ways display a good deal of versatility. On the whole, however, their chief occupations are clearly recognized as their peculiar vocations. The collective life of the village presents a marked con- trast to that of the rural group. Virtual similarity of family and of individual activities has given place to di- versity already well defined, at the same time with a change from a widely scattered to a comparatively concentrated arrangement of dwellings. Family occupations in the vil- lage resemble, in many respects, life on the farm. Almost every family owns cows and at least one horse, while sev- eral households, as we have seen, retain active connec- tions with farms in the neighborhood. A vegetable-garden is, as a rule, part of each establishment, which, in this way, provides itself with important food products. Newly ar- 340 THE RURAL COMMUNITY rived families and a few others depend upon the store or upon neighbors for these supplies. Domestic labor, however, for those housewives who have no such farm responsibilities, is perceptibly lighter. While in many homes butter and cheese are still articles of domestic manufacture, there is a tendency on the part of several families to buy these products ready-made from farmers, or at the store. So, too, milk is sold by a man to his neighbor, or to a group of families. Little by little, households grow less independent, each of the other and of the market, and come to rely more and more upon ex- ternal sources of supply. The villagers are held in closer economic relations than were the members of the rural community. Those citizens who have no homes of their own either become temporarily members of families, as boarders, or live at the hotel, which, as a special social agency, pro- vides food and shelter for all comers. Different forms of social service produce different con- ditions of family life. The doctor's or lawyer's profession is free from the physical toil which leaves to the farmer little opportunity for leisure, reading, and conversation. Many of the villagers are thus able to introduce into their households elements of sociability and culture which are usually excluded from the farm. For these families, home life, other things being equal, becomes more interesting, and its educational value for children is greatly increased. The improved work of the school is in many cases supple- mented by better home influences. It should be noticed, however, that technical or manual education diminishes in proportion as domestic produc- tion decreases in variety and is turned over to special in- dustrial agencies. The village boy learns to do fewer things with his hands than does the farmer lad. The girls' tasks are no less affected. Yet during this period of transition, the difference is in many cases far from conspicuous. Only the general tendency is to be observed. Other important means of education in the form of books and newspapers now enter the community in considerably EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 34 1 larger numbers, relatively to the population — an increase due both to greater regularity of transportation, and to the new demand which, as we have seen, is created by the modified conditions of village life. Even the manual workers of the community — the car- penters, masons, miller, lumbermen, and blacksmith — enjoy more freedom from responsibility and often have more leisure than the average energetic farmer. The very fact of frequent contact with neighbors, and the sight and sympathetic sharing of activity, stimulate and intensify their lives. We have so far treated each family as in itself a group with a single social occupation. Of the farmer's family this is approximately true, but in the village household, where there are adult children, several activities are often represented. Thus the doctor's oldest son is a lawyer, another son is a clerk in a store, and the daughter is the assistant in the school. Families so constituted are drawn into more or less intimate relations with other families and individuals, the area of friendships and acquaintance is extended, and larger groups are more firmly united in sympathy and interest. Again, it must be pointed out, that, at this stage of social development, we find these influences just beginning to be effective rather than fully at work. In only a few village families are more than one or two activities represented. As a rule, the occupation of the father determines roughly the classification of his wife and children. Thus there are carpenters' families, masons' families, lawyers' families, and the like, as well, of course, as single men also distinguished by occupation. All these people are living in proximity in the village. They are not very widely separated in wealth; they are for the most part upon terms of friendly acquaintance. The com- munity is, in its general aspects, homogeneous; yet there are differences in personality, property, race, and educa- tion which are also quietly effecting social groupings, pro- ducing subtle sympathies and antagonisms, giving rise to misconceptions and prejudices, and in manifold ways 342 THE RURAL COMMUNITY setting at work forces which will gain in power and mani- fest themselves more plainly as social organization pro- gresses. Among the specifically social institutions of the village the more important are store and tavern gatherings, church meetings, religious and secular, political meetings, school exhibitions, singing classes, sewing societies, tea-parties, lodge meetings, and other group assemblages of a less general character. The store, although hard pressed by its rival, the tavern, maintains its supremacy as a place of general public re- sort. The appointment of the proprietor as postmaster, and the establishment of the office in the store, cause large numbers to visit the place at least once each week. Here the greater leisure which characterizes village life is spent by certain men in social intercourse, especially during long winter evenings. The conversation turns now less upon farming and more upon town lots and politics. The average of intelligence is perceptibly higher than it used to be in the earlier days, but the same emergence of au- thorities and division into groups or parties is observable. Not only men, but women, who have less exacting duties, and much shorter distances to traverse, now visit the store. The latter come ostensibly only to buy. They do not congregate or linger as the men are wont to do, but they hear and tell many items of news while they bar- gain with the clerk or chat with neighbors while the mail is being distributed. The store is still the leading centre for local and foreign news. The tavern or hotel holds an important place in the community as the temporary home of many of the men who are either unmarried or have left their families behind, and as the halting-place of the stage-coach, which connects the village with the outside world. It is, there- fore, a rendezvous for some of the most active elements of the population. There is, besides, a barroom which provides a convenient and comfortable place for social intercourse, and furnishes means of conviviality. Many things com- bine to make the tavern attractive to a large class in the community, and yet the sale of liquor ,_the card-playing, EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 343 often for high stakes, and the questionable character of many who frequent the place, repel an even greater num- ber of citizens. The establishment, however, seems to meet, as no other institution does, certain demands for a place of resort for casual conversation, for discussion of local interests, and for planning public measures. Yet it is a source of separation in the community. Many men refuse to go there, while, on the other hand, its supporters are disinclined to meet at the store or elsewhere. Church affiliations have a marked influence on the social life of the village. The Congregationalists are fully or- ganized with a meeting-house and a pastor. The Baptists have formed a society and use the school building for reg- ular Sunday and week-day services. The Methodists hold class meetings in private houses, and are rapidly approaching formal church organization. All three groups are eager, to the point of rivalry, to receive new members. The gatherings which are held in connection with these religious societies, the Sunday-morning services, the Sun- day-schools which immediately follow, the week night prayer-meetings, the "socials," donation parties, and the like, give opportunity for social contact and serve to unite more closely those of a given creed. Many of the farmers' families in the vicinity are members of these churches, and attend the services and meetings when toil and roads permit. So, in some measure, the rural and village popu- lation are drawn together in social, as well as economic relations. The competition between the religious bodies is so keen that more or less animosity is aroused. De- nominational lines are drawn more and more sharply in social matters even when they are wholly secular. If the Congregationalists plan an entertainment for the benefit of their church, the Baptists are quite likely to hold a meet- ing of some sort on the same night. When a good Methodist woman invites her friends to supper, she naturally includes those who are interested with her in fully establishing a Methodist church, and those only. Criticisms and slight- ing remarks get themselves wings in the community and hasten the progress of sectarian division. Still other groupings, fortunately not identical with 344 THE RURAL COMMUNITY religious stratification, are caused by political sympathies and convictions. A territorial government has been formed, and the population is much interested in its activities. Meetings are held in the schoolhouse, and even in the open air, at which impassioned addresses are made. It so hap- pens that this community contains an overwhelming ma- jority earnestly in favor of the same policy. Thus many of the tendencies to division are largely neutralized for the time being by this absorbing common interest. The schoolhouse serves many purposes, and is really the public hall of the village. The spelling-match and the singing-school still hold their place as means of enter- tainment, to which is occasionally added an exhibition with recitations, and perhaps, at the close, a tableau, looked at askance by strict church people. To these gatherings, young men and maidens go in company, and relations of affection are being established, which, as pros- perity appears, will find expression in the formation of new families. Indeed, in spite of the rather unpropitious economic situation, a few weddings have already taken place, and it is rumored that the schoolmistress will soon leave her position to become the wife of a village widower. Private entertainments consist chiefly of supper-parties for the older folk, which are confined almost always to denominational groups, young peoples' parties, where games prevail and dancing is frowned upon, and after- noon quilting-bees and sewing societies, at which needles and tongues are busy. These gatherings are not represen- tative of the whole society, but become more and more restricted to different social divisions, among which reli- gious bodies are most prominent. The Germans have their own meetings, and perpetuate many customs of the Vaterland. The three or four Irish families and half-dozen single Irishmen form a small colony by themselves, and hold occasional gatherings. They adapt themselves to changed conditions much more rapidly than their Teutonic fellow citizens. These, various social events are by no means frequent, and are looked forward to with much interest. There is considerable casual visit- EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 345 ing between households of the same church, although sickness is still regarded as the chief reason for making formal calls. These gatherings display a groping after fashions in dress, which are more and more deemed of importance. There are epidemics of hoods, "fascinators," and other feminine gear. Conversation busies itself with personal details which life in a compact group quickly makes com- mon property. There are several semi-professional gossip- mongers, who temporarily render the service which is later performed by the local press. The lodge, which holds a weekly meeting in a room over the store, includes in its membership active men from al- most every group in the community. Doctor, lawyer, mechanic, farmer, laborer, here meet on terms of mys- terious friendship, and a union is effected which does much to counteract the tendencies to division which are at work in the village. Conduct, individual and social, in the village is regu- lated by family discipline, by custom, by public opinion, and by laws which, with the establishment of a territorial legislature, are constitutionally enacted. The regulations adopted by the town committee also have the force of statutes. Although the legal machinery has been set up, it is still inefficient compared with the vigorous power of certain self-appointed "regulators," who are conscious of the moral support of the community. The transition period has not yet been passed ; prompt and firm coercion of un- social individuals seems essential to the maintenance of order and the march of progress. The fact that village life affords opportunities for frequent contact, for spread- ing information swiftly, and for gathering crowds quickly, insures a more rapid formation and expression of public opinion and more prompt social action. Thus, when an alarm of fire is passed from mouth to mouth, a crowd of im- promptu firemen is almost immediately on hand. Or a seri- ous crime may be committed ; forthwith the news spreads ; eager groups gather ; they press on to the store or to the tavern. Speeches are made and applauded, feelings are 346 THE RURAL COMMUNITY aroused, decisions are reached, and action follows. The tendency, however, is to permit the law to deal with all criminals, although now and then exceptional cases will be taken in hand by irregular authorities. As in the rural group, so in the village, there are families and individuals who fall far short of the demands of normal social life. A number of immigrants have come with in- sufficient resources, and, failing to find means of livelihood or neglecting opportunities, they are compelled to seek at least temporary aid from their neighbors. Others, at- tracted by love of adventure and without genuine desire to make a permanent settlement, frequent the tavern, drinking and gambling, influencing dangerously many well-meaning, but weak, young men, and menacing the welfare of the community. It is a conspicuous fact that useful as the tavern is in many ways, it is a source of danger to individuals and families. The citizens of the better class are right in re- garding it with fear and aversion. One night, a young boy comes reeling home to his mother, who rushes in an agony of grief to the neighbors. The report spreads; a crowd gathers. Some one shouts, "Clean out the bar- room!" The citizens are a mob at once; they rush to the tavern, bear down all opposition, and destroy the stock of liquors. Lawsuits follow and for a time the bar, os- tensibly at least, is discontinued. As popular feeling subsides, however, the traffic is quietly and gradually resumed. The villagers, as a body, with such exceptions as have been indicated, are honest, earnest, and diligent, deeply interested in promoting the economic prosperity and gen- eral welfare of the town which they are founding. Such, in outline, is the community forming within the carefully planned area of a hoped-for city. The life is characterized (i) by improved economic arrangements and technical devices, (2) by more compact disposition of dwellings, (3) by increasing specialization of social ac- tivities and interdependence of families and of individuals, (4) by a rising standard of living, (5) by more complex EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 347 and frequent social intercourse, (6) by tendencies toward groupings religious, racial, occupational, (7) by higher social intelligence and more co-ordinated social action, (8) by more regular communication with society at large, and fineilly (9) by a group spirit or loyalty to the new com- munity on the part of its citizens, which goes far to hold them in a unified whole. We can only suggest the steps by which, during the next ten years, the village becomes a town of five thousand inhabitants. By the establishment of railway communica- tion, the bridging of the river, the founding of iron, flour- ing, brick, and other industries, the increased production of the tributary agricultural region, and the selection of the town as a county-seat, the community receives im- portant economic impulses, and gains rapidly in popula- tion and resources. A city charter is obtained from the legislature, and a municipal government succeeds the town committee. Artificial arrangements conform to the changes in population and social organization. Streets are graded, sidewalks are laid, a volunteer fire department, with suit- able apparatus, is formed, the beginnings of a police de- partment are made. The building materials brought by the railroad, and the excellent brick of local manufacture, make possible the erection of substantial business blocks, hotels, a half-dozen churches, several schoolhouses, many stores, and a large number of private dwellings. The de- mand for instruments of credit, for loans, for safety of deposit, results in the creation of banks. The population is increased by large numbers of artisans, who settle near the factories where they work, of profes- sional people and of persons of resources, manufacturers, contractors, and others, who buy or build houses on a broad avenue, which runs along a ridge of rising ground, a quarter already settled by the well-to-do among the ear- lier comers. Across the river, spanned by a bridge, a suburb is started, and quickly gathers population about one or two industries. Other villages are formed in the outskirts of the town itself, each with a general store very much like 348 THE RURAL COMMUNITY that originally set up near the old ferry. The character- istics and development of this more highly organized so- ciety will be described and traced in the chapter which follows. JI. FACTORS OF CHANGE 1. AGRARIAN CHANGES IN THE MIDDLE WEST BY JOSEPH B. ROSS (From The Political Science Quarterly, December, 1910) The fundamental problem in American economics al- ways has been that of the distribution of land. The wild continent which stretched before the earliest colonists was a constant inducement to venturesome Americans to -seek in it unique adventure and possible fortune. The frontier acted a double part in the development of Amer- ican civilization: it persistently drew from the older com- munities the most virile life, and it encouraged the growth of new settlements with differing wants and peculiar social experiences. Land has been so abundant in America that it has induced a national prodigality in its use. The At- lantic States from the very beginnings of their existence suffered from a ceaseless removal of population. New lands could be more easily cleared and occupied than older lands could be fertilized, and the first appearance of soil exhaustion prompted the agriculturist to remove west- ward. The same course characterized the South upon the rise of cotton culture. The stability of southern social institutions was destroyed : not only the younger members of the families but the southern people as a whole gradually became migratory, bent upon occupying richer fields farther west. Land in America was deemed inexhaustible in quan- tity; the more desirable lands alone were pre-empted; and in every state could be found large tracts which man had made no effort to cultivate. Within the past twenty years, however, the more dis- cerning have been impressed with the fact that the newer EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 349 lands would soon be entirely occupied, and that the less- desirable tracts must then of necessity be developed, if American agriculture should continue to be of primal im- portance. The processes by which the vast lands have been redeemed are most interesting in themselves and have resulted in social consequences of the greatest in- terest. The Middle West has been experiencing during the past score of years an agrarian revolution, which has resulted immediately from the redemption of its waste lands and the consequent shifting of population and of land values. That the national government believed the improvement of inland waterways to be worthy of inves- tigation by a congressional commission and that numerous states of the Mississippi Valley have been contemplating the broadening and deepening of the small rivers and creeks in this section are facts intimately related to the revolution; for one of the chief factors in promoting the revolution of agrarian affairs in the Middle West has been the changed character of the inland waterways. The pioneers of this region were attracted by the river-fronts as desirable sites for their permanent homes quite as much as were the original immigrants to Virginia by the ad- vantages of the tide-water farms and as were the Dutch and English colonists by estates which bordered either on the ocean or upon the navigable rivers of the northern Atlantic coast. In the beginning of the occupation of the Mississippi Valley, the rivers which flowed westward and emptied into the Mississippi were the preferred highways. It was soon realized that New Orleans was the natural market for the products of this great agricultural belt.^ A single journey across the mountains to the colonies to the eastward was significantly toilsome and arduous as contrasted with an easy navigation to the equally ad- vantageous market at the mouth of the Mississippi. The settlers were therefore prompt to realize the importance of owning estates which bordered upon some navigable ^Jefferson to Livingston, April 18, 1802; Jefferson's Works (Washington ed.) vol. IV, p. 432. Hamilton to Jay, May 6, 1794; Writings of Hamilton, (Constitutional ed.), vol. V, p. 127. 350 THE RURAL COMMUNITY stream, even though the navigability was limited to flat- boats or rude rafts built of merchantable timber. The location of the pioneer homes upon the banks of navigable rivers and creeks was of added advantage in that these locations were or could easily be made healthful. The currents of the streams eliminated the dangers of miasma and fever and afforded easy drainage for the numerous swamps and stagnant pools. If the pioneers settled at a distance from these streams they were careful to choose locations which were watered by springs. Artificial wells were seldom constructed, and the people and their live stock alike were dependent upon the natural springs and watercourses for their water-supplies. The highland farms upon which springs were located also afforded marked advantages in their freedom from the recurrent fevers and the numerous insect pests which were generated and propa- gated by the stagnant pools. And both the river-front farms and those which were situated upon high land on which were running streams or springs were easily culti- vable and required practically no artificial drainage. The early settlers were governed by the highest good sense in thus choosing their homes. It mattered little to them that the highland farms were usually of clay and not generally productive. The abundance of land made up for the poorness of the soil; and the settlers preferred to clear a greater number of acres than to attempt to drain the better lands which lay lower, and which were either subject to incessant overflow or were never entirely free from swamps. Every early town and homestead of the Middle West was located with regard to these three primary principles of economy: the little artificial drainage re- quired by the river-front and the high clay lands to render them cultivable; the elimination of the danger of fevers and other diseases induced by the prairies; and the ad- vantages which were afforded to the farms located along navigable streams in marketing their produce with the least cost of transportation.* • McCulloch, Men and Measures of Hal} a Century, p. 41, Roosevelt, Th$ Winning of the West, vol. I, p. 40, EVOLUTION OP THE COMMUNITY 35 1 The uplands, which were immediately pre-empted by the pioneers, were generally heavily timbered. The first work of the immigrant was to cut the timber and bum it. The land was cultivated between the stumps, and the most arduous labor was necessary to render the farms clear and easily cultivable. The settlers did not realize that it would require much less exertion to establish artificial drainz^e for the prairies than to clear the wooded lands, nor did they appreciate the double advantage of securing an inexhaustible soil and at the same time conserving the forests until the jieriod should arrive when the lumber could be marketed profitably. From the point of view of pioneer life, timber was not a commodity which would warrant conservation. Its abundance caused it to be re- garded as an encumbrance rather than as an augmentation of real-estate values. The most thrifty of the pioneers viewed the destruction of extensive forests of timber simply as an incident to the cultivation of the preferred lands. The agrarian occupation of the Middle West naturally divides itself into three periods. The first, which extends from the beginnings of immigration to about the year 1835, is of significance only because of the type of immi- grants who pre-empted the soil and the nature of their occupancy. The second period, extending from 1835 to 1890, had as its chief objective the enrichment of the group life. It was the period in which large houses and commo- dious bams were erected, and in which the church and the school were the centres of social activity. The third period, which began about the year 1890, and which is not yet complete, is marked by a transition from the era of resident proprietors of the land to that of non-resident proprietors, and by the fact that the chief attention of the landowners is paid to the improvement of the soil by fer- tilization and drainage and to the increasing of facilities for communication and for the marketing of farm prod- ucts.^ ' Ross, The Agrarian Revolution in the Middle West, North American Review, September, 1909, p. 376. In this essay the periods of agrarian development of this region are thoroughly discussed. 352 THE RURAL COMMUNITY One of the most significant facts to be observed during the period of settlement is that a careful line of demarca- tion was drawn between the uplands and the river-front lands on the one hand, and the great stretches of prairie on the other. The annals of pioneer times inform us of the invariable experience of different families which went west for permanent settlement. They mention the tall grass of the prairies through which the wagons and stock of the immigrants could pass only with difficulty, the oc- casional poor settler who attempted to eke out a livelihood upon this supposedly worthless soil, and the final choice of a habitation in some section of the country which is now demonstrated to have been only of secondary agri- cultural value.* During the second period of the agrarian development of this region, the better residences which were built were almost exclusively located along the rivers or upon the higher lands. The gradual rise in value of agricultural lands during this period was limited to hold- ings of this description. An examination of the deed records of any representative county in the Middle West will afford convincing evidence that the lands which were enhancing in value from 1835 to 1890 were the preferred lands of the early settlers. They gradually rose in price from the time they were entered until, by the close of this second period, they were of an approximate value of seventy-five dollars an acre. The more fertile prairie-lands during the same period advanced to possibly thirty-five dollars an acre. It is a very patent fact to every observer of rural conditions in the Middle West that, as late as 1888, large tracts of prairie in Illinois, Indiana, and Iowa were without fences, no attempt having been made to im- prove or to cultivate them. Up to that time they had been utilized solely for common pasturage by the neighborhood. With the beginning of the third period of the economic development of the Middle West a decided change became apparent. During the second period, as soon as the river- bottoms and uplands had been pre-empted, the families • Autobiography of James B. Firtley, p. 105. Autobiography of Peter Cort- wright, p. 246. EVOLtTTlON OF TttE COMMUNtTY 353 which were so unfortunate as to have failed to obtain such preferred tracts for residences removed farther west and sought in newer regions the advantages of which they were deprived in the Middle West. But as the Farther West was rapidly populated, it was seen to be necessary to attempt to utilize the prairies and lowlands of the Mis- sissippi Valley. For this purpose it weis essential to de- vise plans for artificial drainage. Bills were introduced in the different state assemblies to make it possible to establish by judicial process large artificial drains, some- times within the limits of a single county, sometimes ex- tending over a fourth part of a given state. These plans at first met with discouragement and with much popular opposition ; but their supporters were persistent and finally attained the results which they had long sought. The statutes of most of the states of the Middle West now render it possible to establish drainage for any section, upon the broad grounds that such drainage will improve the public health, that it will promote the public welfare or that it will be of public utility. The earlier statutes required that, in each instance where a public drain was sought to be established, the special benefits to the per- sons assessed for its construction should be equal to their assessments. The later statutes place the social impor- tance of the proposed improvement above the incon- venience or expense to any individual.^ The drain^e statutes became numerous during the last decade of the nineteenth century. Great drains were constructed, some of which were of such magnitude that they were popularly designated as rivers; lateral drains were established, reaching for miles into the surrounding region ; and every congressional section was given an out- ' The theory of drainage is still confused, though the tendency of legislation as well as of judicial construction is toward an emphasis on the social im- portance of drainage projects. The law of Indiana is typical of all the states in this region. In this state it has been decided that there must be a positive finding by the drainage commissioners and by the court that the proposed drain will improve the public health, benefit a public highway or be of public utility, otherwise the drain cannot be constructed. Nefl v. Reed, 98 Ind. 341 ; Bass V. Elliott, 105 Ind. 517. 354 THE RURAL COMMUNITY let for its surplus water. Then there occurred an upheaval in land values. The river-bottom lands and the high clay farms had been enhancing in value gradually for from sixty to seventy-five years. These lands continued to advance in price, but not so rapidly as during the preced- ing third of a century. But the prairie-lands, the worth- less lands of the earlier period, doubled and trebled in price. A tract which in 1890 had a possible merchantable value of five or ten dollars an acre was worth twenty-five dollars an acre four years later; in 1900 it could be disposed of easily for fifty dollars an acre; and in 1905 offers of a hundred and a hundred and fifty dollars an acre were re- fused by the owners. Wherever artificial drains were established, the prairie-land multiplied in vsdue;^ but wherever the neighborhood conservatism refused to take advantage of the drainage statutes, the prairie-land re- mained economically worthless. Another significant phenomenon of the agrarian revo- lution in the Middle West is the retrogressive immigration which has taken place. From the first settlement of this region down to the close of the second period of its de- velopment, or approximately to the year 1890, immigra- tion was from the east westward. The hardy spirits who migrated from New England, Pennsylvania and Virginia ' A few instances will illustrate the extent and rapidity of the increase of values. One farm in northern Indiana, which was with difficulty disposed of in 1893 for fifteen dollars an acre was sold in 1898 for fifty dollars an acre, and in 1902 the present owners refused one hundred and ten dollars an acre for it. The buildings remained without particular improvement throughout the entire period. Another tract of one thousand acres in the same state and in an adjoining county was purchased in 1893 for twenty thousand dollars. The progressive owner mortgaged the land for half its original cost and expended the entire amount thus secured in tiling the tract and in connecting his lines of tile with the great open drains. In 1898 he disposed of it for double his entire expenditure. The land is now worth at least one hundred and twenty dollars an acre. In Illinois a tract of land comprising the greater part of a township was common pasturage in 1888. It was offered for sale at an in- significant price, and no purchaser could be obtained. At present this tract is under cultivation and has an estimated value of one hundred and fifty dollars an acre. The instances here cited are not exceptional. The average prairie farm of the Middle West in 1890 was worth from five to thirty dollars an acre, in 1905 the same land was capable of being sold at from one hundred and fifty to two hundred dollars an acre. EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 355 settled first in Ohio and eastern Kentucky. A few of the more restless or less successful of these settlers drifted to western Kentucky, Indiana and Michigan. After a further sifting, there was an exodus of individuals or families to Illinois and Wisconsin; and finally the lands west of the Mississippi were pre-empted. With each dec- ade, the frontier was pushed westward from twenty to fifty miles.^ But with the recent development of artificial drainage and the consequent enhancement of land values, the course of migration has been reversed: it is moving from the west eastward. Simultaneously with the rise of farm values in Illinois and with the adoption of exten- sive arrangements for the artificial drainage of the low- lands of the state, there was an emigration of Illinois farmers to the counties and states farther east — an emigra- tion of families which had disposed of their holdings at enhanced prices and sought to invest the proceeds in cheaper lands. The central counties of Illinois first experienced an appreciation of land values; and accom- panying this rise in values there began a gradual move- ment of rural population eastward. The Indiana line was soon reached; but the economic readjustment recog- nized no artificial barriers such as state boundaries. Western Indiana farm land leaped in value: thirty-dollar land doubled in a single year: within half a decade it had doubled again. It was a matter of common remark that, in two adjoining counties, the one situated to the west- ward would experience this enhancement in the price of agricultural lands two or three years before the more easterly county would be affected. Far-seeing men quickly disposed of their holdings and hastened to pur- chase in sections which the revolution had not as yet > "Our population is rolling toward the shores of the Pacific, with an im- petus greater than what we realize. It is one of those forward movements which leaves anticipation behind. In the period of thirty-two years which have elapsed since I took my seat in the other House, the Indiana frontier has receded a thousand miles to the West." John C. Calhoun in the U. S. Senate in 1843; cited by Benton, Thirty Years View, vol. II, p. 472. Calhoun's com- ment is interesting. But the actual occupation of the land by resident culti- vators did not proceed so rapidly. The estimate I have made I believe to be approximately correct. 356 THE RURAL COMMUNITY reached. Moderate fortunes were accumulated within ten years by a few judicious purchases of lands in the be- ginning of this enhancement of values and by their sub- sequent sale when the high tide of the revolution had been attained. This retrogressive immigration is significant, not only because of its territorial course, but also because of the character of the immigrants. The immigration is com- posed of actual occupants of the land, and it is a family, as distinguished from an individual immigration. Few if any companies have been formed for land speculation. The individual farmer has found an opportunity to dis- pose of his holdings at a very high price, and he has taken advantage of it. He then seeks a new home farther east. Sometimes he purchases where his old neighbors have obtained new homes, but more frequently the adventurous spirit, which a century earlier impelled his ancestors to advance to the western frontier, impels him to seek his new location far to the east and among strangers. By pursuing this course he is able to purchase a farm at a minimum price. These immigrants are not of the wealthier rural classes. The wealthier of the present landowners of the rural sec- tions of the Middle West are much more disposed to pur- chase the tracts of their neighbors, even at an enhanced price, than to dispose of their own properties. They do not yet appreciate the opportunities for investment which the cities afford, and they invest their wealth exclusively in farm lands. The process of centralization which is tak- ing place in this section is resulting in the accumulation of large landed estates in the hands of a few persons who originally were resident farmers. And when the oppor- tunities for local landed investments become less, these wealthier landowners retain their residences in the cities to which they have removed and invest their surplus cap- ital in the unimproved lands of the Southwest. The re- trogressive immigrants of the Middle West are generally small landowners. Their present possessions are too straitened to afford comfortable subsistence for them and EVOLUTION OP THE COMMUNITY 357 their growing families. They cannot purchase adjacent tracts except at exorbitant prices, but they are able to teike advantage of these enhanced prices in disposing of their lands, and the means so obtained enable them to pur- chase elsewhere larger farms quite as fertile as those which they have sold. Then, too, the retrogressive immigration is attended by none of the deprivations which have always been asso- ciated with removal to the frontier; for the towns and cities farther eastward, near which the new residence is secured, are often more attractive than were those of the old homes, and the disposition of the new neighbors is often more social. So the typical retrogressive immigrant is one who was a small farmer farther west, and who has been compelled to remove because of his small holdings and the impossibility of purchasing adjacent lands. After the sale of his farm, his wealth consists of from five to ten thousand dollars in cash, in addition to his live stock and farming utensils. Occasionally a retrogressive immigrant may have but one or two thousands dollars, and in some instances he can have as much as twenty thousand. Both of these extremes, however, are exceptional. The mercantile conception of rural possessions which is fast becoming dominant in the Middle West may be attributed largely to these newcomers. Their motive in removing to the new neighborhoods is strictly economic: it is the desire to obtain larger farms. And having made one remove to advantage, they are eager to sell a second time, when the values of their new holdings have increased, and again to migrate still farther to the eastward. They infect the old established communities in which they have first purchased with a desire to imitate their course, and many of the small farmers of these communities join the eastward trend. The presence of these immigrants in any neighborhood, together with that of the increasing number of tenants on the larger farms, affects the stability of rural society. Their varied experiences and successful ventures are matters of common gossip in the neighbor- hood in which they may reside for a few years, and the 358 THE RURAL COMMXJNrTY more inert of the smaller proprietors at last become willing to dispose of their homesteads and in turn join the east- ward migration. The lands which they desire to dispose of are sold to the wealthy landowners who are becoming non-resident proprietors, and the places of the freehold residents of the community are taken by tenants of the growing commercial type. The deed records afford in- disputable evidence of this tendency. Farms which from the original entry until 1890 had been owned by the same family, or which had changed owners but once or twice, and whose owners were proud to assert that their broad acres had never been encumbered with mortgages, since 1890 have been sold, in some instances as often as ten times, in more numerous instances four or five times, and a large part of the purchase price is secured by encum- bering the estates. This movement has been closely watched by the prac- tical men of business in the Middle West, though as yet it has not attracted the attention of theorists and scholars. The philosophy of the man of business is not concerned with ultimate causes. The rise of land values in Indiana is explained by the fact that the Illinois farmers are dis- posing of their holdings and moving eastward, and in Ohio there is constant reference to the influx of Indiana farmers. But the reason of this peculiar retrogressive immigration is not a matter with which the practical mind is greatly concerned. It is sufficient for the landowner to know that within a few years, through no exertion of his own, his competence has become a fortune. And the speculative purchaser has discovered that, with each additional remove eastward, his foresight has been rewarded by an appre- ciable increase in the value of his possessions. In the preceding pages the chief economic causes of the agrarian revolution in the Middle West has been in- dicated. The utilization of the prairies, made possible by artificial drainage, the enhancement of land values in the narrower Mississippi Valley, the retrogressive immi- gration of the rural inhabitants, and the enhancement of land values simultaneously with the movement of rural EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 359 population — these phenomena have everywhere been mani- fest. All land values have risen; but the rise has been especially marked in the case of the prairie-lands. So long as the movement of population was westward, the prairies were avoided as places of residence; while now the rural immigrant, if he can be called such, will be satis- fied only with the prairie, with its rich black loam and inexhaustible soil. The river-bottom farms and the clay lands of the hills, which in an earlier time were esteemed of greatest intrinsic worth, are now purchased only when the more desirable prairie farms cannot be procured . There is, however, another consequence of the present tendency to improve the low swamp-lands of the Middle West that cannot but be of increasing importance. Be- fore public measures were adopted for the complete drain- age of these lands, few attempted to cultivate them, be- cause, whenever there was an excessive rainfall, the water would accumulate in the low ground and disappear only by the slow process of evaporation or by an almost equally slow percolation through the soil. The artificial systems of drainage, which have resulted in such decided advan- tage to the prairies, have made use of the numerous creeks and dry runs which may be found in most of the counties of the Mississippi Valley. The drains empty into the creeks and runs, and these in turn empty into the rivers. By means of the outlets thus afforded, lands which previously had suffered for several days or even for a fortnight are now cleared of the surplus water in from twenty-four to forty-eight hours. In this comparatively short period of inundation, planted crops are not seriously injured. But this system of drainage, which has meant so much for the prairies, threatens the utter destruction of the lands which border upon the rivers and creeks. In previous times, the water which accumulated after the excessive spring rains would slowly percolate through the soil and would not disappear in less than a fortnight. The small portion which reached the creeks and rivers caused no unexpected and excessive overflows. After continuous rains there would be a gradual rise of the river, after which 360 THE RURAL COMMUNITY there would be a speedy subsidence. Now, however, when the accumulated rainfall is gathered in tile drains from every farm and poured in ever-growing streams into the creeks, and these in turn gush in torrents into the rivers, the latter, which until 1890 had a week or a fortnight in which to carry off the surplus rainfall, are now taxed to accomplish the greater task in one or two days. To the lands situated along the banks of the rivers the conse- quences are appalling. In former times these lands en- joyed the advantages which accrued from successive over- flows during the early spring before the annual planting season. Now they are in danger of overflow during the productive season of the year, if a rain of ten hours' dura- tion should occur. Recently the writer observed a strik- ing instance of this new danger. In 1908, during a rain of less than two days, the Wabash River rose five feet in less than five hours, and the lowlands everywhere were inundated. This sudden rise occurred late in May, in the midst of the planting season, and greatly retarded the cultivation of the lands. Prior to 1890, this river had never risen to such a degree in less than several days. The num- ber and the destructiveness of the annual overflows of the rivers of the Middle West increase with each year. And the changed conditions which now threaten to work permanent injury to lands situated along the rivers and larger creeks, while the measures for public drainage are but half accomplished, will unquestionably ruin these lands for agricultural purposes very shortly unless amelio- rative measures shall speedily be adopted. To complicate still further these growing difficulties, the channels of the more navigable streams have become shallow through the gathering of drifts of sand, and great trees have floated upon these sand-bars and further obstructed the passage of the water. This is one of the problems which will very shortly become vital in the Middle West, and one which seems to have been overlooked by the federal Inland Waters Commission. From the economic point of view, the present agrarian revolution in the Middle West has been caused by this EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 361 shifting of land values. Or perhaps, to speak more care- fully, one of the most significant phenomena accompany- ing the agrarian revolution in the Mississippi Valley has been the shifting of land values. The immediate conse- quences which I have depicted — the growth of large estates, the increasing number of tenant farmers, with precarious and commercial leaseholds, the crowding out of the small farmers and their compulsory migration to cheaper lands — will undoubtedly have a serious influence upon the character of American institutions. The faith of which the American people have been possessed so abundantly, that the rural personnel was a perpetual safe- guard against the dangers which threaten the national existence through the rise of cities and of large industrial undertakings, will soon have lost its substance. Indeed, the process of centralization in the rural communities seems to lack much of the conservatism which the city has naturally generated. In the cities, centralization has been accomplished upon a scale of such magnificence that industrial institutions of national proportions have been formed, and these are naturally conservative. In the process of rural readjustment, as it is being accomplished in the Middle West, centralization clings to the old nucleus of the individual. It lacks scope and is conditioned by all the fluctuations to which individual plans and prefer- ences are always subjected. The outcome of the present readjustment of agrarian affairs in the Middle West, con- sequent upon the shifting of population and of land values, must be a matter of great interest. Its importance is of concern, not only to the residents of the section which is the seat of these changes, but to the nation, for the re- sults of the movement may have a decided bearing upon the next form which our national ideals will assume. 362 THE RURAL COMMUNITY 2. THE NEW INDUSTRIAL ORDER BY WILBERT L. ANDERSON (From The Country Taum) The present stands in sharp contrast with the recent past in country towns. The memory of living men retains a vivid image of much to which visible conditions oflFer no parallel, and tradition further glorifies "the good old times." The middle of the nineteenth century may be selected as the most eligible point from which to contem- plate the contrasted civilizations. If much that has come to pass could not have been foreseen then, the new form of society was clearly discernible, and the old order was not far out of sight. • •••■■■• By the second decade of the nineteenth century new instruments of textile manufacture were available. The marvellous series of inventions beginning with the fly- shuttle about 1750 included the carding-machine, the spin- ning-frame and the spinning-mule, and the power-loom, when in 1793 Eli Whitney added the cotton-gin. This intricate and ingenious machinery has been subject to constant improvement, so that to this day the discarding of machines before they are worn out is a heavy item of expenditure. The power-loom waited for other inventions to make its use profitable, — carding, spinning, and weaving, by machinery, not taking place in one establishment until 1 8 13; but in 1790 a cotton-mill and in 1794 a woollen-mill were in successful operation in the United States. Mean- while the steam-engine had been introduced into the fac- tory. When about 18 10 the demand for American pro- duction became urgent, the pressure fell upon the new method, to the lasting relief of overburdened households. The effect of the new inventions upon the form of society was discerned almost from the first. Tench Coxe pref- aced his statistical tables with an introduction that reads like an apocalypse. "The wonderful machines," says he, EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 363 "working as if they were animated beings, endowed with all the talents of their inventors, laboring with organs that never tire, and subject to no expense of food, or bed, or raiment, or dwelling, may be justly considered as equivalent to an immense body of manufacturing recruits, suddenly enlisted in the service of the country." * The factory system, on the scale of a new social order, would not have been practicable without more efficient modes of transportation than were at hand in the age of homespun. The first decade of the last century brought internal improvements to public attention, but at the time little was accomplished except to plan an elaborate system of canals. The steamboat did not appear until 1807, and the railway with steam traction dates from about 1830. Before 18 10 commerce and travel were limited to the natural waterways and slow and costly movement along the poor roads. There was a great enthusiasm in tumpiking at the beginning of the last century ; at the close of its first decade one hundred and eighty turnpike cor- porations had been chartered in New England, and al- most as many more had been launched in New York.* This late interest in good roads, coming just as the canal and the railway were to provide new modes of transporta- tion, marks the growing discontent with the pitiful isola- tion of the age of homespun. Merchandise and produce that could not stand a freight charge of fifteen dollars per ton could not be carried overland to a consumer one hun- dred and fifty miles from the point of production ; as roads were a distance of fifty miles from market often made industrial independence expedient. Where the produce of the farms could not be sold, where wood and lumber were not marketable, the people had no resource but to raise their own wool and flax, and spin and weave and make their own clothing. Other crafts felt these in- fluences, although the working of wood and metals and leather fell to skilled artisans in the village rather than 1 Arts and Manufactures in the United States, p. 25. * John Bach McMaster, A History of the People of the United States, vol, III. p. 463. 364 THE RURAL COMMUNITY to the household. The local store had a small trafific in articles that could not be produced, and in luxuries. Salt fish was widely distributed; rum went everywhere; salt was a universal necessity; tools and utensils and furni- ture were imported; a few articles of dress carried the style of the city to the hamlet. So insignificant Weis the traffic uniting the country town to the great world.' The age of homespun was further characterized by the use of hand tools for nearly all the work of the farm. The first half of the nineteenth century bears the same rela- tion to the invention of agricultural implements as the last half of the eighteenth century to the invention of tex- tile machinery. In 1800 the hoe, the scythe, the sickle or the cradle, and the fiail were as little displaced as the primi- tive cards, the spinning-wheel, the warping bars, and the hand loom fifty years earlier. The first decade of the century brought important improvements in the plough; the mowing-machine and the reaper came in the thirties; the horse-rake and the threshing-machine operated by horse-power were little used until after 1840. The middle of the century was reached before the more important inventions had overcome popular prejudice. The still more recent rotary milk separator has removed the mak- ing of butter from the household in a manner analogous to the transfer of the textile crafts to the factory. A state- ment in a special report in the census of 1880 purports to gather up the opinions of competent observers con- cerning the efficiency of improved agricultural implements, and this estimate has been quoted by so many writers of authority that it may be accepted as a true account of conditions a quarter of a century ago: " It is, in fact, esti- mated by careful men, thoroughly conversant with the changes that have taken place, that in the improvement made in agricultural tools, the average farmer can, with • "Taking the country through, it may be said that to transport goods, wares, or merchandise cost ten dollars per ton per hundred miles. Articles that could not stand these rates were shut from market, and among these were grain and flour, which could not bear transportation more than one hundred and fifty miles." McMaster, op. cil., p. 464, Cf. Macaulay, History of England, vol. I, chap. Ill, EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 365 sufficient horse-power, do with three men the work of fifteen forty years ago, and do it better." ' This declara- tion is sufficiently impressive without revising it to cover the changes in the last decade. Rural evolution,* as manifest in our time, consists es- sentially in the adjustment to new conditions as the transi- tion from the age of homespun to the age of machinery is made. The fact of critical importance, through its re- lation to the social structure and to the evolutionary forces, is the altered density of the rural population. In sub- sequent chapters an attempt will be made to measure the ebb and flow of population in country towns; here it is desirable to set this general movement, which is plain to every observer, in its relation to the change in the me- chanical equipment of industry. In all towns not favored by the new development of manufacture and trade, there are fewer people than once dwelt in them. The loss is accounted for, in part, by the removal of manufacturers from families to establishments, — to use the terms em- ployed by Tench Coxe. The village crafts have suffered a similar fate, and the displacement of skilled men is a most serious injury. The reduction of the force employed on the farms is considerable, although it cannot be so great as many discussions of the subject suggest. It is common to pass from the statement of the efficiency of farm labor equipped with the modem agricultural implements to the loss of rural population, as if eleven of fifteen men had become superfluous. A diminution of workers in the ratio of the increased efficiency of implements, if it were pos- sible, would shatter society beyond recovery. It is evi- dent that nothing so ominous has occurred, for statistics supply the proof that only one or two out of that sup- posed band of eleven ever existed on the farms. There are many reasons why the shrinkage of the farm popula- ' Exonomic independence is illustrated in an old inventory which mentions nine hundred and one nails as part of the estate, — the product doubtless of patient hammering by the fireside. Charles H. Bell, History of Exeter, N. H., P- 329- • Tenth Census, U. S., vol. II. Report on the Manufactures of Interchange- able Mechanism, p. 76. 366 THE RURAL COMMUNITY tion is less than the efficiency of machinery suggests. The number of men on the farm is determined largely by the demand for labor in operations that do not permit the use of machinery, as appears most decisively in dairying. The tendency, also, is to enlarge the amount of work done rather than to cut down the number of laborers. Not only are farms cultivated more thoroughly, but a vast production for the market has been added to the volume of agricultural industry. In fact the average farmer has changed and enlarged his business, so that he employs a great part of the labor force formerly required. The hours of work have been shortened notably; the seasons of ploughing and seeding, of haymaking and harvesting, have been contracted ; the strain of toil has been reduced ; the standard of living has been raised, — all this the ma- chine has made possible. Nevertheless when all correc- tions of current exaggeration have been made, it will be found that the use of improved agricultural implements has seriously diminished the rural population. The first effect of farm machinery is the hastening of the departure of the farmer's boy from the home. In the age of homespun, sons remained with their fathers until marriage more frequently than in our day. This was partly because no other course was possible, and partly because they were needed for the work now performed by the machine. The substitution of the machine for the lad delaying at home is a great economic and social benefit in spite of the loss through the early sundering of the family. Certainly the boy thrust out of his early home and the greater world which has received him cor- dially have suffered no injury, for this country boy has had a great career. His success has been largely due to the practical education of the farm; the many arts and crafts of the farm and the farmhouse, though fewer than formerly, still afford excellent manual training, — a more and more evident necessity in a working world. "The best schoolhouse in the world," says a Yale professor, "is an eastern farm . . . where a variety of crops are EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 367 produced and a variety of work goes on." ' In city schools it hjis been found necessary to provide an education of hand and eye and the contriving faculties, which is the birthright of country children. The chapter of history relating the achievements in the city of the young people from the farms is only suggested here, where the point of concern is that the efficient and promising boy was needed at home only at special seasons, as the times for planting, haying, and harvesting. A true economy sets the boy free by employing the machine, which neither eats nor acquires bad habits when idle. The community that loses its boys of ability may be impoverished, but the enrichment of the world is a compensation that stifles regret. In the old times additional laborers were needed at the busy seasons. This irregular employment yielded an un- certain and scant living, which was eked out by tilling a little land, by chopping wood, and by working in other ways that were wasteful. When farmers now complain of the change in the labor-supply, they are lamenting the disappearance from the community of families that fur- nished laborers at their call. These have gone, and their little houses have disappeared; but they have escaped the poverty that awaits upon irregular employment, and the country town is relieved of a class that was always on the verge of destitution. The rural society that pos- sesses mowing-machines is preferable to a social order that attempts to support men to swing a scythe a single month of the year. Even if wages advance, an agricul- tural community is richer without an impoverished work- ing class. Machinery, which in cities creates social dis- tinction, in the country works for social uniformity, — a condition more easily reached by the elimination than by the improvement of the weaker elements. 'William H. Brewer, "The Brighter Side of New England Agriculture," an address before the State Board of Agriculture, New Hampshire Reports, 1890, vol. II. For an ampler statement see Professor Brewer's pamphlet, The Farm and Farmer the Basis of National Strength, pp. 12-18. 368 THE RURAL COMMUNITY In the older parts of the country the observing traveller notes many an old cellar with its tangle of weeds and vines, or in a field or pasture sees a clump of lilacs and straggling rose-bushes, — enduring evidences that the spot was once a home, — or views with serious reflection a lonely shade- tree lingering to preserve the memory of those who planted it. Sometimes a crumbling chimney still defies the winds, or a deserted house tells the tale of a vanished past. Some of these remains are silent witnesses of the lessened de- mand for labor since the machine came to the help of the farmer; many are the long lasting signs of "the abandoned farm." These objects of much popular lamentation are found wherever stirile or rough. land lies between fertile and easily tilled farms. They are more numerous in hilly than in level districts, in New England and New York than in the prairie states; but they mark a condition rather than a section. The new transportation did not open to settlement the distant parts of the country early enough to prevent a multiplying population from occupy- ing land that is unfit for farming. In the age of homespun, conditions were so different that folly need not be charged upon those home makers who, at the worst, made a vir- tue of necessity and chose what remained after they ar- rived upon the scene. The spinning-wheel and the loom were as serviceable in the house beside the untravelled road that threaded the wilderness of hills and woods as on the rich estate; sheep throve in the wild pastures; the virgin soil yielded what was needful for food; neighbor- ing farms offered employment when supplies were inade- quate; the forest afforded means of barter in wood and shingles and lumber. It is possible to see how this fringe of unfortunate folk hanging upon industrially dependent communities lived in part by working for prosperous neigh- bors, in part by household industries, and in part by rude farming; and it is equally clear that changed conditions made existence upon these small and poor farms mpos- sible. The day when the enterprising farmer began to pro- duce for tixe market and to substitute machinery for hand EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 369 tools, marked the doom of his unhappy neighbor ham- pered by inferior land. Machinery could not be used in his rough fields; it could not be employed profitably in mere patches of grass or grain; and besides capital was lacking for its purchase. The competition was hopeless; the support of an earlier time failing, the abandoned farm was inevitable. The escape of a stranded class is proof of vitality. These people have gone, but for the most part they went without suffering and without shame. A member of the family became a pioneer in the city, lead- ing the way for brothers and sisters; at last the parents finished their earthly course, and the old home was left vacant. In many cases the abandoned land has been added to an adjacent farm to provide wood and pasture, so that the true interpretation of the decaying house by the hill road is often to be found in the rich farmer's pros- perity as he adds field to field, rather than in the poor man's poverty. Although its story is often read with a different emphasis, the abandoned farm really means the salvation of the family that forsook it, and the elevation of the community that is pruned of its least thrifty mem- bers. The unfortunate people on the poor lands forsook their impracticable homes before the development of wide areas of stagnation. A thousand times better for civiliza- tion, is a thriving forest than a decaying humanity, — a rich pasture for improved cattle than a habitat for de- generate and hopeless men. "Out upon the doctrine," cries Professor Brewer, "that the country wants blooded stock but a scrub race of men, on its farms. . . . Better let lands be abandoned, and stay abandoned; better let the forests grow anew and untouched, where the fox may dig his hole unscared, and the traveller lose his way in the wilderness, than that New England thought. New England culture, and New England statesmanship, be turned over to a peasant class." ' It may be said of every phase of this industrial revolu- tion, for it is nothing less, that its true interpretation finds elements of social progress. The country town is at a ' The Farm and Farmers the Basis of National Strength, p. 30. 370 THE RURAL COMMUNITY highier stage of civilization when its poor lands are aban- doned; when its irregularly employed laborers have emi- grated; when women are relieved of the wearing labor of spinning and weaving and butter-making; when sons and daughters of promise find alluring opportunities in a larger world. Yet such depletion is an exhausting strain, perilously disturbing the social structure; generations must pass before the adjustment to new conditions be- comes a tradition as inspiriting as the memory of the "good old times." The key to the change is the transfer of manufactures to the factory. The factory creates the larger village, and the massing of factories develops the city, whose amaz- ing growth is the distinctive feature of the nineteenth century. This city must have food from the country. The consequence is a new kind of farming for the market ; production in one place for consumption in another, is the condition of trade; and trade demands transporta- tion. Trade and transportation, in turn, call for new manufactories of rails and bridges and cars, for warehouses and offices; and these are located in cities, drawing the laborer from the country. He who lived precariously on the farm adds another to the consumers of the city, where, too, the owner of the abandoned farm thrives and demands his daily bread. Besides all those to whom the city gives prosperity, there is an uncounted multitude hovering on the brink of ruin, unable to gain a secure place in the new civilization, but requiring to be fed and by some means gaining the price of bread. Thus the city grows beyond all the experience of the race, and the country becomes a base of supplies for the city. Industrial independence of rural communities has gone forever; henceforth they are vital parts of the economic organism of the world. In this radical readjustment the farmer is helped by ma- chinery, so that he widens his fields and intensifies his cultivation, and with less labor meets the new demjmd with an abundant supply. The age of homespun has given place to the age of machinery, and every element of life in the country town is changed. EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 37 1 3. THE PASSING OF THE FARMER BY ROY HINMAN HOLMES (From The AUaniic Monthly, Oct., 1912) I These are days of unprecedented social change. The eyes of the world, however, are so attentively fixed upon the developing American city, that the greatest change of all in America's social life is going forward well-nigh unheeded. The farmer class, which we have grown ac- customed to consider the permanent foundation of our society, is showing decided signs of impermanence. The farmer is moving to town. It is not simply a farmer here and a farmer there, each because of reasons of his own, who are leaving the land and entering other occupations. The movement, instead, is general in extent. In a com- paratively short time the typical farmer of to-day, who tills the land that he owns, with the help of his growing sons, will be but a national memory. Though he is the most conservative of men, the farmer cannot forever cling to the past. In his attempt to mod- ernize his occupation, the individual owner must fail, and rather than rest in failure he very naturally turns from the land to seek success elsewhere. The new and better conditions which are to prevail, instead of coming as the result of a gradual development within itself of the old system, will come rather from without, as an extension over the country districts of those modem systems of pro- duction which are operating successfully in the cities. It is upon her great areas of fertile land that America's increasing millions must depend for their food-supply. Agricultural production, however, as carried on upon the farms, is failing to keep pace with the growing demand, in spite of the fact that the experts point the way to a yield per acre many times greater than the average yield 372 THE RURAL COMMUNITY of to-day. The cry of agricultural science is for a more intensive cultivation of the soil. This more intensive cultivation demands an increasing number of laborers on the land. The laborers, however, instead of increasing in numbers are continually becoming fewer; farms, in- stead of becoming smaller, as the theorists of the last gen- eration predicted, are steadily becoming larger: the trend is necessarily away from crops that demand intensive culture. The production of agricultural supplies in this country is losing in its race to keep in advance of consump- tion. Not alone are the farms becoming larger, but the proportion of them operated by renters is rapidly increas- ing. The increase of the renting system can be viewed as nothing short of alarming, unless one believes it to be but a necessary transitional stage leading to something more satisfactory. II In every consideration of the question it must be borne in mind that the movement is not in its essence a move- ment from the country to the city, but rather it is from farming as an occupation to something else as an occupa- tion. It is very common indeed in this country, due no doubt to some extent to the influence of the schools, for sons to enter other occupations than those pursued by the fathers. A thought will convince any one that the schools are no more influential in causing the sons of the farmer to leave the farm than they are in drawing the sons of the merchant away from the store, or in deter- mining the lawyer's sons to turn from the occupation of their father. It is, perhaps, one of the chief functions of the school to broaden the vision of the student, — to give him a world view. The young man should be made to feel in his youth that the world is wide, that there are many openings into life, that the path his father chose, or was forced into by circumstances, is but one of the many. The school should aid the youth to determine what path he. EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 373 individually, is best fitted to follow; and so far as is prac- ticable, it should assist him to take the first steps in that pathway. It should no more be taken for granted that the son of the farmer should be a farmer than that the son of the physician should be a physician. There is no drift away from any one of the learned pro- fessions. They are constantly being recruited from with- out. No great alarm is felt over the decision of a large proportion of the young men of the city to break away from the occupations of their fathers. There is no cause for alarm. The son of the physician may go into business or become a civil engineer; there is no dearth of doctors, for other men's sons are studying medicine. On the other hand, the entrance of farmer boys into occupations other than that of farming is a very serious matter, indeed, for the reason that there is no correspond- ing movement of young men from the cities to the farms. Though the sons of farmers are among the most successful men in every walk of city life, it is comparatively rare to find a man not country-bom who is a successful farmer. Though the city gates swing easily to admit the country boy, the city-trained lad finds it exceedingly difficult to swing them the other way. Those coming to the farms with money sufficient to buy are handicapped by money without knowledge; those coming without money are in a worse plight still. The typical farmer of to-day who is fairly successful, from the financial standpoint, has in- herited a cast of mind that is indispensable to his success. He may be wealthy, and often he is, but he has the out- look upon life of pioneer ancestors who were very far from wealthy. The pioneer days, so far as this country is con- cerned, are passed. Land may no longer be had for the asking. It may be well for the would-be farmer to be poor in spirit, yet his purse must be well filled. Though from the beginning of the rapid development of the cities there has been a constant movement of coun- try people to them, the migration has been considerably accelerated since the improvement of the rural schools, and the placing, of high-school advantages within the reach 374 THE RURAL COMMUNITY of rural pupils, as has been done in many localities. The virtual extension of city school systems into the coun- try districts, together with other modern phenomena, among which may be mentioned the rural mail system, the rural telephone, the improvement of highways, and the building of interurban lines, is in a large measure break- ing down the barriers which formerly existed between the country and the city. The two civilizations, rural and urban, which had until recent years existed to a large de- gree independently of each other, are rapidly being blended into one. This new civilization thus formed is city-cen- tred, and a strong pull toward the centre is setting in. It is not alone the young people who are to-day drift- ing away from the farms to town. There is also a con- tinued movement of older men with their families to the cities. Many farmers of middle age are entering other occupations, depending for a portion of their income upon the proceeds from the farms they have left. Many small towns are made up to quite an extent of a population of "retired farmers," many of whom are still in the prime of life. Instead of having remained at their task until their days of activity should have normally ended, they chose to get away from it all while they were still young enough "to get some enjoyment out of life." Like those early miners of gold who chanced to be successful, they, having gathered in their piles, next enter upon the stage of spend- ing. The typical "retired farmer," however, differs very radically from the old-time miner, in that, as his wealth was not the result of a sudden smile of fortune, he does not spend it in sudden moods of reckless generosity. The drift cityward is receiving a decided impetus in those country regions best provided with "city con- veniences." Communities that had long existed as al- most independent social entities, each having a centre "at the Corners" where were located the church, the schoolhouse, the store, and the post-office, have had their unity destroyed in these modem days. Formerly, fre- quent social gatherings were held, when the whole neigh- borhood would "turn out," — the women and children EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 375 gathering in the afternoons, and the men, both old and young, joining them in the evenings. The sons of farmers married the daughters of farmers, and new farm homes were established, thus perpetuating the community. With the coming of improved methods of communica- tion, new groups were soon formed, not on the basis of neighboring farms, mere physical nearness, but rather on the basis of a freer intellectual choice. Mere physical proximity has less than formerly to do with social group- ing. The most intimate acquaintances of the farmer and his family often live in the village or the city several miles away. The sons and daughters of the farmer marry, and are married to, the daughters and sons of the city dweller. Such marriages result, in the great majority of cases, in new homes established not on the farms but rather in the towns. This is but another way of saying that, with the coming of modem means of communication, so that the actual conditions of life both in the country and in the city are better understood by all than ever before, the at- tracting power of the city for the country-bom is much stronger than that of the country for the city-bom. This very evident desire of so many of the young and the middle-aged to get away from the farms, coupled with the impossibility of an influx from without to fill the places of those who leave, indicates clearly that the system of farming, as we know it, cannot indefinitely continue. At the present time so many of the farmer families have left the land that in many localities those who remain are tilling such large areas that the work cannot be other than superficially done. There is also to be seen, in increasing frequency, the renter who will never own an acre, or suit- able tools for tilling one, and the mortgager who will never be free of debt. These are days of national prosperity, yet there is a steady increase in the number of mortgaged farms. Farm land is increasing in value so rapidly that the farmer cannot keep pace with his land. The deeds and mortg£iges are to a greater extent than ever before held by men who are not farmers, but who on the con- trary are city business men. 376 THE RURAL COMMUNITY III Some of the causes which are operating to drive the farmer out of his occupation are not at all difficult to find. One of the most obvious of them is the decreasing supply of labor. It is becoming continually more difficult to ob- tain helpers for work on the farms, either for the house or for the field. In the old days, the neighborhood group was very often entirely self-sufficient. There were enough men and women in the community to do the work of the community. It was the most natural thing in the world for the farmer who had more sons than could profitably be employed upon the home acres to allow one or more of the boys to spend a portion of the year in the employ of neighbors who were without sons. Though it was an economic misfortune to be without strong and willing boys in the home, yet one could usually depend upon hir- ing neighbor boys for just the length of time that help was needed. The daughterless housewife also could ob- tain all the help needed by calling upon the neighborhood girls. The mingling of the young people in this demo- cratic fashion did much to strengthen community ties. Often the young man of twenty-one, having saved his summers' earnings, married his employer's daughter and bought a farm of his own. Many another young man, who had spent his summers at home, also set up for him- self after marrying the "hired girl." The multiplication of radiating influences from the rapidly developing modem city has swept away the old days. The growing sons and daughters are spending more and more time in the schools. The well-to-do farmer very naturally wishes his children to enjoy as good educational advanteiges as do the children of the town merchant. His own children gone, he calls in vain now for the assistance of the young people of the neighborhood. They, too, are at school, or, if at work, are in the shops and stores of the city. The old group is broken, and help, if it comes, must come from without. Efficient single men and women for EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 377 farm labor may seldom be found to-day at any wage, and the supply of inefficient laborers is becoming continually less. A generation ago the young farm laborer could ex- pect, after a few years of earnest work and careful saving, to own a farm of his own; and he would plunge hopefully into the task. To-day, however, farms sell for thousands, which in those days could be bought for hundreds. The farm-hand of to-day does not expect to buy, and, as a rule, he simply drifts along in an aimless, hopeless fashion. There seems to be no lack of capable married men who are glad to work on the farms for pay equivalent to their city wage. They must be made certain, however, of work for the entire year, and their pay must include the rent of suitable dwelling-houses. The farmer of to-day, as a rule, is not in a position to take advantage of this source of labor supply. Hence, his fields are imperfectly tilled, and his crops improperly harvested. In these days of the occupation's decline, without doubt the most pathetic figure in the situation is that of the farm wife. It is primarily to ease her burdens that many land- owners are turning away from the land. In the former days, surrounded by her daughters, or by neighboring cousins and nieces, she was queen of the country civiliza- tion. Though her life was one of constant toiling, yet it was dignified by something that is nc)w lacking. She cared little for the ways of the city, and seldom went to town. Her life was indeed narrow, but it reached deep down into the very soil. Her interests were limited by the limita- tions of the country neighborhood, but her culture was as genuine as any in the world. However, with the break- ing up of the old group, the formation of new ties, and the inevitable rush of the girls to town, her life has suf- fered a melancholy change. The granddaughter of yes- terday's queen has become the drudge of to-day. Her lot is made doubly hard: scarcity of help for the house and the field has called her to redoubled exertions, and since the beginning of the new order her life is being mea- 378 THE RURAL COMMUNITY sured by new and, from a certain standpoint, more exact- ing standards. A generation ago, the wife and mother compared her lot with that of her pioneer grandmother, and felt that she had much to be grateful for. To-day the past is for- gotten; comparisons must be made between herself and city sisters and friends. The family album with its re- minders of yesterday is seldom opened. "To-day" is ever at hand in the automobile's honk, the jingle of the telephone-bell, and the headlines of the daily paper. These farm women find themselves in a new civiliza- tion, but not of it. They have as great a longing for the best that life can offer as have the well-gowned club women of the cities. In many cases, from a financial standpoint, they can as well afford the luxuries of modem life as the majority of those who possess them. But, as the wives of farmers, they must give themselves to the land. Their houses go neglected that they may help with work in the fields. Their hands are coarse and rough from assisting their husbands with pressing work on the land. Wives of wealthy farmers in this our country, while at their work, often resemble in their appearance ignorant, poverty- stricken peasant women of Europe. Many a farmer's son who has completed the course of a city high school has been helped to do so by the sacrifices of an overworked mother back on the farm, who has taken upon herself many of the tasks that, otherwise, would have been his. In the hearts of these lonely, toil-worn women, love for farm life is turning to bitterness, and the daughters are electing new things. Undoubtedly the primary fault in the occupation, the one fundamental thing which is rendering the present system of farming the least popular calling in the modern scheme of things, is its lack of opportunity for specializa- tion in labor. In these days of .the expert, the farmer is inexpert, and therefore lonesome. In the cities, the men of every calling, from the surgeon to the chimney-sweep, pride themselves upon doing one thing well. The farmer alone is the jack-of-all-trades. Though the trend in farm- EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 379 ing is toward specialized lines of production, the farmer's labor remains, as it was in the beginning, unspecialized as to processes. With the coming of more complicated agricultural machinery to be handled, and the growing necessity for thorough study of soils, of insect pests, and of the markets, the farmer is yearly brought face to face with more complex demands. To manage and do the major part of the labor, satis- factorily, on a farm of eighty acres, demands on the part of the farmer several lines of proficiency which are seldom found combined in any one individual. He must have the strength and physical endurance of the unskilled laborer, combined with the ingenuity and mechanical ability of the skilled workman. He must be somewhat of a student, an authority on matters connected with the science of agriculture. As a student, he must also have something of the spirit of the investigator and experi- menter, for his own farm presents problems for which he can find no solution in the books. He must be a business man competent to manage a large and complicated under- taking, or much of his labor will be wasted. The typical farmer, in his attempt to make a creditable showing upon each of these counts, attains no better than second-rate efficiency in any single line. Comparisons with the city expert are bound to make him uncomfortable. However, such comparisons, although unjust to the individual, are yet inevitable. It is told to all that he is a poor business man, a superficial student, a bungling mechanic, and a clumsy laborer. He is made to feel that he is a misfit on the land and in the work of his inheritance. He is rather severely punished for marching in the rear-guard of a vanishing procession. IV The pioneer days are over. The supply of cheap land is nearly exhausted. It is now as much out of the question "to go West to take up a farm" as it is to go East to take up a factory. The former call of the land was to those who had little money or special training of any sort, and 380 THE RURAL COMMUNITY who, for this very reason, were glad to build homes in the wilderness and to live in them, braving the various dangers of frontier life, while they changed the wilderness into a garden and watched the price of farm land rise. The present call of the land is not unlike the call to other activities. It is to men who have money to invest, and to those who have expert knowledge and ability of some sort. As the farming class was called into being by the existence of abnormal land conditions, it is very natural to expect that as conditions become normal the class will be merged back into the society from which it sprang, and the task of agricultural production taken over by the classes of modern industrial organization : by the cap- italist, the manager, and the laborer. The laws of social and economic development which brought the factory are in operation still. Agriculture is but a form of manu- facturing, and its development must be along the lines marked out by the development of manufacturing in the past. The little shop in which the owner and his family lived and performed all the labor, both mental and physical, connected with the manufacture of wagons or shoes has given way to the great plant employing thou- sands of specialists. The small farm of to-day is similar in its organization to the shop of yesterday, and must as surely give way. The farmer does not leave the farm because it is in the country. He turns away from it for the same reason that the cobbler turns from the shop, because he feels it to be out of harmony with the life about him. The real "iso- lation," which we are to understand is the prime reason for the unrest of the farmer, is not physical, it is social. It does not consist in the fact that his nearest neighbor lives a quarter of a mile or more away, but rather in the fact that he is a farmer: his occupation and necessary mode of life do not fit well in the modern scheme. If phys- ical isolation were the cause of the discontent, modern improvements in methods of communication would do much to bring contentment. It is noticeable, however, that in those communities best provided with modern EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 38 1 conveniences the drift cityward is most rapid. The more closely men are drawn together, the more surely does the old order pass. Though the pioneer's work was well done, it is now finished. There is no especial reason to look for the ex- pert agriculturist of the future among the descendants of the pioneer farmer of the past. The men who are to carry on the agricultural production in the coming days are being prepared in the cities for their task. As the new civilization is urban, so the new farming is of necessity a specialized department of urban life. There cannot long remain the distinction implied in the terms "towns- man" and "countryman." All men will be grouped in the tables according to occupational divisions. The ques- tion will be not, "Where does one live?" but rather, "What does one do?" Country work will be as well sub- divided as the work of the cities, and for the most part according to the same divisions. The agricultural expert will direct the labor in the fields as do other experts the various processes in the great shops. Agricultural pro- duction will have come into its own. One of the greatest social advanteiges which we may hope to derive from the change, is a vastly increased op- portunity for laborers now crowded into the cities to find work in the country fields. One would expect to see a continual shifting of laborers of the poorer classes back and forth between the town and the country. The more of these people who can be brought into direct contact with the soil, the better. America has in the past looked to the farm for the rejuvenation of her social vitality. The land will probably much better serve social needs under the new system than under the old, for the healing in- fluences of the soil will be applied directly to those of our people who stand most in need of healing. It is not the few who can afford to own farms who most need the bene- fits of country life, but rather the many who can neither buy nor rent. Under the new order they and their children will receive a blessing which might never come to them in the old, and the whole of society will be benefited thereby. 382 THE RURAL COMMUNITY ///. POPULATION 1. THE RURAL POPULATION OF OHIO BY L. H. GODDARD (From Ohio Agricultural Experiment Station, Circular No. 116, Wooster, Ohio, Sept. I, 191 1) A study of the changes in the rural population of Ohio and of the causes that have operated to bring them about is considered an essential feature of an Agricultural Sur- vey of the State such as is now being conducted by the Ohio Experiment Station. A State may have specially valuable agricultural resources and yet be of little agri- cultural value to the nation at large unless it possesses an abundant and stable rural citizenship. In connection with this Circular we reproduce four of the maps which are being used in such a study and to which the attention of those who are interested in such problems is invited. The map given in Figure i shows the decreases, if any, in rural population in each rural township of the State between the years 1900 and 1910 as determined and reported by the U. S. Census Bureau.* Each dot on this map represents a decrease within this lo-year period of I per cent in the rural population of the township on the map of which it is placed. Five dots show that there was a decrease of 5 per cent, ten dots a decrease of 10 per cent, and so on. The absence of dots indicates that there prob- ably was a gain, or at least no decrease. Whether or not there was a gain may be determined from the map in Figure 2. It will thus be seen that in Figure i the greater the number of dots, or roughly speaking, the more dense the map is made with dots in any township or section, the greater has been the decrease of the rural population in that township or section in the period named. A single ' The statistics, which were sent to the press by the Census Bureau in March, 191 1, are subject to correction in the later and final publication. The cor- rections, if any, however, will doubtless be insignificant, and owing to the nature of thisstudy need not be considered in connection with it. EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 383 exception to this rule will be noted in the case of town- ships in which are shown a small cross. The presence of such a cross on the map of a township indicates that for some reason it was necessary to reject the figures for that township. The Station will be pleased, however, to sup- ply, upon request, all the information available regarding any of the townships so marked. The map in Figure 2 shows in a similar manner the in- creases instead of decreases in the rural population between 1900 and 1910. In this case the dots each represent i per cent of in- crease instead of i per cent of decrease. Accordingly, the greater the number of dots or the blacker the map of any township, the greater has been the increase in that township. On this map will be noted another exception to the dotting system. In some townships the gain was so great that it was impossible to plot on their maps the number of dots corresponding to the percentage of gain. Accordingly, the figures of percentage have been used instead. For instance, the number of 80 within a town- ship would indicate that the rural population of that town- ship had gained 80 per cent within the ten-year period. The maps given in Figures 3 and 4 represent respectively in a similar manner the decreases and increases in rural population between the years 1890 and 1900. In its studies of urban and rural population the U. S. Census Bureau defines rural population as that which does not reside in cities or other incorporated places of 2,500 or more inhabitants. In a study such as is being made by the Ohio Station in which conditions are being analyzed township by township, it was deemed neces- sary to go more into detail. Accordingly, it was decided to define rural population in this study as that which does not reside in cities or villages which are incorporated. By using this classification instead of the one used by the Census Bureau, the population of some 644 towns, total- ling in 1910, 453,289, almost 10 per cent of the population of the State, was transferred from the rural to the urban class; but the population of many other unincorporated 384 THE RURAL COMMtJNttV towns, some much larger than those which are incorporated, was classed as rural. While there are doubtless many persons residing in these small incorporated towns whose Map of OhJa snowing Decreases in Rural Population m the decade laOD-IBlD tiabedan US.CensusReporT ^e« lonepercznt Fig. I interests and inclination are even more rural than are those of many who live in the open country, and therefore should be classed as rural, it is, on the other hand, probable that EVOLUTION Of THE COMMUNITY 385 for every such a one there is at least one in the unincor- porated towns which are classed as rural, whose interest is entirely urban. I shewing 1 nereis es Rural ^pulflfian inthpdende 1900-131D based on U.5.[lensusRe|irt Suit •• one percBit Fig. 2 With this classification in mind it may be well to turn again to the maps. An examination of the map in Figure i for the decade 1900 to 1910 will reveal the fact that there 386 THE RURAL COMMUNITY was not a county in the State which did not lose in agri- cultural population in at least four townships. Eleven counties show a loss in all townships. Ten more have Fig. 3 lost in all but one township and thirteen others have lost in all but two townships. In this list of thirty- four will be found many of the best agricultural counties of the State. EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 387 Indeed, one of the most productive counties in the State shows perhaps the heaviest and most uniform losses in population. Taking the State as a whole, out of a total l^nal Fipublian in the decade IQBD-tBQO based on LLS<£emslS)wt ^ale ••one percent Fig. 4 of 1,352 rural townships, 947 or 70 per cent showed a loss in population in this period. Probably 70 per cent of the 60 which have been "crossed out," as previously men- 388 THE RURAL COMMUNITY tioned, would also have shown a similar loss had it been possible to make the comparison. POPULATION OF OHIO (Figures from U. S. Census Bureau) Total for State Urban 3,672,316 1,829,862 4.157.545 2,394,001 13-2 30.8 4,767,121 3,116,837 14-7 30.2 Rural 1,842,454 50.2 1,763,544 42.4 78,910 58.4 -4-3 -15.5 1,650,284 34-6 112,707 83.4 -6.4 -18.4 Per cent Rural .... Loss in rural popu- lation in preced- ing decade Average loss per township (1352) . In 1890 the rural population of Ohio, according to the foregoing table and classification, amounted to 50 per cent of the total for the entire State. In 1900 this per- centage had decreased to 42 and in 1910 to a little less than 35. It will be noted also that whereas the State pop- ulation increased fairly uniformly, a little less than 15 per cent each decade, and the urban population increased in a similarly uniform manner at about 30 per cent for each period, the rural population, on the other hand, ac- tually decreased 4.3 per cent the first decade and 6.4 per cent the second. The average decrease per township in the first decade for the entire number of rural townships (1.352) was 58 persons and in the second decade 83 per- sons. Since many of the townships which made gains made very pronounced ones (see Figure 2) it is probable that the average actual loss in the 947 townships which did lose in population in the second decade, was not less than double the average for the entire 1,352, or from 150 to 175 per township. From the foregoing it will be evident that the rural pop- ulation of Ohio is not only not keeping up with the urban population but also that it is actually decreasing at an appreciable rate which is growing larger as the decades go by. The question then arises, how long can these town- EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 389 ships continue to lose from 10 to 15 or more people per year as have 70 per cent of the townships of Ohio, many of which are in the most productive areas of the State, and not have some very definite effect on the State at large, at least on its agricultural production. The de- crease for the past ten years was 40 per cent greater than between the years 1 890-1900. Will it be greater or less in the succeeding ten years? What are the causes that are bringing this about? Are these changes normal, and if they are not normal, what can be done to remedy the condition ? Again the Experiment Station invites every person who is interested in this problem to study these maps and to favor it with their suggestions and ideas regarding this problem. It desires especially to hear from those who have made accurate observations themselves of the con- ditions in any rural township in Ohio throughout the past ten, fifteen, or twenty years. An examination of the maps as a whole, and especially those shown in Figures i and 3, may be of assistance in determing these suggestions. In the map of the last decade (Figure i) note that the largest light area is in the northeastern part of the State. Try to explain that and the small, light areas such as that in the southwestern part or the light streak across Lucas, Fulton, and Williams counties. By studying the maps in this way many ideas may develop. The "Why" in connection with this decrease in rural population needs to be answered if possible and it is hoped the thinking people of the State will assist in answering it. A member of the Station staff will begin, this year, as a part of the Agricultural Survey, a field study of the history of the agriculture and the people of the State. It will be mani- fest, therefore, that any suggestions offered will be put to good use. Persons who desire it will be visited in con- nection with this field study. The computations and plotting in connection with the maps in this Circular were conducted by Miss Marion Carrington assisted by Mr. Hubert Shellenberger, both of the Department of Co-operation. 390 THE RURAL COMMUNITY 2. THE MOVEMENT OF RURAL POPULATION IN ILLINOIS BY H. E. HOAGLAND (From The Journal of Political Economy, November, 1912) The depopulation of agricultural New England as a result of its continuous exploitation by a dozen or more generations is familiar to all. But within the last decade there has developed a decrease in the agricultural pop- ulation of the section of the United States which but a century ago was our western frontier — a decrease which cannot be attributed to the exhaustion of the fertility of the soil. This development presents many interesting problems, concerning both the explanation of this new situation and the probable future of the Middle West as an agricultural section. In this paper we shall discuss only one of these problems: namely, the movement of rural population — understanding by this term "rural population" two things:* first, farm population, and second, population of rural villages. In order to make this study concrete and at the same time general enough to show tendencies true of other communities similarly situated, we have chosen Illinois, recognized as one of the leading agricultural states, as the basis for our con- clusions. Within the last decade, the population of the state of Illinois has increased 16.9 per cent. During the same period, the urban population has increased almost twice as fast, or 30.4 per cent; while the rural population has increased but 0.3 per cent. Separating the latter into its two component parts, we find that the village population has increased 1 1 . i per cent and that the farm population ' In order to avoid confusion of terms, by "farm population" will be under- stood only those people living on farms or in unincorporated places; by "vil- lage population," those living in incorporated places of less than 2,500 people each; by "rural population," a combination of these two; and by "urban population," those people living in incorporated places of more than 2,500 each. EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 39 1 has decreased over 7 per cent. It is with these two facts that we are concerned in this paper. In the first place, the decrease in farm population is not limited to particular sections of the state, although it is more marked in the central and northern parts than in the southern. We ask first, then, to what forces is this decrease due ? In view of the fact that the improved farm acreage in Illinois has increased rather than decreased during the decade, we cannot say that Illinois has reached the stage of abandoned farms and increasing pasturage. Although the number of acres devoted to the production of corn and oats does show a very slight decrease, the area devoted to wheat and barley has increased; while the land given over to the production of hay and forage has increased only 5,980 acres — an increase more than offset by the addition of 349,104 acres to the improved farm area of the state during the decade. Hence we must look elsewhere for the explanation of the decreasing farm pop- ulation. We are told that population is decreasing in these farm communities because families are becoming smaller. There is perhaps some evidence to support this claim. But if any decade of the last century has tended to show, so far as farm population in Illinois is concerned, that Malthus worried needlessly over the pressure of population on food- supply, it surely has been the one just closed. On the other hand, we find, not only that the farm population as a whole is smaller now than it was in 1900, but also that the num- ber of farms has decreased from 264,151 to 250,853 — a decrease of 5 per cent. As we shall see later, it is the number of families, rather than the size of the family, which has experienced the greater decrease. Again, our friends the rural sociologists tell us that we must seek the explanation of this decrease of farm pop- ulation in "the poverty of rural social life." We hear that the desire to experience the life and activities of the cities drives the youth from the farms. Yet is this more true of the last decade than of the preceding one? And if we were to accept this statement as a complete explana- 392 THE RURAL COMMUNITY tion, would it not seem probable that those sections of the state where farm life is dullest and most monotonous would have witnessed the greatest exodus? Yet who that is familiar with farm communities in Illinois will say that rural life in the central and northern parts is more unbearable than in the southern part? In spite of the obvious denial here, the latter has experienced a smaller decrease in farm population than the other sections. On the other hand, no previous decade in the history of the state has witnessed such rapid strides in the direction of bringing the city to the farmer. After our brief experi- ence with rural free delivery are we to deny that it tends to make farm life more tolerable and that it serves to check the desire of the youth to migrate to the excitement of the cities ? Unless we do deny this obvious benefit we must recognize the influence of the fact that for over five years almost 90 per cent of the farmers of Illinois have been receiving their mail by rural free delivery. In ad- dition to this we need only mention the development of the telephone, the more general utilization of the country meat and grocery wagon, and the automobile, the exten- sion of trolley-lines, and the introduction of numerous other devices which are fast becoming a part of life on the farm, to show that instead of the farmer being con- tinually made to feel the isolation of country life, he sees that he is being brought into closer and closer touch with urban life. Without claiming to have exhausted the arguments which are brought forward to explain the decrease of farm population, but which seem to the writer to be at least but secondary explanations, we come now to what appears to be the most plausible or primary cause of the situation described. We have already indicated that while the im- proved farm acreage of Illinois has increased within the decade, the number of farms has decreased 5 per cent. This means that fewer farm laborers* are being used than 'By "farm laborers" here we mean not only the hired laborers, but the farm owners who work their farms, their sons, the farm tenants — in short all who are employed in farm work. EVOLUTION Ot THE COMMUNITY 393 formerly, because one man must now tend, not only what he tended a decade ago, but also a part of what his dis- placed neighbor used. This situation is made possible by several interacting forces, the chief of which is the in- troduction of more and more labor-saving machinery. This, of course, is not a fact hitherto unknown to the reader but its significance lies in the extent of the increase. For instance, the value of farm implements and machinery in Illinois in 1900 was $44,977,310; by 1910 it had in- creased to $73,724,074 — an increase of 63.9 per cent. (The increase for the previous decade was but 30 per cent.) Allowing for a possible increase in the value of farm im- plements and machines (a concession which is not gen- erally supported by the facts and which in no case exceeds 15 per cent), we still find that the number and size of these implements and machines have greatly increased. At the same, time, we find an increase in the number of horses used on each farm unit. For example, the number of horses used to cultivate one hundred acres in 1900 was 4.4; while in 1910 the number used on the same hundred acres was 4.8 — an increase of over 9 per cent. Then, too, the devices mentioned above which are help- ing to counteract the isolating tendencies of country life are serving another purpose as well; they are acting as great time — and labor savers to the farmer. For example, it formerly took the farmer at least two days to gather his help for the threshing season. Now he telephones his neighbors the exact time he expects their help and within the same half-hour he orders his butcher and grocer to -deliver the needed extra supplies on the following morn- ing. And even his threshing itself, thanks to more efficient management and machinery, has been reduced from weeks to days. Of course we do not mean to imply that all these changes have taken place within the last decade; but these and other improvements have been more widely .introduced and have developed faster during the last ten years than in any previous period. ■ Here then lies the chief explanation for the decrease ■of farm population in Illinois. The introduction of more 394 THE RURAL COMMUNITY and more labor-saving implements and machinery, the substitution of horse-power, gasolene, or electricity for man-power — all point in one direction : the need for fewer farm laborers than formerly to care for a given-sized farm. Or, in other words, it points to the increase in the size of the farm which one man can tend. Since Illinois is still a state of relatively small farm owners and tenants, this means not only a decrease in the number of individuals living on the farm, but also a decrease in the number of agricultural families. And this conclusion is supported by the figures given above. Let us turn now to the second problem postulated at the beginning — namely, the relative decrease in the vil- lage population. We saw, not only that the urban pop- ulation in Illinois is increasing almost twice as fast as the total population of the state, but that the village popula- tion is not keeping pace with the total for the state. Yet this is not the significant fact that we wish to emphasize here. While we find the farm population decreasing in practically all farm units of the state, we find an entirely different development in village population. As a group, the population of the villages of Illinois increased ll.i per cent from 1900 to 1910. But of the 814 incorporated places having a population of less than 2,500 in 1900, only 56 per cent show any increase in numbers during the ten years; the other 44 per cent have absolutely diminished in size during the period. Here then we evidently have a different problem from that concerned with the decrease of farm population. In order to explain this situation, we must first under- stand the composition of these villages and their raison d'etre. Of course some of them do a little manufacturing, a little mining, or in other ways perhaps a few of them may be classed as industrial centres. But if the manu- facturing or the mining is extensive enough to place the village in the industrial class, it is more than likely that it will no longer be considered as a village but will advance to the "more than 2,500 population" st^e. Hence we may consider the small villages as essentially agricultural EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 395 centres. Of such, the population may be divided roughly into two clcisses: first, farm laborers who live in the vil- lages but depend upon the busy seasons of the surround- ing agricultural communities for their livelihood; and second, merchants, mechanics, and professional men whose patronage is drawn quite largely from these same farm communities. In considering the first of these two groups, we can readily see that the forces we have described above which are making fewer farm laborers necessary than formerly must in the same manner tend to bring about a decrease in the size of these villages. To a smaller de- gree, perhaps, the same tendency would affect the second class of village dwellers. Yet this cannot be accepted as a complete explanation of the movements under considera- tion. If such were the case, it would seem that the in- crease or decrease in the size of these villages ought to be coincident with that of the contiguous farm community. But we have noted that while there is a general decrease in farm population, 56 per cent of the villages have in- creased in size and 44 per cent have decreased. We have given "machinery," interpreted broadly, as the key-note for the explanation of the decrease of farm population. Interpreted in a similar manner, we may give "transportation" as the key-note for the explanation of the movement in rural population. At the risk of repe- tition, we shall restate a few conclusions already reached. Thanks to rural delivery, the farmer is no longer required to make his daily, semiweekly, or weekly trips to town for his mail. The country delivery-wagon is beginning to bring the butcher-shop and grocery to his door. Either by rural delivery or by telephone he is able to get daily price reports and may thus take advantage of favorable opportunities to buy or sell live stock or produce without taking the time to make a trip to the near-by village. In these and other ways the farmer seems to be divorcing himself from dependence on the village. Yet he must still deliver his crops and his stock to the railway-station (even here his private switch-yard to the interurban trolley which runs past his door is a factor to be reckoned with 396 THE RURAL COMMUNITY in the future though it is not general enough to be given much consideration now), he still meets his friends in the village, and he still depends in a large measure upon the village for intellectual and spiritual satisfaction. Added to these, a number of new bonds have recently appeared to attach him more and more to the village. For instance, he now hauls his winter's fuel and supply of fence-build- ing materials from the railway-station where formerly his own timber-land furnished him both of these. How- ever, of the considerations which tie him to the village, the movement of crops and stock is most important. We have already indicated the introduction of more efficient farm machinery. In rural transportation we find like improvements. The farmer is now equipped to haul sixty-five bushels of com where formerly his wagon, harness, and horses were such as to make fifty-five bushels a good load. To make these added ten bushels possible, the roads must have received attention. As those readers who have had experience with Illinois roads during wet and dry periods are aware, eight miles in the latter may be shorter than five miles in the former. According to the same prin- ciple, eight miles on an improved road, even during the wet season, may be shorter than five miles on an unim- proved road at the same season. Of course the farmers themselves have long since recognized this fact; but their almost utter despair of ever being able to macadamize a road that runs hub-deep after a heavy rain has tended to make them resigned to a fate which they have con- sidered inevitable. It has been only within the past ten years that they have really begun to study the question and to look for other solutions for their road-making prob- lem. And even then the impetus has come la,rgely from without. The first rural mail route to be established in Illinois was located at Auburn on April i, 1897. By November I, 1899, the number of routes in the state had increased to six. Within the next six months, 243 were added. The development during the succeeding five years was very rapid, so that by December i, 1905, Illinois had 2,577 EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 397 rural routes. In considering the petition of a group of farmers for the establishment of a rural route, the special agent of the Post-office Department inspects the proposed route, noting especially the character and condition of the roads to be travelled. He impresses upon the persons interested the necessity of making the roads passable both winter and summer, and the probability of having the route abandoned if these regulations are not lived up to. Inspectors then make periodic trips over these rural routes and specify the parts of the road which must be repaired. Or the condition of the roads may be ascertained from the questionnaire periodically sent to the local postmasters. If either investigation shows that the condition of the roads is unsatisfactory, the road supervisor receives a letter from the Post-office Department which reads as follows : Dear Sir: An investigation by this office discloses the fact that the roads travelled by the rural carrier from post-office are not being attended to as post-roads should be; they are in bad condition. The postmaster at has this day been notified to inform the patrons of route that the lack of care given to the roads covered by it will, if continued, endanger the permanency of the service there. . . . Such a notice has usually been effective in producing the desired results. The realization by the farmers of Illinois of the fact that in order to secure and keep rural routes they must improve the roads over which these routes extend, coupled with the growing demand by the owners of motor vehicles for better routes of travel, brought about the passage of a law in the Illinois legislature in 1903 which provided for a good-roads commission "to investigate the various problems of road-building in Illinois, such as the best and most economical native materials, the best system of road drainage, the best and most practical methods by which the burden of costs may be equitably distributed among all the people, such as federal, state, and county aid, con- vict labor, etc. The results of the investigations and studies 398 THE RURAL COMMUNITY of the commission shall be accompanied by the form of a bill to amend the present road laws of the state, so as to conform to the present advanced thought and require- ments on the subject of road building." The results of this investigation are not important here. The provisions of this law are quoted to show that the demand for such a statute was present. Then, too, the road drag in its manifold forms is coming more and more into use by the farmers of Illinois, either as a means of gratifying their own desires for better roads, as a means of paying poll-tax or as a source of income.* To those who are not familiar with the work of the road drag, the following quotation, taken from a letter written by the secretary of a commercial club in one of these Il- linois villages, will serve to show the effect of its use. The road here described is a typical Illinois highway. The letter reads : The first thing that Mr. X did was to take the road grader and cut ofT the high centre of weeds and sod. Then he followed this with the harrow, finishing with a steel drag. This road was dragged after each rain, and all pockets and ruts were filled. . . . During the twelve months this road was under Mr. X's super- vision all automobiles could run its entire length within twelve hours after the heaviest rains without encountering any mud. . . . This road is like a race-track the year through. The body of the road is so hard that it would be difficult to dig it up with a coal pick. Even allowing for possible exaggeration, due to the enthu- siasm of the writer, we are justified in concluding that the use of the drag has been a great boon to those using this road. Obviously, the farmer is not equally interested in the upkeep of all roads over which he may at any time wish to travel, so that he will not desire to incur the ex- pense of keeping all of them in condition. Instead, he ' In 1907 a law was passed providing that farmers should be paid $1.00 per mile for dragging the roads during the months of December, January, and February, and I0.75 per mile during the other months. The law also pro- vided*penalties for throwing weeds or other vegetable mattei* on the dragged roads, and for driving over such roads before they had become partially dried or frozen. EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 399 will give more time and attention to those roads used by his rural carrier and those most used by himself. The result of these tendencies which are bringing about better transportation for the farmer is that with the same expenditure of time and effort he can exercise a choice, within limits of, say, eight miles, in selecting the village which he wishes to patronize, whereas before it would not have been profitable for him to have travelled more than six miles perhaps. In fact, as the following table will show, there is a direct relationship between the in- crease or decrease in the size of the villages of Illinois and the number of rural routes centring in them.^ It must be kept in mind here that this relationship is not due primarily to the direct results of the introduction of the system of rural free delivery, but rather to the indirectly resulting road improvement described above and to the other improvements in rural transportation which the decade has witnessed. In working out this relationship, we have compared the growth or decline of the population of the village in question with the growth or decline of the rural * popula- tion of the county of which the village is a part, and have arranged in a table the results according to the number of rural routes centring in the villages. A glance at this table, especially columns II and III, will serve to make clear the relationship indicated above. The question which doubtless arises in the mind of the reader is: If this movement continues, what is to become ' We have considered here only those rural routes established previous to December i, 1905, in order that we might show more clearly their effect on the growth of these villages. ' If we had compared farm population instead, the results would have been even more convincing than they are. In making these comparisons it was possible to deal only with incorporated villages. From the writer's acquain- tance with various parts of Illinois, it is quite evident that if similar data were available for the hundreds of small unincorporated settlements, a compari- son of this sort would show even more striking results, both in Table I and in the two succeeding tables, than it is possible to bring out here. However, it is tendencies which the writer wishes to show and this table serves the pur- pose well. For obvious reasons, we have left out of consideration the villages in the few counties influenced by Chicago and the few at the extreme southern end of the state. 400 THE RURAL COMMUNITY of the villages having no rural routes centring in them ? In the opinion of the writer, many parts of Illinois have too many agricultural villages, at least for the present system of extensive agriculture. Many of them sprang up forty or more years ago, at a time when farmers could not travel far for supplies or to market their produce and live stock. At the present time many of these villages have ceased to be needed. With our recent appeals for efficiency in every line of activity, shall we not demand that the superfluous villages shall disappear in order that their more favored competitors may rise to even greater efficiency than they now possess? Some of us may be repelled at the thought that the villz^e of our boyhood should ever, even in the remote future, be graced with corn-fields in its streets and potato-patches in its front yards. But whether we like it or not, this process of elimination is actually going on. In support of this statement, the following evidence is offered. Already over seven hundred fourth-class post- offices in Illinois have been discontinued on account of rural free delivery — their patrons being served by the rural carriers from the neighboring villages. Of course this does not mean that over seven hundred villages of any considerable size have been deprived of their post- office; for many of these fourth-class post-offices did not have enough people clustered around them to deserve the name of village. Yet the petitions which have ap- peared against the discontinuance of some of them show that at least a portion of them did have what we may call a village population. Furthermore, we are again able to show a direct relationship by a comparison of census statistics. Table II is compiled on a basis similar to that of Table I, and shows the relationship between the relative growth of villages displacing fourth-class post-offices and the num- ber of fourth-class post-offices displaced by them.' By ' This includes only about 63 per cent of the post-offices displaced, as the other 37 per cent were displaced by urban centres or by unincorporated places of which we have no data. Here again, however, we aim only to show ten- dencies. EVOLUtlON OF THE COMMUNITY 4t .3 — .&• . o U ►J O < Sf > m 'o 6s e HH > o ^ o (2 s> a. ^ 1 o^ c •i c5 Q 1 o S Bi 2 3 s Oi e »^ 1— 1 o u r v ■*-• Ml B C 3 •c?^ s Q £ ■M § o 4^ rt 3 a o a, (» . tc -— c ft Ji U -•i I "a o S M ]o mns) °sscp 3)noj'-i*iiu pa; -t»ds 3q) }o Bnn!'^ (X n P"" niA tfumiiios n jo nmg) •jaqtanji " * " o « II S"^ jg5 3 "^ ^ « B u rt Kip ajnoi-pmu psg -pads aqi to 8a8«i|iA S jaqiim|{ 3 IpB JO 38V)TI»» J jaqomjij (A pn? m snmn -|OD, |o nms) "SEFp „ •pads aqi lo sa8ci|iA '^ -IP— JO a&Bjuaojaj; (AI P'" n fi«nnni 1^ s -o IHIE 8cvp a)nox-i«xiu pag -pads aqi |o BaSvJijiA > [j« JO aavtnaojaj laqnmjij ssTp ainoj-puiu pag •i3ads aq) lo saSvniA Q ifc JO asv^uaoia'j jaqnmf.^ a9c]iLA.-ii7ea ■ in par)aa3 sa^noi {utu jo i»qinn|4 39 o >o M moo Ovl^ On »J-00 \n ■^ m * ^ w « «^oo w T^ m to ov NaoO'^-OviOMpOO CO lo r^ ^vo 00 00 o o o « to M On ^ «0 >-i ►« I- M T(-00 •* O O m « ro«OW tO*0^ On TO »o Tfto n 1^ n I TO *0 ^ w r«.oo o M M M o o o « ^OTO'f'J-'OiOvO o o « to « 'f 00 « to 't- I 'J-vO lO W «H 11 C! «" « tn^tfjNO r^oo o 402 THE RURAL COMMUNITY .J CQ < 9 u m hi si ji • QS ^ o 5 n fev e o •C u o| .1:1 e IS JS U (IX P*** XI VUIUII|03 jo ans) 'mp |»g 'padi aip lo cannu II* )o mimaai pn niA nnnnioo M snpp9i| -Dsdaaq^iooS^iu B IP JO dv^oauaj " nqnmji •nppag -padi wo ]o ominA >j ||w |o ^iimanj jaqmtiN B S ^ „ » II * - O MV V M *E M s a II |l S 9 (AI pm HI snamioo jonns) -wsppJB g -cMdB3ipionni|u "^ iji )o donauaj (AI P"* II nramiM ii |0 amg) *jaqiini|{ > fctppsg -padi aip |o nnniA > |i« |o an^onnj uqinn^ -pads«pioiaX^IiA D H* }o mvixai^ iaqmn^ aScniA qsn iCq panidsip mgo -)nd mis-ipiiioi |a 'jaqmnx " o> « o> >o •- «4 • vo R 8 EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY 403 (I) n a < ■s 'i a U a be =: t» > = "o J3 — b ^ !■§ 1 "Oi 0) O Q -i S s a> V •- 1: u a J3,0 B O "S " 41 o = 3 -w OLi 9 8 < a jomns) fs^pag g (X pm mA wiiin|09 JO nzns) *jaqanj{ K*ppa9 iji p alt^oauaj i3qiimji{ Bippag -toads 9ip 10 CWT||1A Q ri» JO aftriaxuaj nqmn^ (A P"" in «<™nMa> JO nms) 'ntp pag •pods aqi 10 nS«{ilA Iji JO altimuaj (AI P"* n •UUUII03 M p Dins) 'Jaqnmij > '"la |»llE ssvppog ^p3di MP JO canifiA > (ft ]o aSv^oxuaj Aqamx nvppog Mqorox ho 00 TO 00 O to fO *o «o »< « « 5 to m n M H •♦ w o o> m m « o> o m « M « « n <0 to to 00 00 !^ o O 9' ■* fi Methodist Episcopal . . . . Baptist Baptist, Primitive Disciple Apostolic Christian Christian Advent ' Presbyterian Presbyterian, United Presbyterian, Cumber- land Roman Catholic United Brethren Congr^ational Lutheran German Evangelical Protestant Episcopal Swedish Mission Baptist, German Friends - Holiness ' Nazarenes Union Totals 12 4 13 30 17 6 5 I 8 8 2 4 I 7 2 I 5 4 I 4 3 I I 2 2 18 4 2 5 55 22 4 27 I I 48 2 I 17 6 5 10 6 3 3 2 2 3 3 4 77 45 56 47 225 > The Methodist Church has suffered loss more than any other in this part of the country, because this was the church that ministered particularly to the rural communities. In the changed conditions of- rural life, through tenantry and the abandonment of her class meeting and dtcuit system, we can see how such conditions prevaQ. > There was a Presbyterian Church in every community surveyed. This was because, as a Pres- bytcfiu minister, I could have an entr6e into the communi^. This explains why there are more Pres- byterian Churches than the real proportion in this territory, as compared with the other churches. • A new sect springing up within the past few years. for community uplift. Where these ministerial associa- tions are found the churches are more thriving and united, a larger proportion of the people are church-members, and THE PROBLEM 4^9 a larger percentage attend church. In several communi- ties there has never been a united effort, even of a revival nature, among the churches, and here denominationalism runs riot, and, consequently, spiritual life is weak and dying. In general, the welfare of the people represents itself in the welfare of the churches. Actual, not merely financial, welfare sustains the churches. Financial gains, so long as they are not translated into rural welfare, de- stroy the churches. The exploitation of the land exhausts the churches, and the retirement of the farmers who are successful in selling their farms destroys them. Divided farmers mean divided churches; country p)eople united for farming make possible federated churches. Solid agricultural prosperity expresses itself in perma- nent country churches. The church stands as the sym- bol of real farming prosperity, and the abandoned or dying country church is a danger-signal of spurious gains through superficial culture. The table on opposite page gives the reUgious status of the church by denominations, indicating the number of each church growing, standing still, dying or dead. (d) Religious Conditions and Activities in Southeastern Ohio (From Ohio Rural Life Survey, "Southeastern Ohio." Dept. of Church and Country Life, Board of Home Missions of the Presbyterian Church in the U. S. A., 1913) /. Number and Distribution of Church Organizations. — Churches were in almost every case the first community buildings to be erected in Southeastern Ohio. With very few exceptions they are spoken of respectfully, almost reverently, even in those communities which have ceased to support them. This report undertakes to set forth some of the important facts concerning the churches of the six counties which are located in the open country or in vil- lages of less than 2,500 people. In the district surveyed, 520 churches were found. Of these, 143 (28 per cent) are in villages and 377 (72 per 430 THE RURAL COMMUNITY cent) are in the open country. They are distributed among the counties as follows : NUMBER OF CHURCHES County raiage Country Total Adams 31 32 ?5 6 22 27 143 50 65 61 70 51 80 377 81 97 86 76 73 107 520 Athens Morgan Vinton Washington Total 2. Church Membership and Population. — The total membership of these churches is 33,230, or 22.4 per cent of the population of the townships surveyed. The fol- lowing table compares the population and the member- ship of each county : County Fopu]ation of town- ships surveyed Church membeis Per cent of population Adams 24.755 33.726 26,341 13.457 13.096 27,926 6,000 4.431 6,182 4.937 3.4«9 6.791 24.2% 13-1% 26.5% 36.7% 26.6% 24.3% 22.8% Athens Lawrence Morgan Vinton Washington Total H 139.301 31.830 It will be seen that Athens County falls more than 1 1 per cent below any of its neighbors in its proportion of church members. Morgan County, on the other hand, is 10 per cent above any of the rest. The difference in Athens County must be interpreted by the fact that a large num- ber of coal miners live in its country villages. These people are chiefly foreigners, and the church has thus far failed to present its appeal in a way to win them. THE PROBLEM 431 In Moi^an County, the good showing as to church membership seems to be based upon a greater evenness in the distribution of property. There are very few large farms, and in proportion to fertility, fewer small farms than in any of the other counties. In consequence demo- cratic traditions have survived, and people feel themselves on terms of social equality with one another, and hence meet together more freely in the church services. 3. Status of the Churches. — Considering the churches of the six counties together 27.8 per cent show an increase in membership in the past ten years, 14.9 per cent are standing still and 57.3 per cent are losing ground. The following table compares the counties in this respect and shows how the country churches have lost especially: County Per CEDt gnmiitg Percent standing still Percent losing ground Village Coun- try Com- bined Village Coun- try Com- bined Village Coun- try Com- bined Adams Athens Lawrence Morgan Vinton.... 42.8 30.0 30.0 58.3 18.2 37-5 34-2 21.0 24-5 38.9 26.1 20.0 15-4 25.2 28.8 26.7 354 32.5 19.7 20.6 27.8 28.6 26.7 8.3 41.8 25.0 23.2 15.8 133 16.7 8.7 1 0.0 23.1 "•3 20.3 18.7 12.5 9.1 18.0 235 14.9 28.6 43-3 70.0 33-3 50.0 37-5 424 63.2 62.2 444 65.2 70.0 61.5 63.5 50.9 54-6 52.1 584 62.3 55-9 57-3 Washington Total The alarming fact that three-fourths (74.8 per cent) of the country churches in the six counties surveyed are either standing still or losing ground, is one of sufficient magni- tude to cause every Christian in Southeastern Ohio to stop and think. What are the causes of this arrest and decline ? 4. Causes of Rural Church Decline. — (c) A decreasing rural population. Is it due to the decrease in the rural population of this section of the State ? Such an explana- tion sounds plausible, and is partly true. But it does not adequately account for the decline of such a large propor- tion of the churches, because, as a matter of fact, this de- 432 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Rural Church DecuneIn Southeastern Ohio of 143 village churches 66% of 377 countiy churches 7596 are not Growing Six Counties Ohio Rural Ufe Surve^r cline has been more rapid than the decrease in the rural population. The six counties have lost during the last ten years 2.5 per cent of their population, but of their church-members they have lost 12 per cent. These losses have -been very unevenly distributed, as the following table will show: County Incicase or deczciK in population Increue or decreue in in put n years Adams 6.0% decrease 20.1% increase 4.8% decrease 11.3% decrease 14.6% decrease 6.9% decrease 2.5% decrease 10.8% decrease 17.8% decrease 6.1% decrease 7.0% decrease 26.8% decrease 4.8% decrease 12.0% decrease Lawrence Morgan Vinton Total The large increase in population in Athens County has been due to foreign immigrants who have come to work in the mines. The decrease in church-membership is largely caused by the removal of old American families. The churches of the county seem to be failing to adapt themselves to the needs of the new situation. Leaving THE PROBLEM Residency OF Ministers 520 Churches 61% 18% 21% have have have Resident Minister Non-Resident No Minister Minister I I Growing I Not Growing Six Counties in Southeastern Ohio Ohio Rural Life Survey 434 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Athens County out of our reckoning, owing to its peculiar conditions, we find that the other five counties combined show a decrease in population of 7.6 per cent, but in church membership a decrease of 9.5 per cent. In one township in Adams County the population has decreased 22.2 per cent, while the church membership has decreased 47.1 per cent in ten years. We must admit that the de- crease in rural population, though it has been a very potent factor in the decline of the country churches, does not completely explain it. Some other factors must be in- cluded in our explanation. (b) An absentee ministry. Is it due to the absence of efficient leadership? Very largely so. That the success of any church depends to a considerable degree upon the ability of its pastor is a truism. But even an able minis- ter, if he does not live within his parish, cannot give to his church adequate direction. Churches do not thrive on absent treatment. Therefore, when we say, on the basis of our investigation, that 61 per cent of the churches in the villages and open country of the six counties sur- veyed have non-resident ministers, we have a sure clew to their decline. At the time the survey was made, 21 per cent of the churches were without a pastor, leaving only 18 per cent that were being served by resident minis- ters. And yet, of this 18 per cent having a resident minis- try, 47 per cent were growing, while of the 61 per cent having a non-resident ministry only 25 per cent were grow- ing. Of the 21 per cent without ministers, 20 per cent were growing. These results show that inadequate leader- ship, due to non-resident pastorates, is the cause of much of the decline in the rural churches. (c) Overchurching. The ideal is that each church shall have a resident minister. But before this ideal can be accomplished in Southeastern Ohio, many of the smaller churches must be willing to federate, that is, join with one another for worship and for work in bettering their own community. They will do this perhaps more readily, if they realize that in most cases a small church, in com- munities as old as those of Southeastern Ohio, is a dying THE PROBLEM 435 church. We can prove this fact. The average size of a church in the communities studied is 61.2 members, rang- ing from 45.2 in Athens County to 74.1 in Adams County. The following table shows that more than half (56.8 per cent) of the churches of the six counties are small, that is, have a membership of 50 or less. Per cent of churches having from i to 25 members 23.7 per cent. Per cent of churches having from 26 to 50 members 33.1 per cent. Per cent of churches having from 51 to 100 members 28.8 per cent. Per cent of churches having from 10 1 to 150 members 8.3 per cent. Per cent of churches having from 151 to 200 members 1 .9 per cent. Per cent of churches having from 200 to members 4.2 per cent. The bearing of these figures upon the church growth and decline is shown in the following table: Where the membership is 1-25 4.7 per cent of the churches are growing. 26-50 21.3 per cent of the churches are growing 51-100 33.9 per cent of the churches are growing. 101-150 53.1 per cent of the churches are growing. 151 and over, 70.8 per cent of the churches are growing. Over one-half of the churches have a membership of 50 or less, and three-fourths of these are losing ground. Surely this is a crying call for the adoption of some work- able plan of federation. The fact that there are too many churches in the territory surveyed must be taken account of in reckoning the causes that have led to their decline. But, after all, overchurching is but a sympton. Its root lies in ecclesiastical selfishness and unsocial view of relig- ion. We will have occasion to describe these attitudes 436 THE RURAL COMMUNITY when we come to treat of sectarianism in Southeastern Ohio. Suffice it at this point to say that unless they are replaced by a willingness on the part of the churches to come together for the building up of their respective com- munities, the decline of the rural churches will not be checked. (d) Poverty of the people. Are the causes that we have thus far mentioned — decrease in rural population, a non- resident ministry, overchurching — all of the factors that enter into the problem of church decline in the rural dis- tricts of Southeastern Ohio? Doubtless there are many more. But we desire to make mention of only one other, and that a very important one. We refer to the poverty that prevails among such a large proportion of the rural population throughout the district. As asserted in the section of this report dealing with economic conditions fully one-fourth of the farmers in the six counties are too poor to contribute anything to the church. The church in a prosperous community makes its appeal to people who have time and means for other things than a mere struggle for bread ; and can, therefore, hire a more efficient pastor and furnish those advantages that will secure and hold the support of a large membership. But in a poverty-stricken community, the church-bell sounds in the ears of men and women who are too tired to listen to it, and hence the church fails to win the people around its very doors. Many of the country churches of South- eastern Ohio are in communities of this latter type. And, as a rule, they are dying. For instance, Vinton County's extreme poverty is paralleled by a loss of more than one- fourth of its church-members during the last deceide. The income of the families to which the country church must appeal for support is surely one of the keys to a solution of its problem. (e) Class distinctions. But not only does the failure of the entire community to attend and support the church go back usually to poverty, but also in many cases to the invidious distinctions and the unwholesome prejudices which poverty brings in its train. Poor jseople do not THE PROBLEM 437 like the feeling of subordination which comes from their inability to dress as well and mingle on terms of equality with the others who are connected with the church. As a result, the poor members of the community either join the throng of the churchless or form a weak and inefficient organization of their own. The situation in Adams County is an apt illustration of this tendency, and shows its evil results. In that county, the laborers, small tenants, and owners of poor hill farms are treated as a distinctly in- ferior class. These poorer people, constituting as they do a large section of the total population, are struggling to develop a church life of their own. Lacking as yet the power to discriminate, and without the means to main- tain trained leaders, religious stimulation runs frequently to excess in its temporary manifestations, but largely fails to build up congregations with a stable membership. A loss for the last decade of 10.8 per cent in the number of its church-members is not surprising. That those belong- ing to a certain social class will gravitate to one church and exclude those of other classes from its membership is inevitable. The only way to remedy the situation is to get rid of class distinctions by lifting all the people of the community to a plane of social equality. (/) Failure to see the economic value of religion. There seems to be one best way for the country church to sur- vive. This lies through devising means for bringing pros- perity to every family of the community. The country minister who succeeds, as did John Frederick Oberlin, in making all the people prosperous, will be rewarded by reaching all the people for his church. The need is im- perative. At the present rate of loss in membership, it will be but a few years until two-thirds of the country churches in Southeastern Ohio will be abandoned. This will not result in attendance elsewhere, but rather in the dying out of organized religion. Such communities exist already. The poverty that destroys the church lowers also the moral standards of the people. One community in Adams County and two or three in Lawrence County have reached levels which render their conduct unfit for 438 THE RURAL COMMXmiTY publication. It is far easier for the church to inspire its members to take an active hand in the restoration of pros- perity and the upbuilding of community life, before such stages are reached, than to recover these communities after integrity of character among their people has been lost. Before we close our discussion of this topic, we desire to caution the reader against a possible misunderstanding. In emphasizing the necessity of the church to pay atten- tion to the material prosperity of its people, we do not desire to be interpreted as claiming that the success of the church is a material matter and rests upon "mere" economics. Nay, we believe that the success of the church is a spiritual matter and rests upon the consecrated en- deavors of men and women who have been touched by the Holy Spirit. But God, who has given us our minds with which to think, is surely telling us in unmistakable terms that the economic prosperity of any people is one of the very real conditions upon which depends their spir- itual welfare. Surely, he who is led by the Spirit of God will not ignore this revelation which He has vouchsafed to us, but will accept it and use it as a regulative principle in his work for the church. Too many people think of the Holy Spirit as being con- fined in His activities to revival meetings. If this were true, we could assert that He has signally failed in build- ing up the rural churches of Southeastern Ohio. Of the rural churches in the six counties surveyed, 72 per cent held revival meetings during the twelve months previous to the time of the survey, and most of these churches have been holding such meetings every year for many years past, and yet, the same proportion of them (72 per cent) are either standing still or losing ground. The revival method has not succeeded in permanently building up the churches. We rejoice in all the good that these pro- tracted meetings have accomplished. But let us have a broad and truly Christian view of the work of the Holy Spirit. Let us rejoice in the truth that the churches, in seeking to build up their communities and to bring an THE PROBLEM 439 adequate income to every family, are therein following the leading of the Spirit of God. 5. Sectarianism. — There are at least 40 denominations represented in the six counties, listed as follows: Denominations No. of Chmchea Dmominirions No. of Cliatclies Apostolic Holiness 7 Episcopal 1 Baptist: Evangelical Association 3 Missionary Baptist 47 Evangelical Protestant 3 Free Will 14 Friends 3 Union 5 Latter Day Saints 4 Colored 4 Lutheran 7 Regular 3 Mennonite 2 Primitive Baptist I Methodist: Separate Baptist I Methodist Episcopal 175 Brethren 2 Methodist Protestant 33 Brothers Society of America I Free Methodist 6 Catholic (Roman) 10 Wesleyan Methodist 2 Christian 19 German M. E i Christian Order I African M. E i Christian Union 15 Nazarenes I Church of Christ in Christian Presbyterian: Union 2 Presbyterian U. S. A 36 Church of God (Saints) 4 United Presbyterian 5 Come Outers i United Brethren: Congregational II United Brethren, Liberal 51 Disciples, Non- Progressive 7 United Brethren, Radical 6 Disciples, Progressive 40 Universalist 4 Emanuel Mission I Southeastern Ohio has suffered greatly from sectarian- ism. Where ecclesiastical selfishness exists and each de- nomination looks after itself, without any reference to what the. other denominations are doing, there is bound to be overchurching in some communities and under- churching in others. In Adanis County, one township with 36 square miles and 976 people, has seven churches, while an adjoining township with /4Q square miles and 1,332 people has but one church o^anization of 35 mem- bers, and one other preaching place. One township in Lawrence County with 1,639 people has ten church build- irig|,"dne of which ip abandoned. . Anoihei' township, with i*3 square miles and. with a poptilation of 950, has but one church .building, and, another 6rgani2ation meeting in a schoblhouse. Considering the ^ 'six counties together. 440 THE RURAL COMMUNITY A Crying Call For Federation From Southeastern Ohio of its churches with a membership of 25orl«s 26-50 51-100 101-150 151 or over 5% 21% 34% 53% 71% are Growing The small churches would fare better if combined Six Counties Ohio Rural Life Survey there is one church to every 268 people. Vinton and Morgan Counties have each one church for every 180 people. In 25 per cent of the communities there is still some church strife. Adams County has been the scene of con- siderable dissension. A United Brethren congregation was divided twenty years ago over the question of secret societies. One of the resulting churches is now abandoned ; the other has less than twelve members. A Methodist Protestant church split off from a Methodist Episcopal church through a dispute over the erection of the church building. In a village of a dozen houses an Apostolic Holi- ness church was formed by dissatisfied members of the Christian Church, and a new church house was built. In 1 9 10 a Pentecostal Nazarene preacher held meetings in the Holiness Church and organized a band of his own sect. A quarrel ensued, and the Pentecostal Nazarenes tore off the locks put on by the other faction, put on locks of their own, and nailed down the windows. They gained possession of the deed, but returned it later. Both con- gregations are now disorganized. In the words of one of THE PROBLEM 44 1 the members, "The Devil got into the church and tore it up." Organized religion throughout the region has suffered considerably through the inroads of Holiness sects. These sects stand for emotion and excitement with little ethical content. Holiness preachers generally come into a com- munity well supplied with churches. The excitement of their meetings draws people from other churches, which then decline and possibly die from lack of support. The new church thrives for a while, but the people soon tire of the excitement, and lacking organization it falls to pieces, leaving the community in a worse state than before. Holi- ness sects thrive especially among the poorer and more ignorant classes. They attract the greatest following in places where the other churches are doing little to serve the community. Indeed, the root of all the evils of sectarianism is a failure to see that religion has significance, not only for the individual, but also for the community as a whole. This sounds like a truism, and it is. But if the Christian people of Southeastern Ohio really believed it, five years would not pass before there would be a federation of churches in every overchurched rural community through- out the district. A common service for the welfare of their respective communities would soon bind them together in Christian love. Are there any evidences of a dawning spirit of active co-operation among the rural churches of this section of the State ? Occasional union meetings are about the only sign that can be found at present. Such meetings have been held in 20 per cent of the communities for the fol- lowing purposes: Children's Day, Memorial Day, Sunday-school Conven- tion, Commencement, revivals and temperance meet- ings. The only instance found of regular union meetings was in a village of Adams County where the three churches met together on Sunday evenings during one of the summer months. Twelve union revival meetings were found to have been held during the winter previous to the time 442 THE RURAL COMMUNITY of making the surviey. Six of these were held ift villages of Adams County. In one of the villages the union char- acter of the rivival was such a novelty as to cause con- siderable comment. The people thought that such meet- ings could never be held. As a matter of fact, it proved to be the best revival in years. 6. Material Equipment of the Churches. — The total value of the church buildings in the districts surveyed is $650,- 000. Nearly one-half of the edifices are valued at less than $1,000 each. The usual type of building is that of a one- room structure. Out of 459 churches reporting: 378 have one room each 50 " two rooms " 18 " three " 9 " four " " 3 " five " " I has seven " " A one-room church building can hardly be regarded as adequate to serve as a community centre. Federation of denominations in overchurched communities would re- sult in church edifices more worthy of their high purpose and better designed for community service. A church in the open country in Morgan County has been built at a cost of $5,400, and has five rooms, three of which are used for library, kitchen, and dining-room. In the matter of heating, 90 per cent of the churches have stoves, the remaining 10 per cent being favored with furnaces. As to artificial lighting, 71 per cent use oil, 15 per cent gas, 9 per cent gasoline, 4 per cent electricity, and i per cent acetylene. It is a commendable fact that 84 per cent of the buildings were found to be in good repair. But it is less commendable that only 68 per cent of the grounds surrounding the churches were found in good condition. The country church should by all means provide a shelter for the farmer's team. But in all six counties, only 3 per cent of the country churches had horse-sheds upon their grounds. THE PROBLEM 443 7. Classification of the Church Membership. — In this report, we will make but two classifications of the church members: first, as to sex; and second, as to their economic status. Southeastern Ohio shows a low percentage in the num- ber of males within its churches. In the six counties sur- veyed, 38.7 per cent of the church members are males, while 61.3 per cent are females. In population, the six counties contain more males (50.7 per cent) than females. Evidently, something needs to be done to interest more men and boys in the work of the church. The church is not winning the tenant farmer to the same extent that it is winning the owner. Of the farm operators in the six counties 20.7 per cent are tenants and 78.5 per cent are owners, while of the farmers on the church rolls only 15.4 per cent are tenants and 84.6 per cent are owners. While this discrepancy is not as large in South- eastern Ohio as in wealthier sections of the State, never- theless it is another indication of the fact that where the church is not making a special effort to minister to all within its reach, it becomes the church of a class, and gen- erally of that class which is better able to support it, in this case, the owning class. 8. Sunday-Schools. — The rural Sunday-school plays a more important part in the life of the church than does the Sunday-school of the city. This is especially true where circuits are large and preaching services come only once or twice a month. The Sunday-school services held every week give continuity to church life. The rural Sun- day-school is an institution for old and young alike and generally includes all active church members. (a) Number and distribution. A total of 536 churches in Southeastern Ohio were examined with reference to the Sunday-school, the 16 rural churches in the four town- ships of Washington County, not included in the rest of the survey, being added to the 520 mentioned on page 34 of this pamphlet. Out of the 536 churches, 65 were found that had no Sunday-school, leaving the total of churches with Sunday-schools at 471. Adding to this, 444 THE RURAL COMMUNITY the II schools that were found existing independently of any church organization, we have a total of 482 Sunday- schools as the basis for this report. Of these schools, 142 are in villages of less than 2,500 people, and 340 are in the open country. Most of them (81.1 per cent) are held the year around. The remaining 18.9 per cent are held for less than 9 months of the year. Nine-tenths of the short-term Sunday-schools are in the open country. (b) Enrollment and attendance. The total enrollment of 113 village Sunday-schools is 10,648 or 94.2 members per Sunday-school. In 284 country Sunday-schools there are enrolled 13,986 or an average of 49.2 per school. On this basis the total enrollment of all the Sunday-schools is 30,000 or 19.3 per cent of the population. In the statistics of 61 village and 127 country Sunday- schools, enrolling a total of 11,033, the pupils were classi- fied by ages as follows: Ages Per cent of pupils — Village Country 4-5 years 6-8 yeais 9-IJ yeais 13-16 years 17-19 years 20 years and over 12-9% 13-5% 14-3% 14-6% 18.2% 17-9% 15-5% 17-2% 14-3% 16.0% 24-8% 20.8% The pupils from 6 to 19 years inclusive represent 64 per cent of the total enrollment of these 188 schools. On the basis of 30,000, as an estimated total enrollment for the 482 schools covered by the survey, the total number of Sunday-school pupils between the ages of 6 and 19 years in these schools is 19,200, which is only 40.8 per cent of 46,966, the total number of persons from 6 to 20 years inclusive in the six counties. Out of every ten boys and girls from 6 to 20 years of age, six are not enrolled in any Sunday-school. The total average attendance of no village Sunday- schools reporting is 6,594 or 59.9 per cent for each school ; and of 286 country Sunday-schools reporting, 9,314 or 32.6 per cent for each school. On this basis the number THE PROBLEM 445 of pupils present in all Sunday-schools on an average Sun- day throughout the rural sections of the six counties would be about 19,500. In villages the attendance is 63.6 per cent of the enroll- ment; in the open country 66.3 per cent. This better attendance in the country, in spite of the greater distance to travel in getting to church, is an evidence of the higher place of the country Sunday-school in church and com- munity life. (c) The curriculum. The course of study is generally the Uniform International Lessons. In a very few cases the Bible alone, without helps, is studied because of ob- jection to Sunday-school literature. The Graded Lessons have been partially introduced in a few favored places, but no instance was found of a Sunday-school using graded lessons in all classes. Small schools, classes with wide range of ages and few trained teachers seem to be the prin- cipal difficulties in the way of a more extended use of the graded lessons. A very few schools, 14 in number, are seeking to do away with the last-named obstacle by having teacher training classes. (d) Equipment. Practically none of the church build- ings examined by our investigators are in any way adapted for Sunday-school purposes. It should be evident to every one that the ordinary one-room church building is not fitted for class instruction in the Sunday-school. A few schools, about 20 in number, are trying to remedy the situation by providing a few additional rooms, or by using curtains and screens to divide off portions of the audi- torium. (e) Teachers. In the villages 36 per cent of the teachers are men and 64 per cent are women. In the country 39 per cent of the teachers are men and 61 per cent are women. The minister teaches in 15 per cent of the schools. (/) Social activities. The principal and in many cases the only social event of the year in country churches is the Sunday-school picnic. During the year previous to the time of the Survey, 40 per cent of the village and 23 446 THE RURAL COMMUNITY per cent of the country Sunday-schools had picnics. Other social events, such as class socials, suppers, Christmas festivals, etc., were enjoyed by 41 per cent of the village and 28 per cent of the country Sunday-schools. A large proportion of the social life of the Sunday-school is fur- nished by organized classes, of which we will speak later under the topic, "The Church and Social Life." The facts stated in this paragraph show that one-half of the churches in the villages and two-thirds of those in the open country are practically without any social life. The minister. The total number of ordained ministers preaching in the six counties is a little less than 222, or an average of 37 to each county. Of these ministers: 19 per cent serve only one church. 20 per cent serve two churches. 15 per cent serve three churches. 26 per cent serve four churches. 13 per cent serve five churches. 7 per cent serve six or more churches. A little over half the ministers with only one church have other occupations. Most of these are farmers, though among them were found teachers, mechanics, a lecturer, a probate judge, an undertaker, and a mail-carrier. A minister can have his home in only one community. But since 81 per cent of the ministers at work in the six counties preach in more than one place, it is evident that the vast majority of the ministers live at a distance from most of their parishes. The great waste of time, energy, and money involved in the travelling about of ministers, many of them going along the same road or crossing one another's path, may be realized by the reader if he will glance at the maps on the following pages or scan the fol- lowing table: 26 per cent of the churches have ministers living less than 2 miles from church. THE PROBLEM 447 26 per cent of the churches have ministers living 2 to 5 miles from church. 23 per cent of the churches have ministers living 6 to 10 miles from church. 7 per cent of the churches have ministers living ii to 15 miles from church. 5 per cent of the churches have ministers living 16 to 20 miles from church. 5 per cent of the churches have ministers living 21 to 30 miles from church. 3 per cent of the churches have ministers living 31 to 50 miles from church. 5 per cent of the churches have ministers living 51 or more miles from church. The Lord's money is being squandered through our sectarian selfishness which makes the circuit system a necessity. Federation of churches in all overchurched communities would eliminate most of this waste. In the matter of salary, about one-half of the ministers receive less than $600 per annum. The following table shows the average amount received by 157 ministers, divided into four groups : 40 receive an average salary of $276. 39 receive an average salary of $561. 39 receive an average salary of $72 1 . 39 receive an average salary of $927. Only about one-half of the ministers are supplied with manses. The scholastic preparation of the ministers in the six counties is shown in the following table: 34 per cent of the ministers have had only a common- school education. 22 per cent of the ministers have had a high-school edu- cation. 448 THE RURAL COMMUNITY 19 per cent of the ministers have had a college educa- tion. 9 per cent of the ministers have had seminary training (without college). 16 per cent of the ministers have had both college and seminary training. The table shows that one-third of the ministers have had nothing more than an elementary education, and that over one-half (56 per cent) have not gone in their schooling beyond the high school. That the man with more training commands a higher salary is shown by the VINTON Ca OHIO. Key f« Mi|>s X Himthrt MlticMS B CKura wilh tniiitA mmikr O CtwrtK wttitvr tcmIcM iWKntcr ■ OiuKh oMlhmA minittn ■ AUiJwoi cK«rch Ni;mcnU in^ictU mmbmlu|> H Mwtch IiK , incrosioj ) Dec, dccruitn^ ', St, ^aNon«r^ Map No. I 449 Map No. 3 450 THE RURAL COMMUNITY following facts about the ministers whose training has been given in the preceding table: Ministers with only common school training receive $409- Ministers with high school training receive $627. Ministers with college training receive $635. Ministers with seminary training receive $644, Ministers with college and seminary training receive $876. Individual cases can be cited where the salary paid is in no way a measure of the minister's efficiency, but when a large number of cases is taken, as in the present instance, it can be asserted that a low average salary argues for a low grade of ministerial efficiency. For the six counties surveyed, the average yearly salary paid to a minister of the Gospel is about $500, a low enough figure to make one believe, in view of the remark just made, that South- eastern Ohio needs a corps of church leaders of a broader and deeper training. As has been said before, an efficient ministry is surely one of the conditions of an efficient church. Southeastern Ohio waits for ministers of suf- ficient training to enable them both to have a clear vision of the problems facing its churches, and to work most advantageously for their solution. (e) Churches and Religious Conditions in Gibson County, Tennessee (From A Rural Survey in Tennessee, by Dept. of Church and Country Life, Board of Home Missions of the Presbyterian Church in the U. S. A., 1912) There are 179 churches in Gibson County, all but one of them Protestant.. Of these 134 are white and 45 are colored. This means that there is one white church to every 224 white people and one colored church to every 210 colored people. If the white churches were evenly distributed there would be one church to every 4.8 square THE PROBLEM 45I GIBSON CO. TENN. rrom Ha* pwblithcd bw D C Btcr*£CAPfiil«,l8T7 Scale y«inch-imilc While Churches •r GoloradChurdica DlSTRIBUnOH OF CHURCHES Map No. 4 miles. The overcrowding of churches is shown strikingly in Map No. 4. Nearly all of the country churches and half of the town churches are served by non-resident ministers, as is shown in Table V. TABLE V— CHURCHES WITH RESIDENT MINISTERS Chuiches with leadent pastors Chuiches with absentee pieachen Town 22 2 22 80 Country Table VI shows the number of preaching services per month in the town churches and in the country churches. 452 THE RURAL COMMUNITY TABLE VI— PREACHING SERVICES PER MONTH Fulltime Three- fourths time Half-time Fourth time Inegulu Town 10 I I8 2 13 74 3 6 Country Of the 134 white churches 47 are in the towns and 87 in the country. Of the colored churches 20 are in the towns and 25 in the country. The record of the white churches for the last 10 years is shown in Table VII. TABLE VII— RECORD OF CHURCHES FOR THE LAST TEN YEARS Qaas Town No. P.O. Country No. P.C. Growing Stationary Losing Dying Dead Organized within lo years Total 23—49% 4—9% 10—21% 1-2% I— 2% 8—17% 47 28—32% 14—16% 17-20% 8—9% 6-7% 14—16% 87 These figures show that the town churches are growing more rapidly than the country churches, in spite of the fact that the population of both town and country has increeised about equally. Apparently the tendency to con- centrate the church work in the towns and neglect the country fields is present also in Gibson County. Membership. — The total membership of the white town churches is 5,600 and of the white country churches 6,900; that of the colored town churches is 1,573 and of the colored country churches 1,808. The total church membership, therefore, is 15,880, or 38 per cent of the entire popula- tion. The total number of accessions during the past church year in the white churches is 536 for the town churches, THE PROBLEM 453 an increase of 9.6 per cent, and 578 for the country, an increase of 8.4 per cent. The church relation of 317 young people who have grown up in country neighborhoods in the last ten years and are now between 20 and 30 years old, is shown in Table VIII. TABLE VIII— CHURCH MEMBERSHIP OF YOUNG PEOPLE BETWEEN TWENTY AND THIRTY YEARS OLD IN THE COUNTRY Total Dumber Chuich mcmbcn Not church membeis Boys 200 117 45% 75% 55% 25% Girls The church attendance of the young people is shown in Table IX. TABLE DC— CHURCH ATTENDANCE OF THE YOUNG PEOPLE BETWEEN TWENTY AND THIRTY YEARS OLD Tot«I number Percentage attending WeU Occaaianally None B0V8 127 IIO 61.4 81 19 15 19.6 4 Girls These figures emphasize the generally recognized dif- ference between the religious susceptibility of boys and girls. A study of 484 white country families showed that 72 per cent of the heads of these families were church members. It showed further that 57 per cent attended church well (*. e., more than 75 per cent of the preaching days), 21.5 attended church occasionally, while 21.5 per cent did not attend at all. Diagram No. i shows the church attendance of heads of families arranged according to the degree of wealth. In the diagram the width of each block indicates the proportionate number of men represented in it and 454 THE RURAL COMMUNITY WHAT THE CHURCH IS DOING FOR THE POOR MAN r^^ attending well |\ \| attending I 1 K \ N occasionally | | attending none Hired Men Croppers ShareTenants Cash Ten ants Farmers with less than 20 21-40 41-60 61-80 81-100 101-120 I2I-I40 141-160 161-200 over 200 acres the length represents the percentage of church attendance. It will be seen that the bulk of the church membership is of the more well-to-do families and that the poorer fami- lies are not so apt to belong. Sunday-School. — ^Among the 82 white country churches there are 61 which have Sunday-schools. The others either THE PROBLEM 455 have none or else in a few cases hold a Union Sunday- school with some other church. In many of the country Sunday-schools the session lasts only six months. The total enrolment for the white town churches is 4,029, for the country churches 3,412. The average attendance is roughly about 60 per cent of the enrolment in both town and country. Out of 2,949 enrolled in the town schools 1,111 are adults, i ,083 are children, and 755 are young peo- ple between 15 and 21 years old. Of 2,228 enrolled in the country 656 are adults, 852 are children 14 or under, and 700 are young people. There are 237 teachers in the towns and 191 in the country. Only one Sunday-school was found in which regular teachers' meetings were held, and only one in which the graded lessons were used. Church Property. — The total value of the church prop- erty is estimated at $340,000, which is just twice the valuation of the school property. Of the total valuation $210,000 is invested in the white town churches, $95,000 in the white country churches, $15,000 in colored churches, and $20,000 in colored town churches. The country churches are generally one-room buildings situated in a grove or surrounded by planted trees. The average seat- ing capacity is slightly less than 200. They are usually heated by wood stoves and lighted by oil lamps. They are as a rule kept up better than the schools. Many of them have cemeteries in connection with them. Church Budget. — The total expenditures Ijist year for all church purposes was $63,140, almost as much as that for schools. Of this amount $34,600 was paid out by the white town churches, $20,524 by the white country churches, and $8,000 by the colored churches. Of this amount 52 per cent went to pay the ministers. The average coun- try church pays its minister $108 a year and the average town church $455 a year. The Ministers. — There are 33 white and 10 colored ministers living in the county. Of the white ministers 22 are resident town pastors. The other eleven preach wherever they can get work. Usually they have three or four churches and in a few cases as many as five. Of 456 THE RURAL COMMUNITY the resident pastors ten give full time to one church. The rest divide their time between two or three churches. In addition to the ministers living within the county there are 14 students from neighboring colleges who do supply work here. Five country ministers are also farmers, three are teachers. The highest salary paid is $1,800 and seven of the thirty-three receive over $1,000. The salaries of the rest will hardly average over $700. Most of these men secured their education at neigh- boring colleges and academies. Only seven of them have had seminary training. Their libraries will average about 200 volumes and are chiefly theological and homiletical books. Sectarianism. — Table X shows the names and the membership of the different religious bodies. TABLE X— NUMBER AND MEMBERSHIP OF THE DIFFERENT RELIGIOUS BODIES— WHITE Denominatioo Town No. Total mem'sbip Countiy No. ToUl mem'sbip Baptist Methodist Cumberland Presbyterian Disciples Southern Presbyterian Presbyterian, U. S. A Catholic Episcopalian Christian Science Primitive Baptist F. W. Baptist Methodist Protestant Holiness Adventist 10 II 9 9 3 3 I I I 1.950 1.952 676 483 265 202 50 ID 15 22 23 12 ID 4 O o o 8 2 I I I 2,709 1.956 1,023 542 185 o o o o 321 100 50 20 30 Attention should be called to the strength of the Baptist and the Methodist bodies and the " Anti- Unionist " Cum- berland Presbyterians. There is often a good deal of interchurch attendance THE PROBLEM 457 and the churches have stood together splendidly in the great prohibition campaign — a splendid augury for the future — but for the most part the different denominations are rivals. Instead of co-operating they are competing with each other; and the founding of 33 new churches within the last 10 years in this already badly overchurched region shows how little they understand the common cause for which all churches exist. The investigator could see little hope for any scheme of church federation in the near future. The attitude of a very large proportion of the church members is well summed up in the reply of a mem- ber of one of the four Trezevant churches to the suggestion that perhaps some time these churches could get together and support a resident pastor on full time. This man ap- peared startled and replied with some heat, " Not sp long as I have any breath in my body." The most unfortunate situation exists here as a result of the Cumberland Union. This union, undertaken to solve the difficult overchurching problem, has failed of its purpose in this county. Instead of fewer and stronger churches the result has been more and weaker churches. Before the union there were twenty Cumberland churches in the county and there are still twenty. Each of the three "U. S. A." churches is the result of a split which hjis gen- erated in many cases the bitterest of feeling. The Power of the Church. — Throughout this region the church is strongly intrenched in the affections of the people. The church together with the school is the great institution of the country people and their interest in the church and in religion is deep and genuine. There is little hostility to the church and there are few in these country neighborhoods who do not believe in the church and in Christianity. 458 THE RURAL COMMUNITY 2. THE SCHOOL (c) Educational Conditions in Montgomery County, Maryland BY H. N. morse, E. FRED EASTMAN, AND A. C. MOHAHAN (From An Educational Survey of Montgomery County, Md, U. S. Bureau of Education Bulletin, No. 32, 1913) I. GENERAL FEATURES Any discussion of the educational conditions of the county must centre about the public-school system. It is here that the most accurate register is found of the gen- eral characteristics of the people as a whole. The public schools are not only by far the most important single fac- tor in the educational process for the average community; they also sympathetically register the achievements of a people. An intelligent and progressive people build for themselves strong, adequate schools. An ignorant and non-progressive people build their schools on the nor- mal level of their lives. This is because the school is a social institution. Prosperous social institutions must always presuppose a prosperous population. As society is now organized, the school offers the community prob- ably its one best opportunity to act as a unit. This oppor- tunity it does not always grasp. Nevertheless, the school is apt to be a fairly accurate index both of the spirit of a community and of the ideals to which it responds. Organization and Supervision. — ^The management and supervision of the public schools of Montgomery County are intrusted to a continuing board composed of 6 com- missioners, each appointed by the governor of the State for a term of 6 years, and to a county superintendent ap- pointed by the board. Each school has 3 local trustees, also appointed by the county board, who co-operate with it and under its direction have the immediate oversight of the work of the school. The county board, however, has complete and final control over the schools, and all matters THE PROBLEM 459 of policy and administration rest with it and with the superintendent. Separate schools are provided for the white children and for the colored children, but both are under the same management and supervision and are parts of one system. Under this organization the management of each in- dividual school is very direct and complete. The unit is the county. The superintendent as an agent of the board is required to visit each school in the county and personally see to its needs. One advantage of the system lies in the uniformity of its results. In no case can one school or the schools of one locality fall much below the general level for the county. The same standards of teach- ing efficiency are maintained throughout the county. The course of study and the schedule of work are planned for all schools and given to the various teachers by the super- intendent. All examination questions are also sent from his office. The instructional work of the schools is super- vised as far as it is possible for one man to do so by the county superintendent.' However, the county is so large and its schools so numerous that the proper supervision involves more work than one man can accomplish well. In organization for the management of the schools, the system in Montgomery County is the general type of organization for the entire State of Maryland. The Montgomery County board is composed of highly efficient men, genuinely concerned for the welfare of the schools and discharging their duties faithfully and with marked ability. In the detailed discussion which follows it is convenient to discuss the schools for white children and those for the colored children in separate sections. The former will be considered first. II. SCHOOLS FOR WHITE CHILDREN Number, Distribution, and Kind of Schools. — The total population of the county between the ages of 5 and 20 1 An office clerk is employed to assist the superintendent and the county board in clerical work. 460 THE RURAL COMMUNITY years is 10,800. Of this number, approximately 7,710 are white and 3,090 colored. There are in all 106 school- houses in the county, 76 of which are for white pupils.* The county owns 103 of the buildings and rents 3. There is one school for every loi of the white population of school age and one for every 103 of the negro population of school age. The 76 schools for white children include 7 high schools and 69 elementary schools. Of the elementary schools, 52 are one-room one-teacher schools, with seven or eight grades. The other 17 elementary schools have two or more rooms, and many carry the work as far as the tenth grade. The following table gives the distribution of the schools by election districts: DISTRIBUTION OF SCHOOLS Election districts One-room elementary schools Other elementary schools High schools Total 1. Laytonsville. 2. Clarksburg. . 3. Poolesville... 4. Rockville 5. Colesville.... 6. Darnestown.. 7. Bethesda 8. Olney 9. Gaithersburg 10. Potomac 11. Bamesville.. 12. Damascus. . . 13. Wheaton — Total 52 17 76 Seventeen of the schools are located in towns; 59 are located in the open country or in very small villages. The geographical distribution is fairly even, and there is no section of the county without a school reasonably acces- sible; 41 of the schools are so situated as to be adjacent to stone roads, railroads, or trolley-lines. > Several additional schools were opened in September, 1912, THE PROBLEM 46I Only one school in the county is a consolidated school with transportation of pupils at public expense.* This is the Poolesville School, which maintains both an ele- mentary department and a high-school department. A glance at the school map below shows that this does not exhaust the possibilities for consolidation in the county. Fig. s. — Location of Schools. It will be noted that there are many groups of three or four small schools so situated that their pupils live within easy haul of some convenient centre. Indeed it would not be at all difficult to plot out the county into districts, say from 15 to 20 in number, within which all the schools might be centralized. In several sections agitation has already begun for some such readjustment. ' Two additional consolidated schools have been established since the sur- vey was made. 462 THE RURAL COMMUNITY The Material Equipment. — ^The 76 schools occupy 77 buildings, 70 of which are frame structures, 5 are brick, and 2 are stone. The total number of rooms is 151, of which 140 were used for school purposes in 1912. The school law requires the maintenance of a certain average attendance before two teachers can be assigned to one school, so that a number of two-room buildings were in effect only one-room schools. In the following the total number of rooms, the number used for school purposes last year, and the number of one- teacher is shown by election districts; SCHOOLROOMS BY ELECTION DISTRICTS Election districts No. of schoolrooms Used for school pur. Onfr-room one-teacher school 1. Laytonsville. 2. Clarksburg. . 3. Poolesville... 4. Rockville 5. Colesville 6. Damestown. 7. Bethesda 8. Olney 9. Gaithersburg 10. Potomac 11. Bamesville.. 12. Damascus. . . 13. Wheaton Total 12 II 8 20 8 10 5 20 16 6 7 12 16 151 ID II 7 19 6 10 5 20 14 6 6 II 15 140 52 The one-room school is the greatest problem in the de- velopment of rural education. The most frequent criticism brought against the rural schools is that their courses of study and their teaching methods have been borrowed from the city schools, and that nothing has been offered the country pupils distinctly adapted to their actual sphere in life. In another connection is discussed the movement for broadening the curriculum of the rural schools by the THE PROBLEM 463 introduction of studies intended directly to equip the pupils for farm life. The latter discussion of this subject may be anticipated by calling attention at this point to the relation which the proportion of one-room schools has to the problem. It must be remembered that the demand for broadening the curriculum is accompanied by an equally insistent demand for more efficient teaching. In the school in which one teacher has 30 or more pupils in 8 different grades, with the average length of the recitation period from 10 to 15 minutes, it is very difficult to increase the efficiency of the teaching and to introduce new subjects into the curriculum. The chief defects of the school buildings are defects of architecture, rather than of equipment or condition. In general, it must be said that their equipment for school purposes is above the average for similar communities. All of the buildings are in a fair state of repair, and most of them are in good condition. Nearly half of them have been built within the past 10 years. They are of suitable size, containing on an average about 650 square feet of floor space, with a ceiling 10 to 12 feet high. Their weakness from an architectural point of view arises from the fact that they appear to have been built with one idea in mind, that of providing seating accommo- dations for a given number of pupils. Little attention was paid to the questions of proper lighting, heating, and ventilation, three considerations of prime importance. In almost all of the schools throughout the county more or less attention has been paid to improving the interior by the use of pictures of noted men and women and of buildings or of scenery. These decorations rep- resent all degrees of artistic appreciation and taste, but for the most part they are good. The Rockville High School deserves especial mention. It has recently pur- chased some excellent plaques and friezes from funds amounting to several hundred dollars raised by the pupils themselves. Fifty schools have pupils' cloak-rooms; 26 have not; 464 THE RURAL COMMUNITY in only 6 schools are teachers* rooms provided. All but 11 schools have good water-supply; 56 have wells and 9 have springs on the school property or within a con- venient distance. Sanitary conditions are in the main good. All but 4 schools have outside toilets, but only 12 of them are in any respect unsanitary. Certain special features in equipment should be men- tioned. Assembly-halls are provided in 5 schools. Well- equipped domestic-science and manual-training rooms are provided wherever these subjects are taught. The do- mestic-science room at the Rockville High School is par- ticularly complete. Here each pupil is furnished with a small alcohol stove for the cooking experiments. Brooke- ville High School has a sj)ecial domestic-science building. The latter high school is interesting in another respect also, in that it has rooming and boarding accommodations for nearly 20 pupils, who drive in from the surrounding country on Monday morning and return to their homes on Friday night. Both as regards buildings and equipment, the policy of the present school administration has been one of ex- pansion ; 26 new school-buildings have been erected within the past six years. Only 6 of these have been one-room buildings. In many of these provision has been made for a considerable growth in the future. The Woodside school, for example, is a two-story brick building with 7 recitation-rooms and an assembly-hall. Only 4 recita- tion-rooms are at present required. The other 3 will be finished and opened as soon as there is need for them. Grounds. — The total acreage of the school grounds is 98 >^. This includes a 32-acre farm adjacent to the Brooke- ville High School, which is used in connection with the courses in elementary agriculture. Thirteen of the school lots are fenced; 36 are fairly level; 41 are either rolling or hilly; 11 have good walks; 63 have trees; 13 have flower-beds; and i has a vegetable- garden. The grounds of the larger schools are frequently well THE PROBLEM 465 kept. The Brookeville High School is the best illustra- tion of this. A fine lawn, beautiful trees, and a good athletic field make the appearance of this school very attractive. At the newer schools the grounds have not yet received much attention, and little effort has been made to beautify the surroundings of the one-room schools. In planning buildings and grounds, except as noted below, relatively little attention has been paid to the needs of the pupils for recreation. In another connection the lack of recreation facilities in the county is noted, and attention is called to the fact that there is apparently no institution which at present furnishes such facilities for their own sakes. It is very much to be desired that the school should enter this field and provide recreation in a systematic and thorough fashion. At several of the larger schools, notably the Sandy Spring, Brookeville, Gaithersburg, and Rockville High Schools, provision has been made for recreation. Tennis- courts, basket-ball grounds, and baseball fields are avail- able. Rockville High School has equipment for formal indoor gymnastics. Dumb-bells and Indian clubs are pro- vided. This school also has guns and uniforms for a boys' battalion. In only 1 1 schools of the entire 76 is there any sort of play apparatus. At nearly one-half of the schools there is not even a suitable playground. The school lots are either too small or undrained, and therefore apt to be muddy in winter and spring, or they are so rough and broken that the ordinary games cannot easily be played upon them. In only a very few instances was it found that the teachers superintend the play hour and teach the pupils games. It has been found that with a little over- sight by the teacher the pupils learn through play many valuable lessons. Forty-seven schools do not have a United States flag. The following table gives the value of the school-build- ings and grounds by election districts, the Darnestown and Brookeville High Schools not being included in the 466 THE RURAL COMMUNITY totals for their respective districts or for the county, since they are not the property of the county: El«rtiondi5tri<:U KW&lng. 1. Laytonsville $6,850 2. Clarksburg 6,750 3. Poolesville 3,700 4. Rockville 35.90O 5. Colesville 9.300 6. Damestown 2,250 7. Bethesda 10,500 8. Olney I7,7Q0 9. Gaithersburg 24,100 10. Potomac 2,650 11. Bamesville 3,6oo 12. Damascus 7,700 13. Wheaton 24,050 Total value $155,050 Teaching Force. — The total teaching force in the white schools when the survey was made was 128, of whom 27 were males and loi females. An attempt was made to obtain information as to the general education and pro- fessional training of these teachers. The data obtained were incomplete, but accurate data were obtained of the teaching force for the term beginning in September, 1912. They are included in the table below. It will be noted that the white teaching force has increased from 128 to 145. The general education and professional trmning of the white teaching force is as follows: Teachers who have completed — Elementary schools only 9 One year of high school 2 Two years of high school 7 Three years of high school 9 Four years of high school 48 Two years of normal school 13 Three years of normal school 14 Four years of normal school 7 One year at college 6 One year of normal school 7 Two years at college 5 Three years at college 4 Four years at college 14 145 THE PROBLEM 467 Twenty-seven teachers attended summer school for I year; 9 attended for 2 years; 7 for 3 years; and 3 for 4 years. One of the chief weaknesses of-rural schools in the United States as a whole is due to the constant shifting of teachers from one school to another. It is probable that, for the United States as a whole, more than 50 per cent of the rural schools are taught by a different teacher each year. In this respect Montgomery County is fortunate. All the teachers in the spring of 1912 reported the length of time in the position they were then holding. The average length of time for the entire county was four school years. The average is very high. It is partly due to a few teachers whose length of service hjis been exceptionally long. Omit- ting these, the average tenure wzis approximately three years. The average number of positions held by all the teachers during the past five years was 1.6, which is low when compared to averages for the United States. The average number of years of teaching experience was 8.1. An inquiry was made to determine whether the teachers looked upon their teaching occupation as a life work or not. Fifty-five reported that it Wcis their intention to continue teaching indefinitely; 50 had definitely decided to give up teaching in the near future; and 20, mostly of the younger group of women teachers, had not as yet made up their minds on this point. Nine special teachers are employed in the county — four for domestic science, two for commercial branches, and one each for manual training, agriculture, and music. The four domestic science teachers are in the high schools at Rockville, Gaithersburg, Brookeville, and Sandy Spring. The commercial teachers are in the Rockville and Gaithers- burg High Schools. The Rockville and Gaithersburg elementary and high schools and the Kensington elemen- tary school share the time of the manual training teacher. Sandy Spring and Brookeville High Schools share between them a male teacher of agriculture. Sandy Spring ele- mentary and high schools have a teacher of music. Pupils. — The total enrolment of the schools is 3,927 — 1,999 boys and 1,928 girls. The first table which follows 468 THE RURAL COMMUNITY gives the total enrolment by districts. The second gives the enrolment by grades : ENROLMENT IN ELECTION DISTRICTS Election districts Male Female Total 1. Laytonsville. 2. Clarksburg.. 3. Poolesville. . . 4. Rockville 5. Colesville 6. Damestown. 7. Bethesda 8. Olney 9. Gaithersburg 10. Potomac 11. Bamesville.. 12. Damascus. . . 13. Wheaton Total 118 228 105 280 134 133 82 151 152 96 99 166 255 1.999 117 235 170 398 106 211 263 543 99 233 114 247 74 156 164 315 188 340 87 183 126 225 IS7 323 263 518 1,928 3,927 ENROLMENT BY GRADES Election districts ISt' 2d 3d 4th Sth 6th 7U1 8th ■ High school 1. Laytonsville... 2. Clarksburg 3. Poolesville 4. Rockville 5. Colesville 6. Damestown. . . 7. Bethesda 8. Olney 9. Gaithersburg.. 10. Potomac 11. Bamesville... . 12. Damascus. . . . 13. Wheaton Total 52 102 43 102 46 55 39 31 75 54 62 53 "5 29 35 27 64 28 31 15 26 32 14 14 46 68 31 65 22 65 34 31 31 29 40 20 30 37 79 33 69 38 54 39 39 20 25 45 26 31 51 71 36 53 21 70 36 27 16 24 52 26 II 42 47 29 30 23 47 26 26 15 39 25 21 16 39 53 21 12 17 51 16 23 24 31 31 22 16 45 47 6 I 2 2 3 3 7 16 22 83 12 lOI 38 13 829 429 514 541 461 389 356 40 269 1 Under "fint grade" are included the beginner's class as well as the first grade proper. Tnro years is required in many cases for admission to second Krade work. ' Pupils pass directly from the seventh grade to the bish school. Those under this heading are tak- ing advanced work in elementary schools not located within easy reaching (Ustance of any high school. THE PROBLEM 469 The total white population of school age in the county is 7,710. The enrolment of the schools is 50.9 per cent of this total. For the entire continental United States, according to the United States Bureau of Education, the proportion of the population of school age enrolled in the public schools is 64.2 per cent. Montgomery County, then, is nearly 14 per cent below the average for the coun- try as a whole, even allowing for the number (probably 60 to 70) who attend private schools and colleges. The State legislature has just passed a compulsory attendance law (1912), requiring the attendance of children under 14. This law was adopted by the Montgomery County board, and goes into effect in the fall of 1913. It should do much toward remedying this condition.* The total average daily attendance for all schools was 2,629 or 67.3 per cent of the enrolment, and 34.1 per cent of the school population 5 to 20 years of age, inclusive. This means that 65.9 per cent of the total number of white children of school age were not in regular attendance upon the public schools, a proportion large enough to cause serious concern. The schools might reasonably be ex- pected to show a larger proportion in regular attendance. There were some interesting differences between the dif- ferent districts in this respect. (See table on next page.) The percentage of attendance to enrolment is relatively high (68 per cent or more) in districts i, 3, 4, 7, 8, 9, and 13. The reasons for this are not far to seek. Pooles- ville had at the time of the survey the only consolidated school with public transportation of pupils in the county. The other six districts have the best transportation facili- ties, both as regards roads and accessibility of railways and trolleys. The proportion in regular attendance is relatively low (64 per cent or less) in districts 2, 5, 6, 10, II, and 12, where the transportation facilities are not good. There is nothing finally conclusive about this, and cer- ' The low enrolment was due in part to the large number of children in Bethesda and Wheaton districts attending school in the District of Columbia. Regulations regarding the attendance of non-resident children in the schools of the District of Columbia, effective in September, 1912, increased the en- rolment in the Montgomery County schools by approximately 600. 470 THE RURAL COMMUNITY TABLE SHOWING THE TOTAL AVERAGE ATTENDANCE, AVER- AGE ATTENDANCE PER SCHOOL, AND THE PER CENT OF ATTENDANCE TO ENROLMENT BY ELECTION DISTRICTS Elecdon districts Average numba attending daily Average attendance perachool Number attending daily for every loo enrolled 1. Laytonsville. 2. Clarksburg.. 3. Poolesville... 4. Rockville 5. Colesville 6. Damestown. 7. Bethesda 8. Olney 9. Gaitbersburg 10. Potomac 11. Bamesville.. 12. Damascus. . . 13. AAAieaton Total 161 243 146 398 »25 156 122 346 239 97 118 210 378 2,639 20.1 27.0 29.2 56.8 25.0 26.0 61.0 49.2 47.8 19.4 23.6 30.0 54-0 347.0 68.6 61.0 68.8 73-3 53-8 634 78.2 78.1 70.2 53.0 52.0 64.0 72.9 65.9 tain local variations are not thereby to be accounted for. This would not explain, for example, why the attendance is better in the Damascus district than in the Colesville district. It does, however, show a general tendency and indicates that the school as well as the farm needs good roads. Student Organizations. — There were last year in existence only 13 student organizations of any sort in the schools in the county. Of this number, 8 were debating and literary societies, 2 were athletic associations, and i was a boys' brigade. It does not appear that full advantage is taken of a fine opportunity. The total membership of these 13 societies weis about 250, a very small propor- tion of the pupils who might profitably have been organ- ized in a similar way. In 1 911 a step was taken toward a larger service to the boys in the schools when a corn-growing contest was initiated by the president of the board of school commis- THE PROBLEM 471 sioners. Not much interest was manifested in this the first year, although the contest was successful in a small way. This year the Agricultural High School at Sandy Spring has taken charge of the matter and will make this contest a permanent feature of the year's programme in connection with an annual "corn congress," to be held in the fall. Prizes ranging from $5 to $50 have been offered and the contest is open to all boys from 10 to 15 years of age. The conditions of the contest are: (1) All of the work must be done by the boy except the ploughing. (2) The corn grown on the acre shall be the property of the boy, whether he wins a prize or not. (3) The following basis shall be used in awarding the prizes: Percent Greatest yield per acre 40 Best showing of profit on investment 40 Best written account showing history of crop 20 Total 100 (4) Boys must keep a record of the time spent in doing the work and of the expenditure for seed, fertilizer, etc. (5) The amount of land used shall be I acre for each boy. The contest in 1912 was well advertised, and great in- terest was manifested in it. It is hoped that results of considerable importance will follow. Sttidies. — The teacher in a one-room school has many things to do and very limited time to do them in. This is one of the prime reasons why the criticism holds true here, as in every place where the one-room school exists, that the curriculum of the country school contains little or nothing that distinctly prepares for country life. In spite of the fact that conditions are far better here than in many other rural communities, the fact is that each teacher in the county must conduct on the average 23 recitations per day, with the average time allotted each recitation only 15 minutes. In the one-room school the number of recitations is even greater, being approximately 30 in each school. The time for each recitation is of course shorter, the average being 1 1 minutes. A programme so full leaves opportunity for very little beyond the limits of the 472 THE RURAL COMMUNITY prescribed course of study, which contains only those sub- jects familiarly referred to as the "common branches." This course of study and the plan of work based upon it are prescribed by the county school commissioners, and are patterned largely after the town and city school course. It emphasizes, particularly in the higher grades, the cul- tural rather than the industrial. It needs to be revised for the country school. The curriculum does not take into account the special conditions under which the country pupil is to live and work. There is need of a fundamental readjustment which will in part take the form of the in- troduction of certain courses having direct bearing upon the country pupil's needs and in part take the form of a shift in emphasis throughout the entire course of study. It is not to be supposed that cultural studies should be dropped from the curriculum of the rural school. In cer- tain instances they might well receive increased attention. The pupils might devote more time to music and draw- ing than they are now doing. A beginning has already been made in the larger schools of the county toward this readjustment. Special courses have been introduced and in some instances special teachers have been procured to train the pupils along cer- tain practical lines. An inquiry was made as to the extent to which certain subjects, deemed of special im- portance for rural children, were taught. These subjects were nature study, elementary agriculture, domestic science, manual training, music, and drawing. The fol- lowing table indicates the number of schools teaching each and the extent of the work. By "little" is meant that approximately from 15 to 30 minutes per week is given to talks, observation, or elementary exercises; by "medium" is meant that some systematic effort is made to teach the subject at prescribed periods throughout one or two years, enough time being given to it to assure some thoroughness; by "much" is meant that there is a full four years' course offered, with special teachers. The figures refer to the number of schools in which these studies are taught. THE PROBLEM 473 NUMBER OF SCHOOLS TEACHING CERTAIN SUBJECTS Subjects Nature study Elementary agriculture Domestic science Manual training Mumc Drawing Not at all Little Medium Much 43 52 63 67 48 46 20 13 4 I 19 22 It will be noticed that the greater proportion of the schools give no time at all to these studies, while only a small number attempt to teach them thoroughly. Four high schools — Rockville, Gaithersburg, Brookeville, and Sandy Spring — each have a special teacher of domestic science; three schools — Rockville, Gaithersburg, and Ken- sington — share the time of one man as an instructor in manual training. Sandy Spring and Brookeville High Schools share between them the entire time of one man for teaching elementary agriculture. Rockville and Gaithersburg each have a commercial teacher. Sandy Spring has a special teacher giving her entire time to music. The Sandy Spring and Brookeville High Schools are probably the most interesting schools in the county in these respects. Each is a genuine rural high school, making definite and successful efforts to adapt their pupils to the conditions of country life. Fifty-one schools have libraries varying in size from I volume to 2,000 volumes per school. The total number of volumes in all the schools is over 7,000, the average for each school reporting being about 138. The schools reporting libraries may be grouped as follows: Schools having libraries with from — Schools. I to 25 volumes 4 25 to 50 volumes 11 50 to 75 volumes 9 75 to 100 volumes 5 100 to 200 volumes 17 200 to 500 volumes 4 Over 500 volumes i 474 THE RURAL COMMUNITY The books are mostly general literature, histories, essays, poetry, and fiction. For the most part the selection is from a list approved by the State board of education. About 50 per cent of the pupils above the fourth grade use the books more or less regularly. Forty-six schools reported that they gave in 191 1 a total of 151 public entertainments. These were variously literary or musical programmes, home-talent plays, lec- tures, or celebrations arranged for various holidays. They were largely attended by the school patrons in most in- stances. Nine schools are so located that they are affected by private or parochial schools. Several schools near the line of the District of Columbia lose a number of their pupils to the Washington City schools. The schools in Takoma Park are slightly affected by the Seventh Day Adventist Seminary. The Rockville High School is af- fected by the Rockville Academy. High Schools. — There are in the' county seven public high schools, located at Brookeville, Damestown, Gaithers- burg, Germantown, Poolesville, Rockville, and Sandy Spring. There is one in each of five election districts, Poolesville, Rockville, Colesville, Gaithersburg, Dames- town, and Damascus, and two in Olney. The school at Rockville is the county high school. It is the only high school in the county listed by the State department of education in " Public high schools of the first group." The Brookeville, Sandy Spring, and Gaithersburg High Schools are listed by the State department as schools of the "second group." To be classed in the "first group" a high school must have 80 or more pupils, four or more academic teachers, a four-year course of at least 36 weeks a year, a course of study prescribed by the State department, and must con- form to several other regulations of the State department. A "second group" school must have 35 or more pupils, two or more academic teachers, a three-year course of at least 36 weeks a year, and must conform to the regula- tions of the department. The State contributed to each THE PROBLEM 475 of the schools in the second group $1,400 for the year ended in June, 1912, and to the Rockville High School $2,300. Of the three graduates of Sandy Spring School in June, 1912, one entered the Pennsylvania State College and one the University of Virginia. Of the eight graduates of Brookeville, two entered the State Normal School at Baltimore, two the Western Maryland College, and one St. John's College at Annapolis. None of the four grad- uates at Gaithersburg is in a higher institution, but two are teaching in the county. The following table gives data regarding the seven schools : HIGH SCHOOLS IN MONTGOMERY COUNTY Districts students, by years 1 = Books in li- biaiy Value of graunds and buildings Appa- ratus, equip- ment, and fur- niture Brookeville Darnestown . . . . Gaithersburg. . > Germantown.. . . Poolesville Rockville Sandy Spring. . . 180 190 195 190 180 180 180 200 269 975 200 200 360 259 $15,000 35,000 20,000 5,000 5,000 40,000 5.000 |6oo 500 1,500 100 500 5,000 500 III. SCHOOLS FOR COLORED CHILDREN Number, Distribution, and Kind. — ^There are 30 schools for colored children in the county, one to every 103 of the colored population of school age. They are all ele- mentary schools with six or fewer grades. The number of schools for colored children, by election districts, is as follows: Laytonsville, 3; Clarksburg, 2; Poolesville, 3; Rockville, 2; Colesville, 3; Darnestown, 4; Bethesda (a colored school was opened in Bethesda district in Sep- tember, 1912), o; Olney, 4; Gaithersburg, 3; Potomac, i; Bamesville, 2; Dameiscus, i; Wheaton, 2; total, 30. These schools are so located that there is no consider- 476 THE RURAL COMMUNITY able settlement of negroes anywhere in the county without a school reasonably accessible. In the Bethesda district, which is the only district without a colored school, the children go to the schools in the District of Columbia. The colored schools are a part of the county school sys- tem, controlled, supervised, and maintained in the same manner as the white schools, but there is a feeling among many in the county that few of the negroes are taxpayers and that, consequently, the support of their schools by the county is more or less of a missionary enterprise. The Material Equipment. — There are 28 school-build- ings, of which 23 are owned by the county and 5 are rented. One school holds its sessions in a church, and one occupies a room in a hall. These buildings contain in all 38 rooms, of which 34 were last year used for school purposes. Twenty-eight schools are one-room, one-teacher schools. This proportion raises the same problem as with the white schools. The colored children stand as much in need of training along industrial and agricultural lines as the white children. But the introduction of such courses into the curriculum of a one-room school is impracticable without good teachers and adequate supervision. The schoolrooms vary in size from 374 square feet to 1,000 square feet. The average-sized room contains about 560 square feet of floor space. In more than one-half of the schools this is not sufficient for the accommodation of the pupils who desire to attend. In 16 schools the seating facilities were not sufficient for the number of pupils en- rolled. In 20 rooms there is provided some sort of decoration, mostly unframed pictures and posters. The walls of more than one-half were originally white, but age and use have reduced most of them to about the same condition, variously described as cream, buff, or drab. In general, nearly all of the schools are in a more or less dilapidated condition. All the buildings are frame. THE PROBLEM 477 Most of them were originally as well put up as the schools for white children, but they have not been kept up. Con- sequently they are out of repair. Few of them have been painted. Their general appearance is one of neglect. Twenty-eight of the 30 schools are equipped with double non-adjustable desks; one has single desks, and one, being a church, has pews. All of the buildings are heated by stoves, these being in 26 cases non-jacketed. Only one building has a cloak-room, while none has a teacher's room. At 19 schools there is either a well, a spring, or a cistern on the school property; 11 have no water-supply. All of the schools have outside toilets. At 14 schools these were in an unsanitary condition, and at 10 they were im- properly placed. Twenty-one schools had globes, maps, and charts of some sort, although these are in many cases old and poor. Nine schools have none at all. The county furnishes the books for all pupils in the colored schools. Not very good care is taken of them by the pupils; consequently, there was usually found an insufficient number of books, and those found presented a very ragged appearance. The total acreage of the school grounds is 24. All but 2 schools have at least a fair plat of ground, 7 of the lots are fenced, 16 are level, 12 are rolling or hilly, 6 have trees, 3 have flower-beds, and i has a vegetable-garden. Prac- tically no attention is paid to beautifying the surround- ings of the schools. None of the schools has any play apparatus of any sort, and practically no provisions are made for the recreative life of the pupils. The school grounds are not usually very well adapted for playing games. Only three are pro- vided with American flags. The county has invested $10,750 in the 23 school-build- ings which it owns. The average value per building is about $470. The table on the next page gives the num- ber of schools owned, the total value, and the average value per school by election districts. Teaching Force. — The 30 schools have a teaching force 478 THE RURAL COMMUNITY BUILDINGS USED FOR COLORED SCHOOLS Election districts School buildincs owned Total value Average value Laytonsville. Clarksburg.. Pooles\alle... Rockville Colesville Darnestown. Bethesda Olney Gaithersburg Potomac... . Bamesville. . Damascus. . . Wheaton Total 3 I 2 2 3 3 o 4 I o 2 I I $850 500 800 1,000 1,300 1,300 o 2,700 250 o 950 350 750 $283.33 500.00 400.00 500.00 433.33 433-33 0.00 675.00 250.00 0.00 47500 350.00 750.00 23 10,750 $467.39 of 33 (6 males and 27 females) ; 27 of these reported that they had had a normal or industrial school training. The average number of years of teaching experience is 9.6. Only 4 teachers were teaching for the first time last year. The average length of time spent in the present position was reported as 3 years. This average is in part due to a few cases of exceptionally long tenure, but more than one-half of the teachers have held their present positions 2 years or more. One-fourth of them have held their posi- tions 4 years or more. The average number of positions held during the last 5 years was 1.8 per teacher. This means a more than ordinarily stable teaching force. The advice of the president of the colored teachers' association to the teachers on this point of tenure was brief but pithy : "Stay in a locality until you know it, and until you make the people love you; then leave it while they still love you." Of the 33 teachers, 30 declared that it was their intention to continue teaching permanently. The average salary paid last year was $24.86 per month, or $174 per annum. THE PROBLEM 479 The general education and professional training of the colored teaching force is as follows: Teachers who have completed — Elementary schools only I One year of high school I Two years of high school I Three years of high school 4 Four years of high school 10 One year of normal school I Two years of normal school 12 Three years of normal school o Four years of normal school I One year at college 2 Two years at college I Three years at college I Four years at collie 3 38 Five teachers attended summer school for i year, 4 at- tended for 2 years, and 2 for 3 years. Pupils. — The total enrolment of all schools last year was 1,782 — 918 boys and 864 girls. It will be noticed ENROLMENT, BY SEX AND BY GRADES Election districts Male Fe- male Total Grades zst 3d 3d 4th Sth 6th 7th Laytonsville Clarksburg Poolesville Rockville ;. 61 51 122 92 96 78 167 81 31 63 23 53 54 49 122 61 79 69 174 90 28 66 20 52 "5 100 244 153 175 147 341 . 171 59 129 43 105 50 45 125 73 58 77 135 66 30 68 18 59 16 25 34 23 32 9 56 23 6 13 8 9 26 12 30 33 29 23 67 26 9 24 3 21 18 6 29 10 29 19 29 48 6 16 8 7 5 8 10 9 25 6 22 8 4 3 t 5 8 4 4 5 3 I 4 2 2 I 2 I 4 2 Colesville Damestown Bethesda Olney Gaithersburg Potomac Bamesville Damascus Wheaton Total 918 864 1,782 '804 254 303 223 112 39 9 > Under first grade is included a beginners' class and the first grade proper. A large number of pupils require two fuU years before taking second-grade woric. 48o THE RURAL COMMUNITY that for the county as a whole there is a decided drop in the enrolment after the fourth grade. In 2 districts this drop is postponed until after the fifth grade, but in no case is the enrolment kept up to the normal standard in the sixth and seventh grades. The total population of school age is 3,090. Of this number, according to the figures given, 57.6 per cent are enrolled in school. The average attendance is 1,087, or 36 per school, which is 60.9 per cent of enrolment and 35.1 per cent of the school population — 5 to 20 years of age, inclusive. This means that only 35.1 per cent of the entire number of colored children of school age regularly attend school. There were only 4 organizations for pupils, 2 of which were literary societies and 2 temperance societies. They had a total membership of 160. Studies. — The length of the year's session is fixed by the county as 140 days. This term, it is generally felt by those in touch with the colored schools, is too short for satisfactory work to be accomplished. In certain school districts enough money was raised locally, by private sub- scriptions, to keep the schools oj)en for 2 months longer. The average number of recitations held per day was 20 per teacher, and the average length of the recitation period was 18 minutes. The following table shows to what ex- tent the 6 special subjects which we have previously men- tioned were taught. The figures refer to the number of schools. NUMBER OF SCHOOLS IN WHICH CERTAIN SUBJECTS ARE TAUGHT Subjects Nature study Elementary agriculture Domestic science Manual training Music Drawing Not at all Litde Medium Much 20 31 19 13 13 8 4 7 8 14 18 o o o I o o THE PROBLEM 48 1 Fair progress has been made in the work of introducing manual training and domestic science. The most interest- ing school in this respect is the Sharp Street Industrial School near Sandy Spring. This school offers complete courses in various forms of manual training work and domestic science. The need of these courses and their practical value for the colored children are readily seen, and efforts are making to introduce the work generally throughout the county. In the spring of 1912 an industrial exhibition for all colored schools was held at Sharp Street. The results showed that, all things considered, in those schools in which industrial training is undertaken at all the work done is of a very high class. The School as a Social Centre. — It is probably true that the colored school fills a larger place, socially, in the lives of its patrons and pupils than the white school does. More than half the schools reported public entertainments of some sort, such as concerts, special programmes arranged in celebration of holidays, etc. These were generally very well attended. IV. THE SCHOOL BUDGET The total expenditure for the county for 1910-11, based on the average daily attendance, and including the ex- penditure for new buildings, amounted to $37.83 per white pupil and $7-77 per colored pupil per year. The money spent for supervision, office expenses, etc., divided equally among all pupils, colored and white alike, assuming that each shares equally in advantages which it purchases, would be $2.72 per pupil. This would make the total average cost of education for each white pupil in average daily attendance $40.55. The annual expense for each colored pupil, figured in this way, would be $10.49 per year. The following table gives, by election districts, the average cost for white and colored pupils. The varia- tion between districts is partly accounted for by the differ- 482 THE RURAL COMMUNITY ence in the amount spent last year for new buildings and repairs upon the schools of certain districts. COST OF SCHOOLS PER CAPITA OF AVERAGE ATTENDANCE Election districts Laytonsville Clarksburg Poolesville Rockville Colesville Damestown Bethesda Olney Gaithersburg Potomac Bamesville Damascus Wheaton Average, entire county . . White pupils Colored pupils $31-77 24.99 3199 31.68 75-08 30.28 26.33 36.45 76.38 91.19 32.00 47-94 31.23 J40.55 $9-22 8.14 7-34 8.96 9.09 10.18 No schools 18.91 8.59 7-51 7-89 16.62 8.75 $10.49 If the cost of the new buildings is omitted, the total cost per white child amounted to $30.90. This, including the $2.72 for administration, amounts to $33.62, The white schools cost, therefore, for maintenance more than three times as much per pupil as the negro schools. In- cluding the cost of new buildings, the county expended 3.87 as much on every white child in average daily at- tendance as on every negro child. (6) The Rural School in Southwestern Ohio by paul l. vogt (From A Rural Survey in Southwestern Ohio, by Paul L. Vogt, Miami University, 1913) The rural population generally has had the opportunity to secure the rudiments of an education. Table 24 gives the total illiteracy of the combined rural and urban popula- tions of each of the four counties — Butler, Preble, Darke, THE PROBLEM 483 and Montgomery, for the year 1910. The data as to rural illiteracy are not published separately by the United States Census. TABLE XXIV ILLITERACY, PERSONS lO YEARS OLD AND OVER, I9IO County Total illiteiate Native white Foreign bom wnite Negro Butler 1,044 3.465 988 407 527 335 683 I.155 347 42 283 1,646 167 30 22 655 Darke Montgomery Preble Although in comparison with the total population of the different counties these figures for illiteracy seem un- important, yet when one considers the relatively very large proportion of the illiterate who are children of parents bom and raised in America, the conclusion must be that there are serious defects in our educational system. In each case except that of Preble County the illiterate of the foreign bom population and of the colored race forms a large part of the total. Intensive study of school conditions was made in Butler county only, and in discussing educational conditions it is thought best to present the data collected for this county as typical of the entire section. Other agencies have fre- quently described the consolidated schools which are gradually being introduced. The discussion in this re- port will be devoted principally to the subdistrict schools and to the relation of secondary education in the country to the district school system. A description of the school situation in Butler county will require in part a discussion of conditions that are passing away. Many phases of material equipment are representative of a time when but little attention was paid to the physical environment of the child and when the financial ability of the districts was not sufficient to enable the patrons of the school to furnish the equipment demanded by modern life. A statement of the facts as 484 THE RURAL COMMUNITY to present conditions is necessary as a basis for determining whether the changes to be made in the next few years shall be in the direction of following out present school policies or whether the several townships shall adopt some system of centralization or consolidation of schools. According to the reports of the State Commission of Schools for the year ending 191 1 there were 97 elementary and I high-school township districts in the county and 28 elementary and 6 high-school separate districts. The present investigation covered 93 districts including 3 special districts and i high school. The total number of schools reporting on each of the several points included in the investigation is noted. Practically all the buildings are of brick. Of 90 schools reporting 86 were of brick and 4 were of wood. Most of the buildings are still in good condition. Seventy-four of 88 buildings reported had but i room, 8 had 2 rooms, 4 had 3, and 2 had 4 or more. Eighty-five of the 93 build- ings were reported as having light from both sides of the building. Of 87 schools 69 reported heating with un- jacketed stoves, 5 with jacketed stoves, and 13 with furnaces. Of the 13 reporting furnaces 7 were 2-room struc- tures and 5 were i-room. One school with furnace did not report number of rooms. Eighty-three schools re- ported non-adjustable single seats and 3 reported adjust- able seating. Of 85 schools 49 reported cloak-rooms and 36 reported none. The evidence from these figures is that the little red schoolhouse with light from all sides, with old-fashioned seats not adapted to the student, with stove that is too hot for those near it and too cold for those at a distance from it, is still the prevailing type of building. The one modern feature that appears to have been introduced into the newer buildings is the cloak-room. Over half of the buildings have this extra equipment. The outside equipment presents a remarkable uni- formity. Eighty-one of the schools report wells. Prac- tically all|the country schools have outside toilets. These in nearly all cases are separate for the sexes and in 74 out THE PROBLEM 485 of 80 cases they are reported as decently placed. The difficulty with the outside toilet in the country school is that it is hard to keep in a sanitary condition. In a number of instances the toilets were not clean and the walls were covered with obscene writing and drawing. In at least one case the old-type double building with one apartment for the boys and another for the girls still exists. This is a survival of an earlier period and, like all the other relics of a past age, would do credit to the community if it were removed. In another instance, either the en- trance to the school building is from the back-yard or the outbuildings are in the front yard. In either case, the crudity of builders at an earlier period and their willing- ness to sacrifice the beautiful to the convenient is exem- plified. The same tendency to sacrifice the aesthetic to the useful is to be found in the custom of placing the coal shed in the front yard of the school grounds. In many cases, otherwise attractive school grounds have their beauty permanently marred by the coal shed standing in the foreground. The data as to the size of the school grounds are as fol- lows: TABLE XI SIZE OF SCHOOL GROUNDS Numba of schools having Number Per cent Total 88 12 69 7 64 (included in 69 above) 1 00.0 13.6 78.4 8.0 0.0 Less than i acre I or under 2 acres 3 or more Reported as having i acre Fifty-nine out of 80 were reported as fenced ; 46 out of 61 as having good walks; 84 as having trees; only 6 were reported as having flower-beds. In general the grounds are very satisfactory as to topography and natural possibilities for beautification. The rolling ground in Butler County lends itself especially 4S6 THE RURAL COMMUNITY to the artist's task. The figures as to the size of the grounds indicate that the average country school was planned under the influence of radically different ideals than those which prevail in rural education at the pres- ent time. Seventy-six out of 88 or over 86 per cent are reported as having one acre or less of ground for the school building. The progressive country school of the future which hopes to utilize the school as a practice ground for teaching the principles of agriculture and for experimental work under the direction Of the instructor must provide more ground for laboratory purposes. The country people must soon decide whether it will be cheaper to buy from ten to forty acres of ground for each district school or whether it will be better to equip a central plant efficiently and abandon the equipment which found its origin in earlier ideals of education. The equipment inside the school buildings does not compare with similar rooms in the villages or cities. In many cases the rooms are in poor repair and there is but little attempt to keep them in attractive condition. Fifty- seven out of 71 of the schools report pictures of some kind on the walls. These are generally historical, biographical, or representations of natural scenery. Fourteen schools reported no decorations of any kind on the walls. Seventy- two out of 81 report globes, 71 out of 80 report maps, 76 out of 81 report charts, 9 out of 77 report an organ, and 2 out of 70 report a piano. The library equipment of 72 schools reporting is as follows : TABLE XII LIBRARY EQUIPMENT Number of books Number Percent 72 lOO.O 18 \ 28, 63.9 12 16.7 9 12.5 2 3.6 3 4-3 Total schools None reported Under 50 50 or under loo. . 100 or under 150. 150 or under 200. 200 or over THE PROBLEM 487 This table shows that the library equipment of the ma- jority of country schools is not at all adequate to the de- mands of a modern system of education. While it is im- possible to give an accurate statement of the value of the libraries, the estimates of the teachers placed the great majority of them under $25.00 and many of them under $10.00. The class of books embrace encyclopaedias, his- tory, biography, fiction, and an occcisional text on agri- culture. A number of the libraries contain books intended specifically as reading supplementary to the studies. There is but little difference in the number of men and women employed in the township districts of the county. In 191 1 there were 52 males and 63 females employed in the elementary township schools. Data were not secured as to the grades of certificates carried by all the teachers, but the educational standard is indicated by the propor- tion of certificates of the different grades granted during 191 1 by the county board of examiners. TABLE XIII EDUCATIONAL PREPARAnON OF TEACHERS, BUTLER COUNTY I9IO-I9II Number of certificates granted Males Females Total Per cent Total For 8 years " s vears 70 2 4 24 40 118 3 4 35 76 188 5 8 59 116 1 00.0 2.7 0.0 4.2 31-4 61.7 " ■* vears " 2 years " I vear 61.7 per cent of the total number of certificates were granted for i year and 93.1 per cent for not to exceed two years. The relatively larger proportion of lower grade certificates points to the fact that the teaching force is made up largely of two groups, i. e., those who are in the teaching profession only as a temporary occupation and those who have entered the profession without adequate preparation for the work. 488 THE RURAL COMMUNITY That the educational preparation of the teachers is not so low as is indicated by the record of examinations is shown by the fact that out of 71 teachers reporting, 48 had a high school, normal or college diploma. In a num- 2YI?£ERnnCArESb 314% lYRCERTlFKATESieiT^ Certificates Granted to Teachers, Butler Co., 191 1 Nearly two-thirds for one year only ber of cases the teachers were reported as having been taking courses in summer schools. Probably the rapid change in the personnel of the teaching force has more to do with the low record made on examinations than deficiency in scholastic preparation. High school courses, however, do not fit prospective teachers to pass examina- tions with high marks. The low standard of educational qualifications of the teachers will be eliminated in large part by the ultimate consolidation of school districts and the centralization of the financial energy of the community upon a smaller number of teachers working in a more advantageous en- vironment. Another factor of importance in the relation of the teacher to the school is the number of changes from school to school. Of 35 schools for which data were obtained the record of changes for a five year period was as follows : (Twenty-two cases were for five years including the en- gagements for the year 1912-13, 13 cases for the five years ending June, 1912.) THE PROBLEM 489 TABLE XIV CHANGES IN TEACHING FORCE Schools having is j yean Number Percent I Teacher, 2 II 10 9 2 I 5-7 31-4 38.6 35-7 5-7 2.9 a Teachers. 3 Teachers 4 Teachers 1. . . . 5 Teachers 6 Teachers j lOO.O Over one-third of the schools have had four or more teachers in the five year period. Sixty per cent have had two or three teachers in the period; while in only 5.7 per cent of the cases did the teachers remain the full period. One of the most serious difficulties to be met by a teacher in the district school is the number of recitations necessary owing to the number of grades to be controlled by one teacher. For sixty-seven schools reporting the average number of recitations per day is twenty-eight. The recitation period rarely exceeds fifteen minutes and in many cases is not so long as that. "Country teachers soon learn to run three or four classes at the same time in order to get through with the day's work. The following table will show the distribution of schools according to the number of recitation periods per day: TABLE XV RECITATION PERIODS PER DAY Number ci redtatioas No. of schools reporting Percent Total Under 20 20 or under 35 25 or under 30 30 or under 35 35 or under 40 40 or more 67 4 13 as 15 6 4 lOO.O 6.0 19.4 37.3 32.4 8.9 6.0 490 THE RURAL COMMUNITY The larger proportion of the schools have a number of recitations of twenty-five or under thirty per day. 37.3 per cent- have thirty or more recitations per day. — Four, schools report over forty recitations per day. The grow- ing curriculum of the country school has had its comple- ment in the decreasing length of the recitation period and the increasing number of recitations. This tendency can only end in the breakdown of the efficiency of the school. This is particularly true in cases when it is taught by a graduate from a village school where the number of reci- tation periods per day is much more limited. Decrease in population in the rural distfrcts"has seriously affected school attendance. In Butler County during the year 1911-12 there were at least 17 schools which had an average attendance of 10 or less. Three schools had an average attendance of five or less yet these teachers received the regular salary of $55 to $60 per month and required the usual expenditures for repairs to building, fuel, etc. Only an unorganized system of rural education such as exists in the State of Ohio would permit such con- ditions to continue. As compared with Other parts of the state the salaries of country teachers in Butler County are above the aver- age. In the last few years there has been a gradual rise in salaries. Ten years ago 38 out of a total of 55 teachers reported received from $45 to $50 per month, while at the present time 66 out of 92 reporting receive $55 to $60 per month. The situation is such, however, that a per- manent and most efficient teaching force cannot be secured without such an increase in salary as most district com- munities -vrould not feel justified- in-paying. No data were secured as to the number of teachers who reside within the school district while the school is in ses- sion. It is a matter of common knowledge, however, that in the vast majority of cases the only point of contact the teacher has with the district is during school hours. The teacher' does practically nothing in assuming the leadj^- ship of the community in the larger work of social better- ment. The courses of study in the. school have .but little THE PROBLEM 49 1 direct relation to the life of the community and as a re- sult the parents have but little interest in what is taught in the schools. Owing to recent legislation in the state providing for the teaching of agriculture in the public schools the rural schools are now attempting to teach the subject from two to five periods per week. In a few cases, particularly in Reily Township, Butler County, effort has been made to introduce vegetable and flower gardening during the spring months. Very little has been accomplished through- out the county generally in this direction. There is prac- tically no formal instruction in music, drawing, manual training, or domestic science in any of the country schools and the teaching of hygiene in many cases consists of formal discussion of the framework of the body with a minimum of instruction as to personal hygiene, foods, household sanitation, etc. Evidently the time has come for a rad- ical revision of the curriculum of the country school and a change of emphasis upon the relative importance of the material taught. Schools in the township districts of the county are in session on an average of 35 weeks in the year. Pupils still generally walk to and from school although there is now a tendency on the part of some of the parents to drive to school with the little ones in extremely bad weather. This tendency has become more pronounced since the older children have been transferred to the high schools. The play activities of the children and the relation of the teacher to them are of importance because of the em- phasis now being placed upon play as an educational agency. As yet in the country schools little provision is made of apparatus for play such as is to be found in the schools of the villages or larger cities. In 45 out of 61 cases reporting the teacher played with the children. In a number of these the teacher played very little. The standard games played are "ball," "blackman," and "dare base." Thirty-one schools reported "ball" as one of their games, twenty-four "blackman," and fourteen 492 THE RURAL COMMUNITY "dare base." In numbers varying from one to four each the following games are reported and are noted here to show the variety of games that find an occasional place in the country community. "Cricket," "Hide-and-Seek," "Flinch," "Drop-the-Handkerchief," "Blindman," "Stay in School," "Football," "Skating," "Fox and Geese," "Ten Stop," "Crack-the-Whip," "Marble," "Miller Boy," "Catcher," "Rabbit," "Wolf," "Wood-tag," "Deer," "Blindfold," "Shinney," "Sixty," "Anthony Over." No one school reported all of these but all are to be found in one school or another in Butler County and doubtless if an exhaustive study of the games were to be made many more would be discovered. The fact that the greater num- ber of pupils adhere to a few standard games indicates that in general there is but little incentive toward novelty in play in the country community. Children are not in- terested in learning the details of new games but in mas- tering the art of playing the old ones well. Owing to changes in enrolment and ages of school children some of the games adapted to older children are disappearing. One phase of the play activities of the county district that is often overlooked should be noted. This is the psychical effect of organized play such as is usually found in the country. This topic is of the greater importance at the present time because of a manifest tendency in some of our smaller communities to imitate the inventions in- tended to solve the problem of play in the crowded sec- tions of the larger cities. There, in some small park, are to be found poles with ropes attached, smooth boards for sliding, swings, etc. This equipment is probably the best provision for play in crowded parks. The unfor- tunate tendency developing is to allow the devices used in a city's extremity to displace the better adapted play activities of the village and country district. The activi- ties of the playground should teach groups of children how to co-operate in an organized form for the attain- ment of a common end. They should give opportunity for the development of initiative and leadership; for the overcoming of personal weakness in social intercourse; for the development of will to'give and take. Ball, blark- THE PROBLEM 493 man, dare base offer this opportunity and are incompar- ably better for this purpose than sliding down a board or swinging from a rope. The country and village schools need more play space rather than more equipment. The country school may be weak in its curriculum but it is strong in the naturalness and freedom of its play activities; in the reconstruction of country school life these should be preserved. Changes in school enrolment have injured or broken down some of the standard games. Provision should be made for other games meeting the same ends but suited to smaller groups. The social activities of the country school at the pres- ent time are very limited. Of 73 schools reporting 48 re- ported no social activities during the year, 13 reported i, 9 reported 2, 2 reported 3, and i reported 4 entertain- ments. TABLE XVI SCHOOL ENTERTAINMENTS REPORTED FOR I9II-I2, 73 SCHOOLS, BUTLER COUNTY As to entertainments I 2 3 4 73 48 13 9 2 I At one time the schoolhouse was the centre for many of the social activities of the community. Now, more than ever, it is limited to the formal task of imparting book knowledge to the young people of the community and the old-time point of contact between teacher and district has disappeared. Those schools that report one or two entertainments in the year generally have a Christ- mas entertainment and another entertainment at the close of the year. These entertainments are almost uni- formly well attended by the country people and indicate an interest in this phase of school life. In 60 cases the schoolhouse was definitely reported as having been used for no other purpose than that of hav- ing the school sessions in it. In one case the Board of 494 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Education held a monthly meeting in the room and in another it was used as a Sunday-school room. In Reily Township under the leadership of the town- ship superintendent there has been an effort to have a monthly gathering of all the schools of the township at the township high school. Each school is expected to furnish a part of the monthly programme. These gather- ings have met with considerable success in bringing about a community spirit among the people of the township and affording an opportunity not only of providing enter- tainment for the people but also for the discussion of school problems such as courses of study, consolidation, the teach- ing of agriculture, and the relation of the school to the farm. The relation of high schools to the district schools of the county is shown by the following tables: TABLE XVII RECORD OF ATTENDANCE IN HIGH SCHOOLS OF BUTLER COUNTY FROM TOWNSHIP AND SPECIAL DISTRICTS IN THE COUNTY, I9II-I2 Hamilton 76 Middletown 47 Oxford (City) : 22 Oxford (McGuflfey) 19 Monroe , 24 Sevenniile 4 Somerville ^ . . ^ 5 Reily, Township High School 14 ' Millville o Okeana, Moi^gan Twp. H. S 14 New London o Venice o Trenton 10 Wayne Township H. S 14 Darrtown, Milford Twp. H. S o College Comer 3 1 Reily Diat. deluded. 252 One hundred and eighty-eight, or 74.6 per cent of all the pupils in high school from the township and special dis- tricts not maintaining high schools of their own are to be found in the high schools of Hamilton, Middletown, Oxford, and Monroe. 91.2 per cent of all the students 164 THE PROBLEM 495 are in these high schools and the three township high schools of Reily, Morgan, and Wayne Townships, 91.2 per cent of the country high school children are in 50 per cent of the schools. The very large proportion of all students enrolled in the schools of the three cities mentioned indicates that the young people from the country districts prefer the better equipped schools and it also indicates that the ex- istence of good schools is in itself a factor in increasing school attendance. The attendance at the different town- ship high schools indicates that these are doing a good service for their respective districts. The distribution of the students according to townships is shown in the following table: TABLE XVIII mnlBER OF STUDENTS FROM THE DIFFERENT TOWNSHIP HIGH SCHOOLS IN BUTLER COUNTY, I9II-I9I2 Township Total Fairfield Hanover Lemon Liberty Madison Milford Morgan Oxford Reily Ross St. Clair Union ' , Wayne Outside county. . . From other states 14 16 14 26 28 14 10 14 14 14 10 275 27 17 34 14 26 14 14 33 19 3 17 o 24 26 1 Union Township reports zi students attending Lockland, Hamilton County, High School. Union Township has among the lM»t equipped district schoob in the county. A comparison of total students in high schools from the township with other townships indicates the need of provision of high school {•duties there. 496 THE RURAL COMMUNITY The evidence is that proximity to a good high school has a very definite and a very important relation to high school attendance. Oxford Township has two high schools located within its limits. One characteristic of the present high school training in relation to the country districts is that it becomes a means of transition for young people from country to urban life. The testimony of high school principals is that rarely does the high school girl expect to become a farmer's wife or the high school boy expect to return to the country.- On the other hand there are a number of boys in the villages and cities who are looking forward to farm life. This in- dicates that our high schools should have a wide enough vocational basis to facilitate the movement of students in either direction. This type of school will come nearer serving the people than will the high school for farmers and the high school for the townsman. Such a scheme in the educational system would tend to develop a farm- ing class and a town class. Such a training should be pro- vided as will permit the young people the fullest freedom in their choice of means of earning a livelihood so that class distinctions will not be encouraged. In the conclusion of the study of the schools in Butler County reference to particularly bad and good conditions will make more real the changes going on. The bad con- ditions are mentioned only to emphasize the fact that in an extremely individualistic educational system such as exists in the state of Ohio, evils may develop and persist that under the direction of a competent township or county superintendent would not be permitted. While a number of the individual teachers in the several townships have been making progress in their own schools, three of the townships, i. e., Reily, Morgan, and Union, deserve special mention because of the organized efforts they are putting forth for the improvement of the rural schools. Union Township is mentioned especially for its advance in the material improvement of the rural schools of district type. The newer school buildings are equipped with furnaces and are erected according to the latest models THE PROBLEM 497 of school architecture. It is possible that the expenditure of funds on expensive single buildings may ultimately act as a hindrance to real progress in the direction of con- solidation of the schools of the township. Morgan Township has a township sup>erintendent, who is also principal of the township high school. He endeavors to correlate the work of the teachers of the entire town- ship. Once a month the teachers gather at the high school to discuss questions related to their work. The township has a large library at the high school and the books from this library are lent to the local schools for a certain length of time and then passed on to some other school. The books are selected by the teachers, partly in accordance with the suggestions of the State Commissioner of Edu- cation. Reily Township has succeeded under township super- intendency in providing a uniform course of study, in raising the standards of efficiency among teachers, in arous- ing interest in township school exhibits, contests, and literary entertainments, and in getting results in the teach- ing of agriculture. The results of the supervisory system in these townships indicate that it is an improvement over the unregulated district system. As an intermediate stage between the district school and the centralized school or as a permanent institution where centralization is im- practicable, supervision is undoubtedly desirable. The results of this survey of the conditions in the coun- try schools of Butler County suggest the need of a definite constructive programme. Among the points to be con- sidered are : 1. The appointment of either a county superintendent of schools or of district supervisors who can co-ordinate educational interests. 2. Reorganization of schools which will result in : (c) Curriculum adapted to country. (b) Better physical equipment. (c) Better library facilities. (d) More permanent teaching force. (e) Better prepared teaching force. 498 THE RURAL COMMUNITY 3. Formation of educational districts that will conform to convenience of the people rather than to traditional political dividing lines. 4. Provision of adequate and convenient secondary education for every district pupil in the county. 5. Ultimate centralization of schools. This work cannot be done unless some unifying and co- ordinating agency is created. The country school-teacher has a very responsible part in the programme of rural social reorganization. The progress of the country will depend very much upon the efficiency with which that work is done. II. SOCIAL ACTIVITIES 1. SOCIAL LIFE IN SOUTHERN TRAVIS COUNTY BY GEO. S. WEHRWEIN (From Bulletin of the University of Texas No. 65. Entitled "A Sodal and Economic Survey of Southern Travis Coimty," 1916) "Making money" is not the only test of the desirability of any community as a place to live. The kind of social life it affords, the kind of roads, schools, and churches it has, count as much, if not more. If the neighborhood serves only as a place to make money, people will move to town or some other place where there are desirable neighbors, sociability, proper recreation, and religious and educational advantages. Much of the migration of middle-aged farmers to the towns is prompted by the de- sire to educate the children and give the family social ad- vantages lacking in the country. Three races living in the same territory means a lack of unity and homogeneity that makes for retarded civil- ization. One case was reported in which an American woman married a Mexican. The woman was ostracized. She reported no entertainment, no visiting with town folks or receiving visits from these. A few neighbors visited sometimes. This incident shows the wide gulf between THE PROBLEM 499 the three races. With the increase of the Mexican pop- ulation matters are steadily growing worse. "Mexicans and negroes have come into the land and ruined the social life," said one woman. A white owner's wife said, "Social life is growing less desirable. More and more Mexicans and negroes are on the roads. If a few more come we will not feel safe any more and have to move. Negroes and Mexicans kill the social life of the community." "We have no more free-for-all barbecues, picnics, old-time camp- meetings, etc.," said another white owner, and this same statement was made by several others. One added that, "too much of the land was owned by city people who had nothing but negro and Mexican renters." Even some of the large landowners living in the country are renting to negroes and Mexicans almost entirely, but they have the means to go to Austin for their recreation and social life. The following map shows how the three races are mixed in a small section of the territory surveyed: • • / o o • / o t !• i • • • •• ' • • 1 • • o -!?._... — ■ Vo~' • - o o • / • r / / • O WHITE Farmer • NEGRO fMtWEJK • MEXICAN FARMCR n WHITE SOHOOU ■ NC&f<0 aCHOOU - ----- - p\o I ROAD LAMC 1 ...1 1 9 ^MIUC Map Showing the 'Distribution of the Three Races 500 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Among the whites there are further divisions along the lines of nationality. The native Americans do not as- sociate a great deal with the Germans and Swedes. The people of these two foreign races are thrown together by their language and national customs, many of which are distasteful to the native Americans and are often con- sidered immoral. The customs of the Germans in regard to liquor and dancing caused one man to refer to them as the "carousing Germans," with whom he associated but little. Amount of social intercourse. In answer to the ques- tion, "Is there enough social life?," 51 per cent of the 123 white owners answering this question said "yes." Only 37 per cent of the white tenants answered in the affirmative. The Mexicans as a rule did not answer this question, largely because they did not understand it. Of those that did answer it only 20 per cent said there was enough social life. The negroes were better satisfied in this respect, 48 per cent of the owners and 55 per cent of the tenants reporting sufficient community life. Visiting. Sociability may be measured in the frequency with which neighbors visit and in the social visits made with friends in neighboring villages and city. Table XIX shows the visiting among farmers. TABLE XIX VISITING AMONG FASIIERS White owners. White tenants, Negro owners. Negro tenants. Mexicans ToUl Percent Percent Percent inswciing frequent rare never 120 60 40.0 III 36 59-5 4-5 23 56 44.0 77 64 34.7 1.3 29 »7 56.0 17.0 From the table it will be noticed that the Mexicans visit the least of the three classes. From what has been said, this might be expected. The negroes as a class visit THE PROBLEM 5OI a great deal and the few cases which reported little visiting were those living more or less isolated and who therefore could not visit very often. Among the whites the owners appear to be the more sociable. With longer residence and time to get acquainted, this would be true of the tenants also. However, in many cases there is a social apathy which accounts for the self-isolation of some fami- lies. One tenant said he had been on the farm for eleven months and during this time "never left it or even went to Austin." Another I said he rarely ever visited neigh- bors, that "only a few' families go together." Others visit only when their neighbors are sick. "Our neighborhood is not neighborly. Only^n folks visit." One negro said that frequent visiting was not desirable: "Few visits make long friends." A test of feeling of friendliness between the city and village folks and the country people may be found in part in the amount of social visiting between the rural and urban people. Table XX gives some idea of the amount of visiting carried on between the farmers' families and the people TABLE XX AMOUNT OF VISITING BETWEEN VILLAGE AND RURAL PEOPLE Visits made to villaca Visits received from villages Total Peicent none Percent some Pacent fre- quently Total Peicent none Percent some Pacent fie- quentlj White owners. . White tenants. . Negroes Mexicans 62 47 80 19 23.0 23.0 18.5 16.0 37 58 59 63 40.0 19.0 22.5 21.0 54 35 54 10 8 43 15 70 59 46 72 30 33 II 13 living in villages. The term village is rather loose, but the people answering no doubt meant places of the size of Elroy, Creedmoor, and Manchaca. The white owners visit more frequently with the village people and receive village visitors more than any of the others. 502 THE RURAL COMMUNITY TABLE XXI AMOUNT OF VISITING BETWEEN CITY AND RURAL PEOPLE Visits made to city Visits lecdved from dty Total Percent none Feicent some Peicent fre- quently Totol Percent none Percent some Percent fre- quently White owners . . White tenants. . Negroes Mexicans 145 96 105 32 5-5 130 16.0 37-5 45 39 49 50 49-5 48.0 35-0 12.5 133 89 99 29 16.0 40.5 27.0 62.0 65 46 67 38 19.0 13-5 6.0 0.0 Table XXI shows the same facts in regard to city visiting. A great many more of each class visit with city friends than with those living in villages. The villages are too small. A larger per cent of each class visit more frequently with the city people than they do with those in the villages. However, about the same relation is found between the classes in both tables, the white owners having the most frequent social intercourse, the white tenants less, and the Mexicans the least. Table XXII shows the reasons for going to the vil- lages or cities. The figures are not entirely representative, for only a rather small number of each class of farmers answered this part of the schedule, yet they offer a basis for comparisons. TABLE XXII REASONS GIVEN FOR VISITS TO VILLAGES AND CITY BY I98 FARMERS f Total BuuBtss Pleasures Relatives Friends White owners 66 78 44 10 56.0% 565% 66.0% 80.0% 23.0% 16.5% 25-0% 10.0% 13.5% 18.0% 4-5% 10.0% 7.5% 9-0% 4.5% 0.0% White tenants Negroes ' Mexicans Total 198 59-o% 21.0% 13-0% 7.0% About 60 per cent of the visits made to town were for pure business; pleasure 20 per cent, and social visits with friends and relatives the other 20 per cent. The whites THE PROBLEM 503 make more social visits than the other two classes. Fewer tenants go to town for pleasure than white owners or even negroes, the Mexicans least of all. Not many gave definite reasons for not having more social intercourse with the city folks. Eleven said they were unacquainted or had no friends in town, and this is perhaps the chief reason. Eight said that there was a social distinction, "tliat city folks were "stuck up" and snobbish and did not care to associate with country people. Nineteen said that they were "too busy;" seven said they lived too far from town; and four gave poor roads as their reason. Three said it was not customary to visit with city folks, and one man said he was too poor. As for coming to town for business purposes, it would seem that every farmer comes at some time or T)ther dur- ing the year. Saturday finds the streets of Austin crowded with country people in town doing their trading or selling produce. The direct testimony of the people themselves anid the tables showing the visits with neighbors and city people all go to show that this area is lacking in social life and neighborliness. What are the reasons for this ladk of wholesome community life? The most apparent rieason of course is the fact that three distinct races live inter- mingled in the same territory and the barrier of race aiid color keeps them apart socially. Nationality lines may not be drawn so tightly, yet they induce a spirit of clan- nishness among the whites. Some families are not friendly betause of personal dislike and quarrels; others are not considered desirable neighbors because of their previous histoiy or their "manner of carrying on," as one negro woman put it. No statistical tabulation iis feasible' of causes of this kind which are traits of many a cohimunity. However, an attempt was made to ascertain whether people thought that there were "social classes" in' the country and what they considered the basis for such social ihequality other than the reasons itientioned. ■{"^The questions asked to bring out these points weife as follows: ' '■' ' "Any social inequalities or classes? What basis? 504 THE HURAL COMMtJNITY Wealth, education, tenant, vs. owner, religion, others." Following is the table based on the answers to these ques- tions: TABLE XXIII BASIS OF SOCIAL INEQUALITY I3 there aodal inequality? Bases of social inequality Total answer- ing Answer" ingyes Wealth Tenant fv. owner Re- ligion Educa- tion Others White owners White tenants Negroes 86 76 44 7 24% 31% 25% 28% 4-5% 10.5% 11.0% i4-o% 4-5% 14-5% 4.5% o.o% 3-5% 2.5% 4-5% 0.0% 3-5% 2.5% 4-5% 14.0% 3-5% 5-0% 9-o% 0.0% Mexicans The number answering the question as to the existence of social inequality is small and those giving reasons for such inequality are even less. Only 44 whites and 19 negroes and Mexicans mentioned the basis of social inequality. A comparison between these various classes shows that the tenants feel that wealth and being a tenant places people in social classes more so than the owners. Many, however, said, "Our landlord is as common as we are." Religious dissensions and superior education were men- tioned by a few. Recreation and Amusement. — The city furnishes the recreation and social life for a very large number of coun- try people who are within driving distance of Austin. Where the farmer has an automobile this distance may be greater. In one case where there was an automobile the boys spent "three or more nights out of every week in town." One woman reported: "Our interests lie in town, and we don't visit among our neighbors. They have en- tirely diflferent interests than we have. However, we are friendly when we meet." In these districts there is very little organized social life among the country people; all of them go to town, where more varied and highly developed sources of entertainment exist. THE PROBLEM 505 TABLE XXIV ATTENDANCE AT VARIOUS FORMS OF ENTERTAINMENT Total Mo- tion pic- tures Circus Fain Pic nics Barbe- cues HoU- ^l bra- tions Com- munity gsthet- ings Danc- ing White owners White tenants Negro owners Negro tenants Mexicans 94 81 19 66 26 36% 39% 0% 12% 11% 42% 39% 42% 48% 23% 9% 10% 0% 9% 0% 59% 51% 36% 62% 11% 32% 40% 21% 38% 3% 20% 16% 36% 62% 11% 35% 19% 31% 25% 3% 10% 12% 5% 12% 15% The moving picture is a popular form of entertainment among the whites and is purely an urban form of recrea- tion for this territory. Very few of the negroes and Mexi- cans reported attendance. There is an occasional "movie house" in Austin that is for negroes exclusively, but none seem to exist very long. The circus is popular with all classes, but fairs are rather poorly attended. These forms of entertainment are all furnished by some commercial agency. Picnics, barbecues, celebrations, and dancing are more or less sporadic forms of entertainment. They may be promoted by the school, lodge, church society or other permanent organization in the community, and it is dif- ficult to draw sharp distinctions between several of these forms of social gatherings. Barbecues seem to be con- nected with political speaking as a rule. Dancing may be a part of one of the other types listed in the table. Very few definite conclusions can be drawn from the table. The different types of farmers indulge in these amusements to about the same degree, unless one is to draw the lines sharply. The Mexicans, however, are left out to a larger extent than any of the other classes. "We never go anywhere, for we have no clothes, no money. We go to church on Sunday to pray the Lord to help us, but he doesn't help anybody," said one Mexican. There is no great difference between white owners and tenants, 5o6 THE RURAL COMMUNITY although some of the tenants said they couldn't go be- cause of lack of means. "People here can't go to church or to picnics because they haven't any clothes or the means to go," said one white tenant's wife. "Juneteenth" probably furnishes the negro an oppor- tunity for a holiday celebration, which accounts for their relatively higher per cents in this column. The whites as a class do not "take a day off" to celebrate holidays. Dancing is a moral question with many of the people. Very often they not only answered that they did not dance, but added that they objected to it. Only 22 whites said they indulged in dancing where 18 objected. Nine negroes danced, while nine objected; in the case of the Mexicans five danced to one that objected. That dancing is some- what a matter of nationality is shown by the fact of those that danced, eleven were Germans, six native American, one Danish; of those that objected, fifteen were native American, one Swede, one German. TABLE XXV ORGANIZATIONS FURNISHING SOCIAL LIFE Total answering Chmch Srhool Lodge Others White owners 131 95 22 66 4 53% 55% 59% 64% 75% 22% 25% 23% 27% 25% 13% 10% 18% 3% 0% 12% 10% 0% 6% 0% White tenants Negro owners Negro tenants Mexicans There are three principal organizations that furnish most of the social life of this community by having socials, picnics, entertainments, etc. These are the church, school, and lodge. A few others were also mentioned as permanent societies and in Table XXV are classed under "others." These bodies differ from the sporadic picnics, barbecues, etc., organized to celebrate a holiday or to furnish a meet- ing-place for candidates and voters. These are more or less permanent and the social activities are a kind of by- product. THE PROBLEM 507 The church was reported very often as an organization furnishing social life. Over 50 per cent of every class men- tioned it. The schools and lodge are also important. Seven whites reported membership in a "shooting club." Nine white owners reported membership in some woman's club which helped to furnish social life in some form. Fourteen white owners and seven white tenants re- ported attendance at lectures, but did not say whether these were held in Austin or in the country. Four negroes also reported lectures. Eleven whites and three negroes reported that they attended musical entertainments. Lodges. — The strongest organizations in the country are the lodges. Both owners and tenants among the whites belong to lodges in about equal proportions. The per- centage for negro owners is high because of the small total number in this class. The W. O. W. is the strongest lodge of those represented in this territory. The Sons of Her- man is the lodge of the Germans and is one of the most noteworthy means of bringing social life. Dances, picnics, and community gatherings are promoted frequently. TABLE XXVI LODGE MEMBERSHIP Total Fetcent lodge members Membeis in W. 0. W. Affnymff Sons of Hcnnun Othos AVhite owners 128 118 23 85 47 38 36 57 34 6 29 28 American Woodmen 3 II 9 6 7 8 I 10 6 1. 0. 0. F. 3 6 7 5 4 3 White tenants Negro owners N^ro tenants Mexicans Among the lodges classed under "others" are Praetor- ians, Moose, and Eastern Star. The negroes mentioned the Knights of Pythias, Moose, and "The Farmers' Im- provement Association." Clubs and Societies. — Church societies were reported most frequently. Thirty-three per cent of the white 5oS THE RURAL COMMUNITY owners and 22 per cent of the white tenants reported that some member of the family was a member of a church society. Forty-four per cent of the negroes were mem- bers, and 19 per cent of the Mexicans. Three cases of membership in the Y. M. C. A. were reported among the whites. Nine white women (three owners) belonged to an em- broidery club; twelve belonged to sewing clubs (nine owners). Three white owners reported membership in a literary club, three to a parent-teacher's association, two to a mothers' club, and four (two of these were ten- ants) to a social club. Only two clubs were mentioned by the negroes; two claimed membership in a mothers' club and two in a burial association. Two white tenants said they belonged to a poultry club and one to a corn club. Organized recreation and social life is rather lacking, considering that this is a territory of some 185 square miles. Many reported that it was useless to try to "start any- thing" in their neighborhoods. "Clubs for children are not feasible," said one tenant, "because renters cannot afford it." "Community spirit is dead," said another. "We started a literary society, Sunday-school, penman- ship class, but all failed. Not much sociability." "When we first came here we were eager to help. Took charge of a Sunday-school. But we can't seem to do much." "There is no organized effort to get together, no conscious effort to enjoy community life." These are some of the comments of the farmers on this question. Othfir Factors. — Other factors that make for community life are the rural free delivery and the telephone. There are three routes out of Austin, and one out of Buda, Del- valle, and Creedmoor, respectively. These are a great help, as is shown by the large number of people that read the Austin dailies. There are no farmers' telephone lines. Besides the direct city lines there is an exchange at Delvalle and an- other at Creedmoor, but all phones are either "Bell" or THE PROBLEM 509 owned by a private concern. Rates are the same as in the city. One woman said that although her phone cost her $24 a year she would not do without the convenience. She believes that country life would be ever so much more livable if all the farmers were connected by the telephone. But here the tenant is at a disadvantage, for he cannot afford to put in a " box" and pay for the wire, only to have it taken out at the end of a year or two when he moves to another farm. Practically all of the subscribers in this area are landowners. 2. SOCIAL AGENCIES IN TWO INDIANA COUNTIES (From A Rural Survey in Indiana, by the De|>artment of Church and Country Life of the Presbyterian Church in the U. S. A., 191 1) Social Life in the Churches In Marshall and Boone counties note was taken of the amount and character of the social life furnished by each church. This varied largely, according to the denomina- tion and the attitude of the particular church or com- munity. Fifty-seven per cent of the churches in the two counties were found to furnish some form of social life. Thirty-seven per cent were responsible for more than one *^ social event per year. In this latter class were half of the village churches, but only one-fifth of the country churches. The greater interest taken in social life by the village churches may help to account for the more prosperous condition of the village churches compared with those in the country. Excepting the picnics, which are always free, 46 per cent of the social life is furnished for pay. The value of the pay social is difficult to judge. The main objection to it is that the motive is apt to be selfish. The church in giving"^such a social is likely to think not so much of the happiness it is bringing to those who attend as of the financial gain that is to result. The people, too, are giving 510 THE RURAL COMMUNITY their money not as a free-will offering for the extension of the Kingdom but as the price of a material return. On the other hand, many people, especially "outsiders," prefer to attend socials if they can pay for their entertainment. An instaince of this was noted in one of the village churches where the Epworth League held socials once a month, every alternate one for pay. The pay socials were much better attended than the others. The solution of this problem may be a wise combination of the two kinds. Socials for profit have certain abuses, but an occasional social where people can pay for the expense of their enter- tainment may interfere less with their self-respect than free socials. But whichever kind predominates, its aim should be to minister unselfishly to the social needs of all within its reach. That there is a direct relation between the social life of a church and its growth [is clear.] Of the churches in Marshall County that furnish social life 59 per cent are growing. Only 20 per cent of the churches not furnishing social life are growing. Two examples of churches which have solved the prob- lem of social life might be mentioned here. A Swedish Lutheran church in Marshall County stands in the open country, and is the centre of a community of frugal Swedish farmers. The present pastor has served the church for twenty-five years and is a recognized leader in the com- munity. The church building has a neatness and dignity not often found among country churches. A picnic grove adjoins the church. Picnics and socials are frequent oc- currences, and the people all come together for an annual summer festival. The church has had a healthy, normal growth and has succeeded in winning the young people. At Cannelburg, in Daviess County, a Catholic priest has become a community leader through his interest in the social and economic life of his people. An abandoned Protestant church has been bought and turned into a "Catholic Hall," to be used for socials, bazaars, and^home- talent plays.^j^Frequent socials ha'"* ^^"^ mnrh fn An with THE PROBLEM 511 keeping up the interest of the young people in church work. The social life afforded by the church has broken down the selfishness and individualism so prevalent in that part of the country and has united the people in working for their common interests. This spirit of unity accounts for the splendid condition of the local farmers' organiza- tion. Although there has been much drinking here this priest has succeeded in getting two-thirds of his men to sign the temperance pledge. All boys on being confirmed sign the pledge. Whether or not all Protestants approve of the forms of recreation sanctioned by Catholics, they must recognize the part social life has played in building up the church life in the community. Occasioned churches may be found which object to ordinary forms of church socials and yet are in a thriving condition. Most of these churches, however, do furnish social life under other names. The German Baptist Breth- ren (Dunkard) churches illustrate this point. In Marshall County they are holding their own in the country better than any other denomination, although they are theoretic- ally opposed to many kinds of church socials. But in reality few churches furnish as much social life as do these. The Brethren make their church the centre of their com-, munity life. Their visiting with each other in the church- yard before and after service, their Harvest Festival, the social nature of their communion services, and their hos- pitality and democratic spirit all go to show how admirably they have united their spiritual and social activities. The Amish Mennonites, though opposed to socials, do much for their social life by holding their services at different homes and then taking dinner together. The Baptist Associations and the camp-meetings of other denomina- tions are often great events in communities otherwise devoid of social life. Eight per cent of the churches were found to be strenu- ously opposed to social activities on the part of the church, both in theory and practice. Some of the ministers are afraid of getting the "world" into the church. By such exclusion, however, they generally seem to keep out every- body, for only one of these churches is growing. Two 512 THE RURAL COMMUNITY thirds of them are dying. The rest are stationary. Op- position to social life seems to be due principally to two misconceptions. In the first place, to many people the word "social" means a money-making scheme, and they think that the church ought not to resort to such means to. mjike money. As one church member expressed it: "The devil can't pay our expenses. If he does, he wants an interest in the business." What is needed here is a broader idea of the unselfish purpose of social gatherings. The other misconception is the supposed opposition be- tween social life and spiritual life. One of the ministers made the statement that social life would not save any one. "What the churches need is not social life but more spiritual life" is a common expression. The two are thus divorced from each other instead of identified. Here we need a broader conception of spiritual life. Social life ought to be spiritual and true spiritual life is social. Everything that brings men together in helpful companion- ship makes for the extension of the Kingdom of God. Community, Social, and Recreational Life Social life in the country is conspicuous largely because of its absence. Every one remarks about the steady de- cline of all social activities. In Daviess County in one community the last dance was held seventeen years ago, the last church social two years ago. The people have only one picnic a year. The social and recreational life of another community is confined to home-talent plays and croquet. Another township finds that their last picnic was twelve years ago. In another community we found that the Catholics had one picnic a year, while the Protes- tants average one in five years. The attitude of many young men toward their homes in the country can be seen in the following statement of a young Daviess County farmer, a prominent church member: "This is the dullest place I ever saw. I stand it here as long as I can, then I go away for awhile. When I get the corn laid by, my wife and I are going to Florida. If we like it there we are going to locate. It's all right here for old oeoole." THE PROBLEM 513 The following table shows the average membership and attendance of the different lodges in the three coun- ties: MEMBERSHIP AND ATTENDANCE OF LODGES County Average membeiship Average attendance Percent of mem- bership attending Daviess Marshall 72 55 108 16 13 18 21 17 Boone Average 77 15 20 The lodges with insurance features have 64 per cent of the total lodge membership. Some claim that the lodges interfere with the churches. This we find to be true only where the churches are not showing a spirit of brotherhood. Where the churches are strong the lodges are generally strong. In such cases both are expressions of the same spirit of fraternity and sociabil- ity. In localities where the churches are weak the lodges may or may not be strong. The weakness of both may show impoverished community life. On the other hand, the failure of many churches to meet the present needs of men may cause people to centre their interests in the work of the lodge, which seems to them more practical. In some communities the idea is prevalent that the church's business is principally to save the souls of men for the next world, while the lodge is an instrument for realizing the ideals of Christian brotherhood here and now. In 50 per cent of the communities there are one or more gatherings in which the entire community takes part, such as "Old Settlers' Picnics," "Harvest Home Festi- vals," "Agricultural Fairs," and legal holiday celebra- tions. In such public assemblies the leaders of the country church have an excellent opportunity for developing a community spirit, thus promoting the co-operation so vital to religious growth, the lack of which is one of the principal obstacles to the country church. From the table given below it is easily seen that all but 514 THE RURAL COMMUNITY one of the institutions or organizations that tend to con- trol and to satisfy men outside of the churches are organi- zations which furnish much social life: TABLE SHOWING THE ORGANIZATIONS OR INSTITUTIONS WHICH TEND TO CONTROL MEN OUTSIDE OF THE CHURCH Lodges Socialism " Money-getting " Dances The Lakes (in Marshall County) If the church's business is to minister to the community on any day but Sunday it must furnish a place where people can get together for informal meetings. The chart " Centres of Informal Meeting" shows where people now meet: CENTRES OF INFORMAL MEETING IN THE ORDER OF THEIR IMPORTANCE Stores Schools Restaurants and Ice Cream Parlors Saloons Pool Rooms Town Hall Barber Shops Catholic Hall Only one community was found in which a church fur- nishes a place for informal gatherings. In that case it was a Catholic church. The social life is centred around the villages. It is al- most entirely lacking in the communities without village centres. In 57 per cent of the communities there is little or no social life. In 20 per cent there is a medium amount of social life, while in 23 per cent there may be said to be many social activities. Each community furnishing much social life has a village of 500 or more inhabitants. The following forms of amusement and recreation are named in the order of their popularity: Socials (one or more a year). Motion-picture shows. Picnics (one or more a year). Lecture course. Entertainments (one or more a year). Literary societies. Much visiting. Parks. Baseball (Sunday and week-days). Theatres. Baseball (Sunday). Fairs. THE PROBLEM 515 Dances. Cards. Home-talent plays. Basketball. Pool rooms. Tennis. Chautauqua. Y. M. C. A. Bowling. Football. If the church objects to any of the above forms of recrea- tion on the grounds of their having immoral tendencies, it ought to see that these same forms are provided in such a way as to be of moral value, or to provide higher forms of ^musement .and recreation for the community. As it is, too many churches feel that they have done their duty when they have condemned everything around them which seems immoral. If the church is to win the com- munity it must do something to make the recreational life of the community wholesome and helpful. Iq the communities where there is little or no social life pnly 20 per cent of the churches are growing, while 16 per cent are standing still and 64 per cent are losing groqnd. This shows us how closely the prosperity of the church is related to the general social life of the community. Stagnation in religious life goes hand in hand with steig- nation in social life. The opposite of this, however, is not necessarily true. A large amount of social life in a community does not prove that the churches are prospering. The condition of the church in a community where there is social activity de- pends upon what agencies are providing the amusements and recreation. T^e following table shows the proportion of the social life furnished by different agencies in the three counties: County Proportion of socul and recreational life provided by Church School T^ges Commercial Agency Customs or traditions Daviess 28% 23% 36% 10.5% 24.0% 22.0% 10.5% 7.0% 9-0% 10.5% 17.0% 2.0% 40.5% 29.0% 31.0% Marshall Boone Average 29% 20.0% 9.0% 10.0% 32.0% 5l6 THE RURAL COMMUNITY According to the proportion of population enrolled as church members Boone County ranks first, Daviess second, and Marshall third. The counties range in the same order, according to the proportion of social life furnished by the churches of each. There certainly is a direct relation be- tween the influence of a church and the amount of social life it furnishes for the community. On the other hand, the above table shows that the church is strongest where commercial agency furnishes the smallest proportion of the social life, and weakest where it furnishes the largest proportion. The reason for this can be readily seen. The interest of the commercial agency is not primarily moral and religious. If it leads in furnishing recreation for the community it will tend to keep people away from the church, especially if the church condemns it. The village of Lapaz (252 inhabitants, Marshall County) with the surrounding country enjoys a fair amount of social life. There is an annual Old Settlers' Picnic which the whole community attends. Public dances are held every two weeks. The young people have a social every month. The school gives home-talent plays, entertain- ments, and socials. But in no other community in the three counties is the church in such a sad condition as here. The attitude of the churches toward social life may help to account for this. The only social event in the vil- lage under church auspices is the United Brethren Sunday- school picnic, which occurs every two years. The Luth- erans had their last picnic fifteen years ago and the Wes- leyans are opposed to social life. The people outside the churches claim that the ministers do nothing but abuse the people. Is there any wonder that only twenty people in the village belong to the three village churches and no boy under twenty-one belongs to any church ? The church here is wilfully neglecting the boy's natural instinct for play and recreation. The saloon is taking advantage of the opportunity the church has given it and boys get drunk on the streets of Lapaz. Dark as this village seems from a religious standpoint there is probably no place that would go through a greater THE PROBLEM $17 transformation, if the community activities could be brought under the leadership of a resident pastor who is completely filled with the social message of Christianity. The conclusions drawn from the study of the social life of the communities and the churches might be summarized as follows : i . Community social life is necessary to healthy religious life. 2. If the church is going to succeed it must recognize the social needs of the community and aissume its share of the leadership in social activities. 3. RECREATION AND SOCIAL LIFE IN NORTHEAST- ERN MINNESOTA BY GUSTAV P. WARBER (From "Social and Economic Survey of a Community in Northeastern Minnesota," by Gustav P. Warber. Bulletin of the University of Minnesota, March, 1915) Students of rural social conditions are divided in their opinions concerning the fundamental causes of rural dis- content. Some maintain that if economic conditions are properly ordered, social contentment will follow as a re- sult. Others contend that opportunities for recreational and social activities are the all-important considerations in the country-life problem. In the presentation of the inventory of these activities in the Braham community, the writer has included such data as will reflect the view- point and opinions of both old and young, who actually live in the country. The following figures present the chief forms of recrea- tion in the home circle: reading is a common pastime in 88 per cent of the country homes and in 94 per cent of the village homes. Cards are played, usually only on winter evenings in 29 per cent of both village and country homes. Women sew or do fancy-work for recreation in 76 per cent of the village homes and in 52 per cent of the country homes. Music is a common recreation in 51 per cent of the country homes and in only 43 per cent of the village homes. 5l8 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Perhaps one of the chief reasons for the precedence of the country over the village in this respect is the fact that girls in the village do not care to play unless they have a piano. Only lo per cent of the country homes have pianos, whereas 32 per cent of the village homes have them. In the country, however, 28 per cent have organs, whereas in the village only 7 per cent have. Also 22 per cent of the country homes have violins, as compared with 18 per cent of the village. Phonographs are in 18 per cent of the country homes, and in only 5 per cent of the village homes. In the number of musicales or orchestral concerts attended by some member of the family, the village nat- urally leads the country, because of the comparative ease with which they may attend. In the country only 29 per cent of the families were represented in these audiences; as against 66 per cent of the village homes. In the village buggy or automobile drives in the evenings constitute a common form of recreation for 37 per cent of the families ; and "down-town gatherings" are common experiences for men and the older boys, in 28 per cent of the homes. Among the recreations away from home one of the most popular is dancing. In 33 per cent of the village homes and in 29 per cent of the country homes somebody at- tends dances. In only 15 per cent of the homes do parents willingly allow girls to attend country "bowery or bam dances." At these usually "the tougher set gather." There is indubitable evidence that at some of these dances "moral conditions are as bad or worse than in the lowest public dance-hall gatherings of the cities." It was main- tained by a person who claims to know that "practically all illicit sexual relations as well as the increasing number of cases of venereal infection may be traced back to the public dances." The public records at the country court- house, of course, give only a faint suggestion of the extent and gravity of this moral problem, for only a few of these cases get into the legal records. Although it is a sad com- mentary to make, a common opinion of both young and old men is that "as a class, the girls who have been working in the cities for a while are the chief cause for THE PROBLEM 519 this constantly growing evil." Information from medical sources seemed to corroborate this charge. In justice to this district as a whole it must be said that the above-mentioned conditions are more or less limited to certain neighborhoods and both boys and girls know the character of those who usually attend a dance in any particular place. It is hard to state whether or not these demoralizing influences are spreading, but they are menacing. As we have seen in the preceding chapter, baseball is played almost solely on Sundays. Farmers feel that they cannot spare any of the week-days for sport, and so the boys, who like the game, usually manage to gather each Sunday afternoon. These games were not held respon- sible for any gross immoral tendency, although it is charged that in some cases the language used is hardly in accord with the liturgies of the church services in the morning, which are attended more or less regularly by the boy players and the girl spectators, as well as by their parents. Fifty-two per cent of the farmers go fishing an average number of 6.3 times a year. These fishing trips are usually on rainy days when it is impossible to do much regular farm work. Merchants who have cottages at Rush Lake fish almost every morning before they drive in for the day's work. Only four families in the village owned cot- tages at the lake, but these families frequently invited others to spend some time with them there. Thirteen families were thus entertained an average number of 3.3 times a year. The average number of days vacation for wives in the village was fifteen, for the husbands twelve days. The average farmer's family usually views a trip to town with about as much enthusiasm as do villagers a trip into the country. The average number of times per year that farmers take their families to town is fifty-four. This does not mean that the whole family goes there together, but that "some of the women folks and children go along to town to get what is needed in the house, or some matter of dress." 520 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Single buggies are used by 71 per cent, double-seated buggies by 54 per cent, and surreys by only 3.5 per cent of the country families. Only 2 per cent have automobiles. In the village, 18 per cent have automobiles and 27 per cent have buggies, one-half of which are single buggies. Social Life Social calls or visits are always of a most informal na- ture. Often a farmer or his wife will announce to some friend as they emerge from the church together that "to- day we'll come to your place unless you're going elsewhere yourself." The reason for this easy unconventional free- dom is that country people generally associate only with whom they are most intimate friends. The least difference regarding any matter whatsoever serves to break all social connections between the families concerned. They may continue to attend the same church together, and even sip coffee together at a ladies' aid meeting, but any direct personal intercourse is scrupulously avoided. The older boys and girls often do not enter into the feuds of their parents; indeed love-affairs of the young people are said to have frequently ended the foolish enmity of the parents. That social clannishness prevails in many localities is shown by the fact that only 41 per cent of the families visited with any one besides their relatives. The average number of such visits during the year was seventeen per family. Practically all of the visiting in the country is done on Sunday afternoons. Only 12 per cent of the families re- ported that they did not visit or have company on Sun- days. The average number of these visits during the year was nineteen per family. In 76 per cent of the homes there had been "evening visits during the winter months." These visits are usually not on Sundays, and card-playing is the common form of entertainment except in homes where there is religious taboo on this form of amusement. The average number of these evening visits per family was seventeen during the last year. The attendance at social affairs is shown by the follow- THE PROBLEM 521 ing figures. The average number of times that members of church societies attend meetings during the year was fourteen. These meetings are held in rotation at the homes of the different members ; both village and country women attend them in common. The social relationship thus maintained between country and the village is unques- tionably a good to the community. The same may be said with regard to the lodge meetings; both men and women get better acquainted at these social affairs, which usually terminate with a dance. However, only 21 per cent of the homes of the country are represented in the membership of the various lodges of this community. Only 40 per cent of those who do belong to lodges, attended any meeting during the last year. Those who attended meetings went an average of seven times during the year. In only 20 per cent of those same homes did the wives also attend lodge meetings, and they attended an average of eight times during the year. In the village 48 per cent of the homes are represented in lodge membership, and of these 70 per cent attended some lodge meetings during the last year. The average number of meetings attended by men was nine, whereas the women members attended an average of fourteen times during the year. The table on page 522 made up from the reports of officers of the various social organizations in this commu- nity presents in a condensed form many important facts concerning the status of each. Officers of lodges generally felt depressed as a result of the usual poor attendance of their members. A few of these lodges are fraternal insurance organizations, one of which has suffered from dissension in the politics of the central organization. Only a few people in this com- munity had insurance with any "old line company." Fif- teen per cent of the farmers had life insurance, of one kind or another. The average amount for which they were insured was $1,452. In the village 38 per cent of the families carried life insurance, for an average amount of $2,750. 522 THE RURAL COMMUNITY SOCIAL ORGANIZATIONS Name Total membership ToUl rural mem- bership Rural mem- bership 5 years ago Number of meedngs during year Average attend- ance Average attend- ance of rural mem- ben Birthday Club Star M. W. of A Royal Neighbors Star Lodge, I. O. G. T. Farmers' Club No.63of I. O. G, T... Average 12 20 94 40 (families) 20 43 2 25 6o 25 20 25 35 30 23 12 24 Very few 24 30 12 25 20 14 Poor 15 20 50 15 14 I 20 10 ssys 29K 26K 2I>^ 32)i IlK Name Value of real estate belong- ing to organi- zation Value of other prop- erty Annual dues of members Amount of other costs to members per year Do poor roads keep many country mem- bers from at- tending meetings? Birthday Club. Star $350 M. W. of A Royal Neighbors. jtioo StarLodge, LO.G.T, Farmers' Club No. 63 of LO.G.T... 350 600 $1.20 1.60 (men) 1. 00 (women) 3.00 1.50 1.60 1. 00 1.20 (men) .80 (women) Insurance rates Assessment in insur- ance $1.00 5-00 Yes Yes No No Yes Yes No Average. J433 $100 $1-43 $3-00 4 Yes, 2 No How Country Life Appeals to Country People We have completed our analysis of conditions of coun- try life as it is, both on the farms and in the village. Let us now see how the people who live in this environment feel about the life they are living. One of the best ways to gauge this sort of feeling is to find out how many people THE PROBLEM 523 are content with what life in their community offers them, and how many show discontent by trying to leave it. It is often maintained that if the young country women can be kept on the farms, the young men will also stay as a result. Whatever the facts may be relative to the cause and effect of the situation, it does seem that where conditions are such that girls remain on the farm the boys also usually remain. Of the particular families in this com- munity from which detailed information was obtained, it was found that there were 193 sons and 151 daughters who were over eighteen years of age. Of these boys 72 per cent were single. In the case of the girls 65 per cent were unmarried. The extent to which the young people are aided in getting married by widening the circle of their acquaintance, is shown by the fact that in the case of the boys only one third were married without leaving the neighborhood, and two- thirds of them "found their wives away from the home community." In the case of the girls one-half were married before having left home, and the other half "found their husbands after having left the home community." That the low proportion of eligible young men and women who are married is not caused by any extraordinary degree of aversion to early marriages, is indicated by the records of the Clerk of Courts in the four counties in which the territory of this community is located. Approximately 8 per cent of all the marriages in these counties are contracted by parties, one of whom is below the legal age of marriage. In the newer regions these extremely early marriages are most frequent, as is shown by the records of Kanabec County in which 12 per cent of the marriages were by "under-age parties." It is noteworthy, however, that 30 per cent of the girls over 16 years on farms expressed themselves as being unwilling to marry a farmer. Sentiment of this kind may be somewhat responsible for the large number of single people in the country who are old enough to be married. Of the unmarried boys over eighteen years of age, 46 per cent are away from home. Of these only 21 per cent are working for farmers; the rest are working elsewhere. 524 THE RURAL COMMUNITY IN ToWtf ou Ctty OH T3B2MS lO V' At Home ^54 5^ ■Work IN ToWH AT Home 3Z^ Boys over lo Yeb.r» Girls over laYe&PA The Extent to Which Unmarried Farm Boys and Girls Over Eighteen Have Left the Farms Of these latter there are four bank clerks, two chauffeurs, four saloon porters, three carpenters, four clerks, three cement-layers, one steam-engineer, two railway employees, one'storekeeper, two miners, one sailor, and two teamsters. THE PROBLEM 525 It is noteworthy that only a few get positions of any con- siderable importance. Of the boys of the village who are over eighteen years of age, four are at home and thirty-nine are away from home. Of these, twenty- two are married. Five per cent of them work on farms, and eight are running farms of their own. The occupations of twenty-four who are work- ing away from home are as follows: nine clerks, four travelling salesmen, and one each of the following: car- penter, dairyman, electrician, elevator boy, minister, sailor, plumber, section hand, coachman, teamster, and school- teacher. Of the boys over sixteen years of age living on the farm, 35 per cent expressed themselves as not wanting to be farmers. Only six in this community were able to attend high school in order to fit themselves for other posi- tions in life. Of the ninety-seven farmer girls over eighteen years of age who were unmarried, 48 per cent were away from home. Of those away from home, only four were working in the country, and forty-three were working in a town or city. The latter were employed as follows: house- maids, twenty-nine; dressmakers, four; clerks, two; waitresses, three; stenographers, two; hairdressers, one; music-teacher, one; laundry-worker, one. Only three of the girls at home were attending high school, and two were attending a normal school. Six girls were school-teachers. Of the twenty-four single daughters of the village families, nineteen were away from home. Of these, eigh- teen were working in cities. They were employed as fol- lows: housework, six; telephone operators, three; dress- makers, three; clerk, one; stenographer, one; factory girl, one; clerk, one; school-teachers, two. There were seven girls of the village families who at- tended high school; and five were attending a college or normal school. The usual reason given by these families for the exodus of their children to the cities is that "there is nothing to do here in the country, so why not let them go where 526 THE RURAL COMMUNITY they can earn good wages." A glance at the population table for the township covered by this survey will show that there is indeed a large population here, and study of the living conditions in this community undoubtedly convinces one that "for most of the young people there is but little opportunity here, either financially or socially." It is said that housemaids working in the cities quite com- monly receive four or five dollars or even six dollars per week. Such tempting wages, combined with the stories of the good times that may be enjoyed in the cities, are responsible for the large number of girls who seek em- ployment there. The moral dangers that beset the path- way of these girls are usually not known to their parents. The evil results of this ignorance have already been com- mented on. The boys, too, find that the city occupations usually pay higher wages than they can get at home. After they have tried them, however, they admit that it is hard to save so much money as they did in the country, even though the pay is more. The greater opportunity for social con- viviality soon outweighs considerations of the simple rustic virtues; and it is said by local farmers that "but few men who have gotten to like city life will ever make good farmers again since it requires a different nature to be a good farmer than to be a business mixer." Perhaps the most common opinion regarding the fun- damental reason for the social discontent which is "be- coming more and more evident among the newer genera- tion," was that "it is because of too much education!" The older people, especially, felt that as a result of our continued efforts for more education "people are getting to have wants which we, forty years ago, regarded as luxuries fit only for kings. That is the reason, too, why so- many young people will not get married; they're after only fun in life, and they don't care to settle down to work like good honest people used to." Likewise it was com- monly charged by their older people that "the younger generations are living beyond their means. Many buy a manure spreader when they can afford to have only a THE PROBLEM 527 lumber wagon, and a good fork; others get rugs and furni- ture to store away in a dark parlor, when there still re- mains a big mortgage on a farm." As to the solution of the problem, most of the older people generally piously agreed with the preachers, that "the situation demands a good religious awakening"; but one of them added the practical suggestion, that be- sides a greater faith in God, "people ought to get busy and raise hogs and milk cows, and stop fooling away so much time." 4. RECREATION, AMUSEMENT, AND SOCIAL LIFE IN THREE IOWA TOWNSHIPS BY PAUL S. PIERCE (From Social Surveys of Three Rural Townships in Iowa, University of Iowa Monographs) Long Working Hours. — An attempt was made to approx- imate the length of the farmer's working day. Figures were obtained as to the hour of rising and the hour of com- pleting the day's work. Two hours were deducted as amply covering the time devoted to meals and to rest at mid- day. The hours remaining were construed as measuring roughly the normal working day, or the length of the work- ing day under usual conditions. Upon this basis the maxi- mum for summer-time in L. and M. was found to be 15.5 hours, the minimum 10.5, and the average about 13. The averse number of sleeping hours in the summer was 7.9, thus leaving about one hour in the twenty-four for recrea- tion, exclusive of a brief "nooning." In winter the work- ing day was naturally shorter and the work far less steady. Upon the basis of data gathered, the average for this season was 10.5 hours for work and 9 for sleep, leaving about 2.5 for recreation. Among the three townships there was little variation as to the distribution of the twenty-four hours, except that the summer work-day in C. was ap- parently slightly shorter. Neither was there appreciable difference as between owners and tenants. The average 528 THE RURAL COMMUNITY for farmers' wives was approximately the same as for farmers. Despite long hours, the variety, outdoor nature, and requisite planning and ingenuity involved in general farm- ing, may well make for physical fitness and for mental alertness. Well-rounded living, however, calls for mental diversion and wholesome social contact. Especially do rural childhood and youth need recreation and social op- portunity, if community welfare is to be promoted. It was therefore deemed important to take some inventory of the recreational and social equipment and practices of the communities studied. General Range of Recreational Activities. — The general range of social and recreational activities is indicated by the following table for township L. It gives, after each enumerated form of recreation, the number and per cent of the families of owners and tenants, and of the total population which engage more or less in that diversion. It does not, however, set forth very exactly the relative place of each of these activities in the life of the community or of individuals, since neither the frequency nor the dura- tion of participation is given. Form of recreation Number and per cent of families Owners No. Pc. Tenants No. Pc. Unclassified No. Total No. Pc. Band concerts. . . Baseball Billiards Card-playing Dancing Evening visits. . , Fancy-work Fishing Hunting Lectures Moving pictures Music Picnics Reading Sociables Sunday visits... 24 2 4 15 12 22 41 20 35 38 34 33 49 56 52 38 29 2 5 18 14 26 50 24 42 46 41 40 59 68 63 46 20 2 2 14 15 23 36 16 26 21 23 25 32 35 41 39 33 3 2 23 25 38 59 27 43 35 38 42 54 58 68 60 6 o I I o 2 7 2 4 3 7 2 7 10 8 3 50 4 7 30 27 47 84 38 65 62 64 60 88 lOI lOI 70 32 2 5 19 17 30 55 25 43 41 43 39 57 66 66 46 THE PROBLEM 529 Home Amusements. — As some criteria of recreational facilities afforded at home, data were sought as to games, and families in township M. yielded the following re- sults. Concerning the former, a study of seventy figures are the more impressive in view of the fact that anything which would be regarded as a recreational device (a rope- swing, for example) was classified as a game. Even on that basis, more than 30 per cent were put down as game- less, although 85 per cent of the families contained children or young people. The dearth was somewhat greater among tenants and laborers than among owners, but the number of families belonging to the former classes was too small to warrant any positive generalization. Careful information was secured concerning musical instruments in every home in townships C. and M. In each township more than two-fifths of the families pos- sessed no instrument whatever, not even a French harp or mouth-organ. The proportion thus unprovided was almost the same for all economic classes; in C. it was slightly lower for owners and renters and notably higher for the few families of laborers, while in M. it was slightly higher for owners and laborers and somewhat lower for renters. Of the larger instruments, the organ retained the place in a relatively larger number of homes of renters and laborers than of owners; in the latter it had been more largely displaced by pianos. In the poorer and more conservative township, M., the organ still ranked first, with the violin second and the cheap phonograph third, while the piano was a poor fourth; the primacy of the organ is further emphasized by the fact that its total exceeded the combined total of any two other in- struments. In township C, which was more prosper- ous, there were less than two-thirds as many organs as pianos; in fact, pianos made up one-half the total num- ber of musical instruments large and small. Moreover, the proportion of small and inexpensive instruments was far larger in M. than in C. ; for example, more than 14 per cent of the families had violins. Pianos and organs con- stituted only 50 per cent of the total in M. as against 8o 530 THE RURAL COMMUNITY per cent in C. In each township there was a single spec- imen of the old-fashioned melodeon. Amusements Outside the Home. — In view of the meagre equipment for home amusement, it is of more interest to discover the extent and direction of resort to out- side attractions. Hunting and fishing found devotees in a considerable minority of the families — in L. the per- centages were forty-three for hunting and twenty-five for fishing. Very few played billiards or pool, mainly be- cause of popular disapproval of these games and their associations, and partly because billiard and pool-rooms were not, for most neighborhoods, near at hand. Mem- bers of only 5 per cent of the families in L, reported billiards as a form of recreation; the percentage was about the same for M., and somewhat higher for C. Baseball had even smaller following, except in M.; and there it was frowned upon by the majority. This at- titude, prevalent in all three townships, was due to the fact that baseball was usually played on Sunday, and was not regarded as a fitting Sabbath diversion. Ninety- four per cent of the families in C, 98 per cent of those in L., and 60 per cent of those in M., did not attend such games. One church in L. had recently organized a Sunday-school baseball club to play on Saturdays, but the success of the experiment had not yet been demonstrated. Baseball, however, reached the people more generally than did any other athletic sport. The young people of only one family in M., for example, at- tended high school where they came into touch with other athletic activities. The theatre touched the life of these communities very little indeed. Distance and prevailing prejudice were combined against it. In township M. more than three-fourths of the people never attended the theatre and more than nine-tenths attended very rarely. Inaccessibility was a less serious barrier in the other town- ships, especially in C, but even there theatre-going was exceptional. The movies were a much more influential factor than were other dramatic presentations; they were cheaper, newer, nearer, and so less firmly in the THE PROBLEM 531 grip of traditional condemnation of theatre-going. In C. nearly one-half the families attended quite frequently, while in the other townships not more than one-fourth of the families could be classed as frequent attendants. From one-third to one-half the families never went to movies. The small percentage of patrons in some neigh- borhoods was due largely to the fact that the motion - picture houses had but recently been opened there; for instance in M. the movie as an institution dated only from the spring of 1913. The residents of C. on the other hand, were comparatively near a town with well-established movie houses, presenting high-grade programmes. The influence of the automobile in bringing the more distant attractions within range is doubtless reflected in the con- trast between C. and M. as to movie-going; in C. there were twenty-eight automobiles, in M. only two. With the less prosperous community not only automobiles but picture shows were perhaps matters of economy. Neighborhood Visiting. — For most residents in these com- munities visiting in one another's homes was the most common form of recreation. In L. about one-half the families stated that they indulged more or less frequently in Sunday visits and about one-third in evening visits. Such customs were somewhat more common among ten- ants than among owners. In M. an attempt was made through personal inquiry to discover the frequency of neighborhood visiting. Of course persons interviewed could give only rough approximations, nor did they make any careful distinction between visits and calls. Never- theless the following tabulation of replies is suggestive and doubtless not essentially misleading. It indicates that more than four-fifths of the homes received visits at least once a week; three-fifths, twice or three times a week; one-fourth, about once a day. Neighbors were almost universally hospitable, sociable, and kind and help- ful in case of sickness. A very large share of the visiting • — with some families practically all of it — Wcis done on Sunday. In one church neighborhood, it was said to be "quite the customary thing in summer to go home with 532 THE RURAL COMMUNITY some one, or to invite some one to dinner after Sunday- school." Attendance at Social Events. — The nature of social gath- ering was much the same in all three townships; home parties, church socials, and picnics taking the lead. There was, however, wide variation as to the popularity of each of these types of social entertainment. In L. and M. the majority of the families participated in picnics; in C. less than one-third. Two-thirds of the families in L. went to church socihls; in C. only one in eighteen attended such function. Dancing was taboo in many quarters, and in none of the townships were one-fourth of the fami- lies represented at dancing parties. In M. less than 4 per cent of the families participated, and no dances were held within the township. In L. the percentage was 18; it was somewhat higher for tenants than for owners, pre- sumably mainly because the former were prevailingly younger. In C. 24 danced frequently or occasionally, either at country dances or at more formal parties in near- by towns. In general, the tendency to seek amusement in social diversion in town and city was more marked in C. than in either of the other communities. The situation as a whole in one township is set forth briefly in the fol- lowing excerpts from the survey of M.: Dances are practically a negligible quantity in the community. In but very few families do any of the members dance. No dances occur in the township itself. Young people in one family attend high school dances at the county-seat. One girl occasionally, and a few others at rare intervals, attend or have attended pub- lic dances in the town of B. A considerable proportion of the population frown upon dancing as immoral, and their influence seems to dominate. [Non-dancing] home parties, however, are, except by a few severely puritanical families, looked upon with favor. The number and nature of such parties vary widely with the neighborhood and from year to year. In most parts of the township they are for young people only. During the summer of 1913, however, a number of parties in the nature of ice-cream socials were held at the homes of different neighbors; to these old and young alike were welcome. Expense of refreshments was met by voluntary collection. During the winter before a series of neighborhood oyster suppers were served at different THE PROBLEM 533 homes. In some neighborhoods with few young people prac- tically no parties were held ; in others they occurred as often as twice a month. The neighborhood was quite democratic; no social distinctions seemed to be made in extending invitations to these parties. . . . One Christian Endeavor Society held some sort of social gathering each month which met with some little success. The young people attended and seemed well pleased. . . . Aside from these free social events, the different religious organizations occasionally give an ice-cream social with the avowed intent of making money. On these occasions a large crowd gathered. Some games were indulged in, but the provision made for amusement was hardly adequate. Picnics were quite rare; some of the schools had a picnic once a year and Sunday-schools about as often. Some families would take aday off togo^iAt'ngonce or twice ayear. . . . A small propor- tion of the people were members of lodges ; but of 58 members, only 17 attended regularly. 5. SOCIAL AND RECREATIONAL LIFE IN CLERMONT COUNTY, OHIO (From A Rural Life Survey of Clermont County, Ohio, by the Dept. of Church and Country Life, Board of Home Missions of the Presbyterian Church in the U. S. A., 1914) Clermont County at one time was well adapted to social life. It had a social centre within two miles' distance of every farm. The farmers gathered there evenings to do their buying and get their mail and would sit around a while discussing topics of the day. The introduction of rural free delivery has changed conditions so that the farmer now has no reason for going to the village store ; therefore he stays at home to read the daily paper. The excellent electric and steam railway connections with Cincinnati make it possible for the young people to go there to work, many to live, many to seek amuse- ment on Saturday and Sunday. This changes the amuse- ment problem at home. The trolley-lines of the central and southern portions of the county on Saturday nights are crowded to overflowing. Many of the young people look to the city for amusement altogether. The boys come to the village, hitch their horses, and take the trolley 534 THE RURAL COMMUNITY for the city. This lessens the social influence of the village and the country community. The schools are not centres of social life as they once were. Thirty-one schools report having a total of 41 enter- tainments, eight of them not having any. However, it must be understood that perhaps two-thirds of these were afternoon entertainments on some special holiday. Three spelling schools and one box social are reported. All others were programmes for Christmas, last day. Thanksgiving, Arbor Day, or some other holiday. The various lodges show that the people do not care much for the social life furnished through them. Of the 42 lodges reporting, 24 are increasing and 18 are decreas- ing. It seems difficult to maintain interest in their meet- ings and it seems that if it were not for financial benefits derived from them farmers would not become or remaia members. At Owensville the Odd Fellows and Masons both have about one-half farmer membership. For four years they removed "benefits." Nearly all the farmers dropped out and at present the two lodges are very weak. They have again inserted the "benefit" clause hoping thereby to draw the farmers back into the lodge. The reasons given for the decreasing membership were usually lack of interest, or that those once interested have moved away. The average membership of the organizations in the community ranges from 29 to 68. The average at- tendance ranges from 9 to 26. Many organizations fre- quently cannot hold meetings because there is no quorum present. The church takes a decided stand on many of the forms of social activity, doing little to provide social life and at the same time condemning what exists. Two ministers opposed baseball as a form of amusement because, they said, it would draw the young people away from the church — making them indifferent, and because they ought to be earning money instead of playing. All ministers oppose Sunday baseball, because, they say, it is a breaking of the Sabbath. However, they have done little to have baseball during the week. One Method- THE PROBLEM 535 ist minister has organized a team and superintends their games, having a game every other Saturday during the summer. Sunday baseball is prevalent all over the county. Where opposition is too strong, the young boys go elsewhere to attend games or to play games. Some of the teams are not allowed to play at home. There are 15 teams in the county. Two of these play on Saturday, one at Amelia once in two weeks under the auspices of the M. E. church, and one at Milford. Thirteen play on Sunday afternoon. Three of these always play away from home; ten teams are allowed to play at home. The players would like to play on Saturday but cannot, because they have to work. Bethel Sunday-schools last year voted not to attend any games played on Sunday, and thereby drove the teams to play away from home. This year they are again making a fight against Sunday playing. Felicity and Batavia have no teams but the young boys and older ones leave town to seek amusement elsewhere. Where the churches are too weak to oppose them, they play every Sunday. Owensville has had Sun- day baseball for years. At Edenton it is said that on Sun- day afternoon nearly everyone goes, church people as well as non-church members. They have had Sunday baseball for years. Motion-pictures are opposed oy 15 ministers and favored by 8. A number of ministers and church officers said that some are good but all must be condemned, because people cannot choose and again because people get the habit. There are six such shows in the county. Everywhere they are well attended in spite of opposition. At Williamburg the pictures are of such low standard that the business people and high school pupils do not attend. Nevertheless this town of 948 population supports two shows, more than any other village in the county. At Batavia different groups of the population attend different shows. At Bethel the boys' Niagara Club, under the leadership of the cashier of the First National Bank, has a moving- picture show in the Baptist church twice a week. Each one of the 25 members sells 10 tickets to insure the cost 536 THE RURAL COMMUNITY of having the show. The proceeds go to the club. The best pictures available are secured, yet they have many of the church people to contend with. In all incorporated villages the manager of a moving-picture show has to pay a license varying from $8 a month to $3 a night. Home-talent plays were considered harmful to a com- munity by 3 ministers, while 22 saw no harm in them. The 3 ministers gave for their reasons that such plays are frivolous and detract from the church, and one minister said it broke up his revival meetings last winter. How- ever, not more than 10 home-talent plays were given in the county last year, and those were usually to raise money for the support of the church. Dancing is opposed by church people generally all over the county. It was considered harmful by 28 ministers and not harmful by 3. One minister differentiated between home and public dances, saying that home dances are not harmful if chaperoned. In some communities there are not enough young people left for dances. Goshen Town- ship has had no dances in recent years. The southern half of the county is very strongly opposed to dancing. No dances have been held there outside of Felicity, Mos- cow, and New Richmond. Batavia has an armory which is used for a dance-hall, and a dance to which all classes go is held there at least once a month. In Jackson and Stonelick townships dances are more frequent. The church leaders are strongly opposed as a rule but the membership has largely taken to dancing, except in the territory where the old Wesleyan ideas are strong. Many of the young people go to Coney Island near Cin- cinnati for dancing and other amusement in the summer. Highland Park is frequented by dancing-parties. The northern part of the county has a dance-hall at Woodland Park. Card-playing was considered harmful by 29 ministers and helpful or unharmful by one minister. The active church people all seemed very strongly opposed to this form of amusement. Throughout the county there are small groups of clubs which have card-parties at regular THE PROBLEM 537 stated times — one or two a month. These are found only in villages. Church socials in any form are considered harmful by 4 ministers and helpful by 24. Many of these, however, differentiated between a free church social and one the object of which is to raise money for the church. There were only a few of the former. The churches of Clermont County spent $40 for church socials, raising by them $3,441 for the support of the church. People seem to be tired of them — there are socials to raise money for the churches, for the schools, for the libraries, as well as for other enter- prises, such as baseball teams and orchestras. Three churches had socials in which the members provided the refreshments at their own expense in order that the social might be free to all. These socials are well attended and a good spirit prevails. The 1 1 pool-rooms in the county are patronized mostly by the young people of the villages. Twenty-two ministers opposed to them and 4 favored them. Parents active in church work in most instances opposed pool as a form of amusement because thereby the young boys are thrown into bad company and learn bad habits. Nearly all these pool-rooms had some special closing time. The pool-room at Batavia frequently was open until midnight or later. At Mt. Carmel the proprietor said that he had kept open until three o'clock in the morning the night before he was interviewed. Hie closed whenever the customers went. In some instances no one under 18 years of age is allowed to play. In Amelia no one under 16 years of age is ad- mitted. In several of the incorporated villages a license must be paid and the manager must comply with regula- tions made by the council. House-parties as a form of amusement were favored by 27 ministers and opposed by 2. These two claim that it is a loss of time and that it is a method by which the world draws young people from the church. House-parties ex- clusive of dancing-parties are not frequent. Singing-schools, though favored by all the ministers, are not in existence in the county. 538 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Literary societies were not opposed by ministers but none were found. There are no theatres in the county but many of the wealthier class and professional men of the villages go to Cincinnati to the theatres, having to stay there all night. Many others would go were it not for expense and time. The cars do not run so they can return the same night. There were lo visiting circuses in the county with an average attendance of 240. The circus is opposed by 12 ministers and favored by 13. Agricultural fairs are favored by all ministers and church people generally. The southern part of the county is not well represented at the fair. Some do not know there is one in the county. It is difficult for them to get there. The northern and central part of the county are well rep- resented. It is the social event of the year. The girls have special dresses made for the occasion and look forward to it for weeks. It is distinctly social; many go there to meet people that they know and have not seen since the last fair. Incidentally they look at the exhibits, but that is not what draws them. The races, however, are a great attraction. Tennis and croquet are indorsed by all ministers who were interviewed. However, only two public courts and one or two private courts are found in the county. Picnics are favored by all ministers and are quite com- mon. Franklin, Washington, and Ohio townships have each a township Sunday-school picnic once a year. This is well attended by both Sunday-school pupils and others. The Franklin township picnic has a programme in the afternoon of music and speeches. Forty Sunday-schools had a Sunday-school picnic within the year and 54 had none. There are many class and private picnics, such as family reunions. The young boys of the village of Bethel have been organ- ized into a club very similar to the Boy Scouts. The boys range in age from 12 to 15. There are 25 members, each one present at the meetings held once a month for an hour and a half. The social meetings are held in the homes of THE PROBLEM 539 their parents by turns. Each one must attend Sunday- school; two successive absences result in a fine of lo cents unless a very good excuse is given. The dues start with one cent, increasing one cent each week until the end of the first half of the year when they start with one cent again. Not one has fallen behind in dues. It encourages them to earn money and to save. The leader gets work for them to do. They rent vacant lots to raise vegetables, the boys doing the work and selling the produce, the pro- ceeds belonging to the club. They have a motion-picture show in a vacant room of the Baptist church. Each boy sells ID tickets to cover expenses. They do their own ad- vertising. They collect papers to sell and turn the proceeds over to the treasurer of the club. In the winter they have a club room for a reading-room. Sunday afternoon they meet there for games and reading. They have taken several short walking trips. On one occasion they walked to Cincinnati, taking the train for the return trip. They have raised about $400 in seven months with which they intend to take a trip to Niagara Falls. The railroad company has granted them half-fare rates. The National Bank of Cleveland has agreed to entertain them for a day. The churches of Detroit will entertain them while in Detroit. The boys are all work- ing together and are very much interested in all they are doing for the club. The county has one Chautauqua. It is centrally located and can be reached with little difficulty, yet it is supported only by the people of Batavia village. It has been in exist- ence for five or six years. Boating and swimming are features. The main feature is the programme. Two villages in the county have the boys organized as boy scouts. In both cases the plan seems to be successful. Social life is lacking. People talk of the social life of the past, but with changed conditions they have done nothing to change social amuseoients. Church people have opposed nearly all forms of amusement yet they do little to substitute healthful recreation or superintend those in existence. 540 THE RURAL COMMUNITY ///. POPULATION STATUS 1. FOLK DEPLETION AS A CAUSE OF RURAL DECLINE BY EDWARD ALSWORTH ROSS (From Publications of The American Sociological Society, vol. XI, March, 1917) In September, 191 1, I spent a fortnight with a friend on a walking trip in certain parts of New England in order to get terms of comparison for certain studies I was making of the people of the Middle West. The counties I visited were chiefly those which for a long time have been losing population and gaining no new industries. I talked freely with Y. M. C. A. secretaries, school principals and super- intendents, clergymen, physicians, heads of state institu- tions, officials, business men, and other intelligent citizens. The data were not secured for publication, and I now sub- mit them only in the hope that they may throw light on a problem that is presenting itself in those parts of the East and the Middle West which have contributed most heavily to the upbuilding of other commonwealths. The striking thing I found in these counties was the opinion generally held by thoughtful people that the com- munity is not up to its former standard. Whether this is the case or not, the fact that those in the best position to know think so is worthy of serious attention. There is complaint that the young people lack "ginger." A leader in boys' work said that his lads cannot be per- suaded to go on a "hike" to mountain or lake on Satur- day afternoon in order to camp there overnight. The prospect of a nine-mile walk "scared them out." Twenty might promise, but scarcely half a dozen would show up at the rendezvous. If a "rig" were provided, all were glad to go. The boys^in the larger centres were said to be more active in disposition. In the small villages there sometimes is no response to the "Boy Scout" programme. A hotel proprietor noticed that, whereas in his youth every THE PROBLEM 541 boy had some work to do and did it, now many boys be- tween fifteen and eighteen are irresponsible and worth- less, and their parents support them in idleness. The more spirited and ambitious boys keep going away, so that those who remain are rather apathetic. He remarked that the feeling of the young fellows about their baseball games with other towns does not run as high as it did in his boyhood. Some school principals observe that during recess their pupils are content to stand about and talk, chaff, and play tricks on one another instead of taking part in active games. In high school the boys show very little interest in their baseball team and when a match game with another school comes off not over half the boys and one-fifth the girls attend. Few will pay ten cents a month to support their athletic leeigue, although they spend their money freely enough on motion-picture shows. In a river community in which motor-boating is very popular, it has been found impossible to interest the young people in water-sports. Their one stimulus to sustained physical exertion is dancing. A certain Y. M. C. A. secretary said that the boys he works among display normal physical energy, but that the young men over eighteen are noticeably sluggish, owing to the fact that before the age of eighteen most of the more energetic have gone away to the cities. There was much complaint that lads quit school as soon as the law allows, and then, in spite of parental entreaties, loaf about town and go to the bad. Lack of Initiative in Young People I was astonished to learn that quite often it is necessary to show the school children how to play. Schoolmen hailing from other states were puzzled by this strange juvenile apathy. Left to themselves, the children stand about, scuffle, or play practical jokes on one another. In some cases, when shown how to play regular games, they respond eagerly and idolize the teacher who has shown them how to play. Clergymen find that if they can get 542 THE RURAL COMMUNITY a group of boys to take "hikes " in summer, skate in winter, and engage in regular sports, many of them will eventually become interested in religion and education. The usual complaint is that the young people are not interested in anything worth while, but that they play cards, dance, visit motion-picture shows, and run the streets. School principals say that it is very hard to get work out of pupils, that they have to amuse the pupils in order to get along with them. From their elders they inherit the tradition that the school is a place for fun and that the teacher is their natural enemy, to be foiled if possible. Among the pupils of the high school the corporate spirit is said to be weak. The singing-school, debating societies, and lyceums which, two generations ago, played so great a part in the life of the rural young people are no longer heard of. The only collective recreation the young people organize is the dance. There is general complaint that the rising generation is frivolous, and indifferent to all higher things. "Not a particle of zeal or ambition among the young people either in village or country districts," says a county Y. M. C. A. secretary of wide knowledge. "Those in the church won't do a thing for its institutional life," says a clergyman. "No bottom; nothing to build on," comments a religious worker. A professor in a certain college had been struck by the absence of social enthusiasms among the students. In the entire three hundred there was not one to whom the leadership of a boys' club could be in- trusted. Only the "sissy" type of young man offered himself for social service. The State of Juvenile Morals In the stagnating counties the problem of the juvenile presents itself in the acutest form in which I have ever known it. There is no provision for the recreative life of young people — no playground, meeting-place or social centre. The school playground is merely a bare area, the churches rarely offer anything social or recreative, and THE PROBLEM 543 the young people seem to have lost the power to use the schoolhouse in the old ways. Said a town official to me, "One of the greatest problems before the American people to-day is what to do with the young people in the evening." He did not know that in many localities the problem has been met and solved. "Hanging about the streets" is rife and "haunting the pool-rooms" is growing. Cigarette smoking is general among the boys and meets with little or no parental opposition. Sex consciousness arrives early and, in the absence of competing interests, the effects are alarming. As regards the relations between boys and girls, it would be idle for me to present here such statements as were given to me, for they would be received with a shout of incredulity. However, they are not in the least abnormal or against nature. They are precisely what may be ex- pected under the three conditions of lack of wholesome and innocent recreation, absence of religious influences, and want of parental supervision. "Talk about the purity of the open country !" said one, "The moral conditions among our country boys and girls are worse than in the lowest tenement house in New York. In the cities the youth has interests, something to take his mind oflf his instincts. Here life in the isolated farm houses during the winter is apt to be lonely and dreary for young people. Nobody to see, nobody going by. What is more natural than that the boys should get together in the bam and while away the long winter evenings talk- ing obscenity, telling filthy stories, recounting sex exploits, encouraging one another in vileness, perhaps indulging in unnatural practices?" The head of a state institution said that his most sodden and hopeless cases of moral de- terioration came from isolated homes among the hills. He believes that 75 per cent of the bad boys and girls who are not mentally deficient could have been saved if they had been provided with proper play and recreation. 544 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Parental Indifference Lament over the inattention or indifference of parents to the morals of their children was universal among those I met. A state Y. M. C. A. officer said to me that among the hundreds of boys in his boys' clubs he had found but two who had been instructed by their parents in matters of sex. In some parts most parents give their daughters no instruction in sex, with the result that the girls may go wrong without the slightest knowledge of the possible consequences. It is said that parents don't pretend to know where their sons and daughters are in the evenings and don't care. They are ignorant of the evil effects of premature sex life, and have no concern about the con- duct of their young people. The want of public spirit and the absorption of well- to-do people in their private pursuits and pleasures is said to be very marked. In one town a responsible man de- clared that "eight out of ten business men here contribute nothing to the leadership of the social life of the community. Their wives play bridge, entertain one another, tipple on the sly, and in some cases do worse. Their interest in home, or church, or school is very slight." In another town I was told that men who are prominent or in a posi- tion to exert an uplift influence refuse to take a moral stand on any matter for fear of losing their customers or clients, hurting their business relations, or raising their taxes. Church Inertia The clergymen are often alive to the situation and wish to socialize the work of the church so as to make it a posi- tive influence in the lives of the young people, but their deacons and trustees will not allow the building to be used for anything but worship. As a consequence the church is declining in attendance and support and in some com- munities has come to be a negligible factor. I was told that in the open country people never think of going to church. THE PROBLEM 545 and many youths- have never seen the inside of a sacred edifice. Earnest men in the pulpit and out of it complain that the church does not make itself felt on moral issues such as liquor, divorce, and juvenile vice. They lament that it is not conscious of a mission to the community. Many of the younger clergymen have a social message, but under the circumstances they are quite powerless. Said one clergyman, "The stubborn individualism of the old deacons and elders is breaking the hearts of the earnest pastors up here. The conservative members are killing the church." The Interpretation Some of my informants offered no explanation of these bad tendencies. Some look upon them as the trend of the age, and imagine that the whole American people is going to the dogs. Others think that people about them have degenerated. The explanation which occurred to me, because the phenomena I noticed do not differ essen- tially from what may be observed in certain rural parts of a dozen older states, I laid before at least a score of in- telligent persons and not one disputed its plausibility. It seems to me that the root of the trouble is not folk degeneration but folk depletion. Certain of the counties visited had more rural population eighty years ago than they have to-day. For three, even four, generations the hemorrhage has been going on. If the emigration to the cities and to the West had carried away just average per- sons, it could not affect the characteristics of the people; but if those who left were unusual in respect to some native quality, then their leaving would impoverish the people in respect to this quality. Perhaps the trait most distinctive of those who cut their moorings in order to follow the call of distant opportunity is the spirit of initiative. They have it in them to make a start, in spite of home ties, the bonds of habit, and the restraints of prudence. Had they not emigrated, their spirit of initiative would have shown itself along other lines. They would have been among the first in the com- 546 THE RURAL COMMUNITY munity to change their method of farming, to introduce some new crop, to embark in an untried industry, or to promote some community enterprise. A heavy outflow of this element need not leave the community poorer in physique, or brains, or character, but it does leave it poorer in natural leaders. This is serious because natural leaders are of the ut- most value to society. Not only is it they who launch improvements, but they perform a peculiar service in keeping up to the mark the various institutions which minister to the higher life of the community. The bulk of the people are unable to start or direct those institu- tions, although they appreciate and support them when once they exist. Often have I seen a depressing slump in the religious, social, and recreative life of a neighborhood, following the moving away of two or three families of initiative. Usually those who insist upon and know how to get good schools, vigorous churches, and abundant means for social enjoyment, are a minority, often a very small minority. My own observation is that frequently the loss of even the best tenth will cut down by 50 per cent the effective support the community gives to higher interests. The continual departure of young people who would in time have become leaders results eventually in a visible moral decline of the community. The roads are neglected, which means less social intercourse and a smaller turnout to school and church and public events. School buildings and grounds deteriorate, and the false idea takes root that it pays to hire the cheaper teacher. The church gets into a rut, fails to start up the social and recreative activities which bind the young people to it, and presently ceases to be a force. Frivolity engrosses the young because no one organizes singing-schools, literary societies, or debat- ing clubs. Presently a generation has grown up that has missed the uplifting and refining influence of these com- munal institutions. There is a marked decline in standards of individual and family morality. Many couples become too self-centred to be willing to rear children. It is noticed THE PROBLEM 547 that people are not up to the level of their forefathers, that they are coarser in their tastes and care less for higher things. Vice and sensuality are not so restrained as of yore. The false opinion goes abroad that the community is "degenerate" and therefore past redemption. All this may result from the continual abstraction from a normal population of too many of that handful of born leaders which is needed to leaven the social lump. Let no one imagine that the symptoms of folk depletion are confined to the stagnating counties of New England. This phenomenon has a wider range than most people suspect. The disfranchisement of seventeen hundred citizens of an Ohio rural county for selling their votes lets in a ray on the dry rot of spots that have missed the elec- trifying touch of railroad or city. The knots of gaping tobacco-chewing loafers that haunt the station platform in some parts of Indiana indicate that the natural pace- makers of that locality have gone to create prosperity elsewhere. In parts of southern Michigan, Illinois, Wis- consin, and even as far west as Missouri there are com- munities which remind one of fished-out ponds populated chiefly by bullheads and suckers. I have not come upon the phenomenon, however, in Minnesota, Iowa, or the states farther west. On the basis of wide studies, Dr. Warren H. Wilson, head of the Church and Country Life Department of the Presbyterian Board of Home Missions declares: Allowing for some exceptions, not too numerous, it may be said that throughout the prosperous and productive farming regions of the United States, which have been settled for fifty years, community life has disappeared. There is no play for the children; there is no recreation for young people; there are no adequate opportunities for acquaintance and marriage for young men and women; there is not a sufficient educational system for the needs of country people, and there is not for the average man or woman born in the country an economic oppor- tunity within reach of his birthplace, such as will satisfy even modest desires. There is not in a weak community that satis- faction of social instinct which makes it "a good place to live in." Time was in New England and New York and Pennsylvania 548 THE RURAL COMMUNITY when there was a community to which every farmer belonged with some pleasure and pride. The absence of community life throughout these country regions expresses to-day what one man calls "the intolerable condition of country life." ' If tHis wide-spread moral sag betokened a degeneration of the people, what an appalling prospect would lie be- fore us ! But, as I see it, only rarely is degeneration pres- ent. The bulk of the people in these rural counties are essentially like the bulk of Americans of the same stock in any other part of the country. They are normal, not subnormal. Their engrossment in business and pleasure, their indifference to cultural and spiritual interests, their lack of public spirit, are precisely what you would find in most other communities but for the presence of a cer- tain small minority who set strict standards of private conduct, family life, and child upbringing, and persuade the majority that looser standards and practices are "low." It is these who take the lead in communal undertakings, better roads, schools, churches, and organized school life. The children of the rest are enlightened and refined by the influences radiating from such agencies and thus the moral plane of the community rises from generation to generation. No doubt community decline from folk depletion has been occurring sporadically for thousands of years. If it has remained for our time to diagnose the disease and its cause, it is because the double attraction of city and frontier, coupled with the influence of schools and news- papers, has depleted our old rural communities with an unprecedented rapidity. But there are indications that ours is not the only country affected with the malady. From England, Italy, and Scandinavia come tales of rural populations retrograding, owing to the loss of their am- bitious units by emigration. ■ Publications of the American Sociological Society, V, 174. THE PROBLEM 549 2. A MENTAL SURVEY OF THE SCHOOL POPULATION OF A VILLAGE BY RUDOLF PINTNER (From School and Society, May 19, 1917) The development of mental tests has made us familiar with the concept of level of intelligence and we are at the present time able to make relatively accurate nieasure- ments of the level of intelligence of individuals by the use of the standard scales for mental measurement. The next logical step is to search for some means whereby we can measure the generzil level of intelligence of a community. The practical advantage of a mental survey, as we may call it, in connection with a social survey is obvious and is bound to throw much light upon social conditions. Ideally a mental survey should include all the individuals in a community, but, at the present time, it is only pos- sible to test the school population, and to draw conclusions as to the mentality of the community from the mental level of its school children. Just how much the mentality of the community resembles the mentality of the school population, it is at present impossible to tell, but it would, seem reasonable to suppose that the resemblance is a fairly close one. Assuming such to be the case, the practical question of testing all the school children (or at least those in the grades) is raised. We have several excellent scales for the measurement of general intelligence (Binet, Yerkes, Terman), but the drawback of these scales for survey work is apparent when it is called to mind that it requires from thirty to sixty minutes to test one child. If a corps of workers and the requisite amount of time were available, then the use of individual examinations by means of the standard intelligence scales would be best. In most cases, however, neither of these desiderata is available, partic- ularly if the number of children to be tested is large. With the help of a few assistants it may be necessary to 550 THE RURAL COMMUNITY go through a school system in a day or a few days, de- pending upon the size of the school system. Attempts to estimate intelligence without the help of tests must be more or less guesswork. Relying upon the opinions of teachers or superintendents is dangerous.^ Further- more, in many cases it is questionable whether exact meas- urements, such as the intelligence scales give, are needed for survey purposes. If we wish to obtain a rough mental survey of a school system, it is a waste of time to employ these elaborate methods. If we are not so much concerned with the individual as with the group, a few tests may serve the purpose. With this end in view I have been working with five group tests, and using the combined result obtained from these tests as an index of the child's mentality, and the median mentality of all the children of a group as an index of the mentality of the group. The tests were chosen from those that have been used extensively in many psycholog- ical investigations and have proved themselves of decided value. The practical exigencies of the work set a time limit upon the examination. The child must not be fatigued nor must too great an encroachment be made upon the time of the school. If the testing can be carried out with little interruption of the routine work of the school, so much the better. The five tests chosen were found to hold the interest of the children and have proved practicable in every re- spect. Four of the five tests are time-limit tests requiring altogether i6 minutes' work, and one test is a memory test with no definite time limit taking about lo to 20 min- utes. As a rule the giving of the tests takes from one and a half to two and a half hours, which includes the time devoted to explanation, the distribution and collection of the test papers. The lower grades take the longer time. These tests, described below, have been given to ap- proximately 2,500 children for the purpose of establishing ' Pintner, R., "The Mentality of the Dependent Child, together with a Plan for a Mental Survey of an Institution," Jour, of Educ. Psych., to appear in the April, 1917, issue. THE PROBLEM 551 norms.' The work to be reported here is a mental survey of the school population in the grades of a village of 913 inhabitants. The total number of children tested by the group tests is 154. The tests were all given by the same individual.* A very thorough social survey of the village was made at the same time. The chief facts of this social survey showed: (i) A decreasing population, mostly na- tive-bom Americans; (2) lack of reading in the homes; (3) poor recreation facilities; (4) poor business spirit; (5) high school graduates tend to leave the village; (6) in- habitants relatively well-to-do, in as much as two-thirds of the families own their own homes and one out of every five has an automobile; (7) death-rate remarkably low. The mental survey of the school population was merely one of the items of the social survey. The Tests. — Five group tests were used : (i) Rote memory for concrete words — no time-limit; (2) digit-symbol — time-limit five minutes; (3) symbol-digit — time-limit five minutes; (4) word building — time-limit five minutes; (5) easy opposites — time-limit one minute. The method of procedure in giving and scoring the tests is that laid down by Pyle.' For a description of the tests the reader must be referred to the works of Pyle* and of Whipple.^ Method of Computing Mental Index. — After the test blanks had been scored the results were evaluated by ref- erence to the norms established by the writer. These norms are based upon approximately 2,500 cases. For each age, from age 6 to age 15, tables of percentiles for each test have been constructed, showing the score made by the lo-percentile child, the 20-percentile child and so on up to the 100- percentile child. Each individual's per- formance on the tests is then given a percentile score by ' These results will be published shortly. ■ The writer wishes to thank Miss Lilian Coler, at that time graduate student in the department of psychology at Ohio State University, for her assistance in giving the tests. The writer himself is alone responsible for the treatment of the data. » Pyle, W. H., The Examinalion of School Children, New York, 1913, p. 70. * Pyle, op. cit. • Whipple, G. M., Manual of Mental and Physical Tests, Baltimore, 1915. 552 THE RURAL COMMUNITY reference to these tables and the performance is always compared to the performances of children of the same age. A seven-year-old's performance on the tests is com- pared with what other seven-year-olds have done. In arriving at the percentile score rough interpolation was made between ten percentile points. The median of the five percentile scores thus obtained indicates the men- tality of the child. A card was made out for each child upon which these scores were recorded and reference to it may make the method clearer. A sample record is given here: EDITH S. GRADE III. AGE 7 Score Percentile Rote memory. Digit-symbol.. Symbol-digit.. Word building Opposites 16 9.8 I o I 50 83 43 20 40 Median percentile 43 The card is to be read as follows: Edith S., in the third grade, seven years old, made a score of 16 on the rote memory test and this score corresponds to what a 50 per cent seven-year-old makes, i. e., of the 315 seven-year-olds upon which the norms are based, the 50 per cent or middle child makes a score of 16. In the digit-symbol test this child scores 9.8 or about what the 83 per cent seven-year- old child scores. And so on for the other tests. The median percentile score for the child is 43 and this may be taken as an index of the child's mentality. We shall refer to it as the mental index. A glance at the different percentiles shows us that this child did well on one test (percentile of 83), poor on another (percentile of 20), and about aver- age on the other three tests. The advantages of this method are that a child is al- ways compared with children of his own age and further- more the mental indices of children of different ages are directly comparable, THE PROBLEM 553 TABLE XXVII MEDIAN INDEX FOR EACH GRADE Grade Number of children Medium index 2 21 I6 19 31 28 24 15 15 44 40 30 49 50 50 3 A S 6 7 8 The Results. — Having arrived in the above fashion at the mental index for each of the 154 children, we are now able to obtain the average mentality of each grade and of the whole school. Table XXVII shows the number of chil- dren in each grade and the median mental index for each grade. It is to be read as follows: In the second grade there are 21 children and the median mental index of this group of children is 15; in the third grade there are 16 children and the index for the grade is 44; and so on. It will be noted that the second grade has a very low index. No reason for this Wcis found. In the other grades the range of the index is from 30 to 50. This range is not great and indicates uniformity in the mental make-up of the children in these grades. TABLE XXVIII DISTRIBUTION OF INDICES ACCORDING TO PERCENTILES Percentile Number Percent 0-9 4 2.6 10-19 18 II.7 20-29 27 17-5 30-39 17 II.O 40-49 28 18.2 50-59 22 14-3 60-69 16 10.4 70-79 16 104 80-89 5 3-2 90-100 I 0.7 Total 154 1 00.0 554 THE RURAL COMMUNITY The distribution according to ten percentile units of all the children in the school is shown in Table XXVIII. The table shows the number and percentage of children whose mental indices fall in each of the ten divisions. There are four children, or 2.6 per cent of the total, having mental indices from o to 9. Eighteen have indices from 10 to 19 and this is 1 1.7 per cent of the total number of children, and so on. Only one child has an index of 90 or above. The largest number in any one group is 28 or 18.2 per cent with indices, between 40 and 49. The next largest number have indices between 20 and 29, and the next largest have indices between 50 and 59. It is obvious from an inspec- tion of this table that more children fall below an index of 50 than above it. As a matter of fact there are 94 cases with an index below 50 and only 60 cases with an index of 50 and above. An index of 50 represents average men- tality, and therefore the school as a whole is evidently somewhat below average in mental ability. TABLE XXIX Class Percentile range Number Percent Very bright 100-90 89-75 74-25 24-10 9-0 I 9 lOI 39 4 0.7 5.8 65.6 25-3 2.6 Bright Normal Backward Dull Total 154 1 00.0 An attempt to interpret these indices has been made by means of a division into five classes. All children hav- ing indices of 90 or above are called very bright ; children having indices between 75 and 89 are called bright; chil- dren between 25 and 74 are called normal; those between 10 and 24 backward; and those below 10 dull. The re- sults of this classification are shown in Table XXIX. The table gives the number and percentage in each class. Figure i shows these same results graphically. The largest percentage falls naturally in the normal errouo. The nevt THE PROBLEM 555 largest percentage is found in the backward group. The much larger number in this group (25.3 per cent) as con- trasted with the small number (5.8 per cent) in the bright group is the salient feature of this school system. It pos- sesses a disproportionately large number of backward children. In addition we note the very small percentage of very bright cases. The percentage of dull cases does not appear to be abnormally large. It seems to be about up to expectation. I believe that many of the children V. Bright Bright Normal Badcwaid Dull in this group would prove to be feeble-minded after more rigid examination. The median index of mentality of all the 154 cases is 40. This may be taken as the index of the school system. The mentality of the school is a 40 per cent mentality. It is 10 per cent below normal. This does not mean that the mentality of the group is very bad, but merely slightly below an all-round average school. The characteristics of the school are: an adequate proportion of normal chil- dren; too many backward as compared with bright chil- dren; and a great lack of very bright children. It is interesting to compare these results of the mental survey with those of the social survey. Perhaps the large 556 THE RURAL COMMUNITY proportion of backward children and the small proportion of bright children may be due to the facts brought out in the social survey, namely, that high school graduates tend to leave the village and that the population is de- creasing. In all probability the more intelligent families are leaving the community. If this emigration has been going on for some time, it may have drained the community of its brighter citizens and left a disproportionate number of people of lower mentality. The community is pros- perous or, rather, well-off, but this shows itself mainly in the possession of very earthly goods, such as houses and automobiles, whereas the survey explicitly mentions "a lack of home library facilities." "Three out of every ten homes have a library of less than 15 books." The great number of families in this village are not great readers. There is no public library. In conclusion it must be said that this work must be regarded as tentative and as pointing the way to a method rather than the result of an already perfected technic. Attempts to make mental surveys are new and I offer this merely as an example of what may be done. In the future this work will doubtless increase rapidly and more and better tests will be utilized. Summary, (i) An attempt has been made to use group tests for a rough mental survey of a school system. (2) A set of five tests has been used to get a rough idea of the mentality of the children. (3) Performance on these tests has been evaluated in terms of percentile ability for each age, as previously standardized on 2,500 cases. (4) The median percentile score of the five tests has been used as the mental index of the child. (5) These indices allow an estimation of the mentality of each grade and of the whole school. (6) The school tested has a median mental index of 40, which is to be interpreted as slightly below normal. (7) The chief characteristics of the school seem to be the lack of very bright and bright children and the great number of backward children. THE PROBLEM 557 3. HOW RURAL DEPOPULATION IS AFFECTING A NEBRASKA COUNTY BY ARNOLD MARTIN (From The Nebraska Farmer, January 24, 1912) The last census has shown that we have lost out in rural population in southeastern Nebraska. Within the past ten years since the land began to increase in price we have lost eleven families in my neighborhood. Eight of these had landed property within two or three miles from town. None of them were in hard circumstances; they did not have to sell out. Their "forties" and "eighties" have been bought up by their neighbors. Some of the houses have been taken up and moved and some have been left empty. You may take a day's drive in any direction and find old homesteads similar to these in our neighborhood. The houses are partly fallen down, and sometimes the old orchard or grove is left to mark the spot where once was a home. Not only is the country losing population, but at pres- ent it is commencing on the smaller towns. In one week forty-seven persons left the county seat to make their homes in Texas. How does this adding of small farms to larger farms affect these small country towns? How does it affect the country schools? How does it affect the taxpayers ? I will state right here that if we keep on going in the same direction we are now headed, we will pay more taxes in the future. As the country grows older and we want to keep up with the progress of the world, it will take more taxes to keep up public improvements such as good roads and good schools. And as the popula- tion thins out the burdens will fall heavier on those who are left. It is a fact that many of the owners of forty and eighty- acre farms pay more taxes on personal property than some of the owners of l6o-acre farms. Adjoining me is an im- proved farm of 185 acres, and another of 100 acres; the men on these farms each pay less taxes on personal prop- 558 THE RURAL COMMUNITY erty than I pay on a farm only one-fifth as large as the smaller of the two farms mentioned. What would those eleven families we have lost from this neighborhood contribute toward keeping up the cost of government through taxation — the making of good roads, better schools, etc. ? How much trade would they bring to the small country village? How does this loss affect the social life in the neighborhood, and the schools particularly ? As director of a school district for the past eight years, I have seen the number of pupils in our school decrease from thirty-five in 1904 to twelve this season. An adjoining district has only six pupils in attendance. The free high school law also helps to make empty desks in our country schools. What interest can a child have in its studies when he is alone in a class with no competition ? Years ago our schoolhouse was a place to gather, old and young, to take hold of an evening programme at reg- ular intervals every winter. Then we had debating of up-to-date questions, music, and all kinds of entertain- ment. It Wcis all free. Often the town people would come out and take hold and enjoy it with us. Sunday-school was also held in our schoolhouse then. To-day nothing is going on in the country. Country people have to go to town and hand out hard cash to get entertainment. The small country town also feels the effect of decreas- ing rural population in a smaller volume of business. Here is a little table showing the number of businesses, profes- sions, and institutions in our town years ago and to-day: Years ago To-day General merchandise stores Blacksmith shops Physicians Drug stores Hardware stores Livery bams Churches Real estate offices Restaurants 4 2 3 I 3 I 1 I 3 2 2 I 3 2 3 I 2 I THE PROBLEM 559 Years ago the town had a commercial club, electric lights and a good local band. All three are now out of commission. Every other business is cut in proportion. Within the last few years the mail order houses are doing a great business, and this seems to be increasing from year to year. Many business men are asking about the cause, and wondering why they don't get as much business as they got years ago. I believe that the first reason is that we have lost so heavily in rural population. Another reason for smaller business in country towns is that the auto- mobile and 2-cent fare enable people to travel some dis- tance to larger towns and cities where they may have a larger stock of goods to select from or more up-to-date styles. I have not yet begun to patronize the mail-order houses. Give me a live business man and ready cash in my hand, and I think I can do as well at home as by ordering by mail. This has been my experience. I see what I am getting, and the man on the other side of the counter must stand behind the goods he sells to me. The country needs the town as well as the town needs the country. The question of the saloons bringing business to coun- try towns is often brought forward. The saloon can't make good what we lost through rural depopulation; the saloons can't bring the business that the mail-order houses are getting. A few years ago before the smaller farms were added to the larger farms, the men on the smaller farms allowed their boys and girls to work out, and the problem of hired help was solved. The old men had money out on interest. Then they went to work and bought out the next farm so as to keep the boys and girls at home and made a small payment on the farm. Now we find that many of those men made more clear money on what the boys and girls earned by working out than they are making on the land they bought. The history of our neighborhood shows that on the farms which have been bought and added to other farms crop 560 THE RURAL COMMUNITY rotation is not practised — corn every year until they are so foul with weeds that the owners are forced to sow them to small grain to grow corn again. Com growing is be- coming unprofitable even at 60 cents per bushel on many of those farms. 4. MENTAL DEFECTIVES AMONG RURAL PEOPLE (Excerpts from "Mental Defectives in Indiana; a Survey of Ten Counties") Character and Method of Survey Indiana does not fear that the situation in regard to the defective members of her population is any worse in this State than in others. It is the desire to know how intense the problem is that has instigated this present survey as well as the investigation of "A" and "B" coun- ties in 1916. The report of this previous work "Mental Defectives in Indiana" was published by the Indiana Board of State Charities in November of that year, the findings being summarized again in this report. Every county described in these pages might esisily find a counterpart in practically any other State in the Union. Details differ in each of the counties, but the light thrown upon the living habits and economic failures of Indiana's feeble-minded should help to illumine the prob- lem wherever it exists. The material gathered in the course of this survey did not have psychological research as its primary object, but it is sufficiently exact to offer a valuable foundation for future scientific study. Throughout the investigation the purpose has been to ascertain first, where; second, of what type; third, how dangerous to the community; and, fourth, how many are the mental defectives in In- diana. The gathering of extensive and complete eugenical rec- THE PROBLEM 56 1 ords has been relegated to a minor place in this investiga- tion, family histories being followed out only within county liniits and then solely as a means of obtaining a more com- plete census of defectives in the county under observation. As the work progressed, however, and information ac- cumulated, the relationship of defective families assumed significant proportions. It is obvious that the success of an investigation of the character of this survey would in large measure depend upon the tact and caution of the field workers as well as upon their knowledge and experience in regard to mental deficiency. It is important to gather as much information as possible with the least publicity. Therefore, as pre- liminary, an interview was always arranged with the local newspapers of the county wherein the survey was about to operate, the editors being requested to take no notice either of the investigators or of their activities. Physicians and teachers were practically the only per- sons notified of the coming survey. Invariably some member of the Committee on Mental Defectives preceded the survey and addressed the county medical association, outlining the work to be done and making a request for co-operation. Public school-teachers were addressed by the investigators, the purpose of the survey explained and the subject of mental deficiency discussed. Frequently, in addition, special teachers' meetings were arranged by the various school principals for this purpose. The necessity for the education of public opinion was apparent at every turn. In the early days of the survey considerable public speaking before clubs and societies was attempted, but as the work progressed it seemed wiser to approach only such individuals as might give definite aid through their knowledge of conditions in the com- munity. Political and social leaders were interviewed to ac- quaint them with the problem Indiana faces in regard to her defectives and to insure comprehending support of the State's attempts toward its solution. In arranging the work in each succeeding county the 562 THE RURAL COMMUNITY investigators, for the nucleus of their information, de- pended upon the following sources: Physicians, School Authorities, Township Trustees (Overseers of the Poor), Persons or Organizations Interested in Community Welfare, State Records of Charitable and Correctional Insti- tutions, County Clerks' Records, County Judges, County Prosecutors. The information gained from the above constituted the framework upon which was hung the thousand de- tails of the actual "survey." The word of physicians was always accepted as sufficient diagnosis in regard to the insane and epileptic members of the community. Physi- cians also gave evidence concerning the more pronounced cases of feeble-mindedness. The moron or high-grade types of feeble-mindedness were most quickly located through the charitable agencies and the schools. Children reported as defective were examined by the Binet test during the months school was in session. The teachers showed instant co-operation and clamored for more of this clinical work than there was time to give. The information gleaned from all possible sources was followed up by friendly home visits by the investigators, who, after observing the living conditions, and conversing with the family, were able to draw conclusions in regard to type and degree of mental defect. Along the roadside there were often many other houses to be found which by their forlorn and unkempt exteriors tried to tell of the unfortunates they sheltered. A casual visit into such poor homes usually added names to the growing list of defectives. The study of the problem of mental defectives in In- THE PROBLEM 563 diana has been the work of Governor Goodrich's com- mittee. The adjustment of the problems concerned is in the hands of the understanding public. Definition of Groups of Mental Defectives In this survey the term, mental defective, includes the insane, the epileptic, and the feeble-minded. There is popular confusion of the terms "feeble-minded" and "in- sane." Insanity in its various forms is recognized and provided for, while feeble-mindedness is misunderstood and underestimated and the problem of public care for the feeble-minded is barely touched upon around the edges. An insane person is one incapacitated as the result of a mental disease. Such disease usually results from other disease or injury of the brain and nervous system, yet sometimes has its origin in diseases of the more remote organs of the body. It is a disease of adult life and with few exceptions develops at or after the period of adoles- cence. Many cases of insanity are plainly hereditary in nature and are the result of the breaking down of a trans- mitted susceptible mental and nervous organization. It is curable or incurable, depending upon the form, the cause, and individual development of the person affected, and early treatment. The vast majority of Ccises are prevent- able. An epileptic is a person subject to "falling sickness," or periodical convulsive seizures, generally called epilepsy. The term epilepsy, as used by the medical profession does not stand for a thoroughly well-defined disease, but in- cludes a multiplicity of conditions characterized by uncon- sciousness associated with convulsions. While the causes of epilepsy are unknown, it is an established fact that con- ditions favoring its development are transmitted from parent to offspring, and the tendency of the disorder is in the direction of mental deterioration, and not infre- quently results in complete mental dilapidation. While the condition is usually incurable, convulsions may be 564 THE RURAL COMMUNITY reduced in frequency and mental deterioration controlled in some degree by treatment and wholesome, well-directed employment under proper surroundings. Feeble-mindedness is an "arrest of mental development" somewhere between infancy and twelve years of age. It may be defined as a state of mental defect existing from birth or from an early age, and due to incomplete or ab- normal mental development, in consequence of which the person afflicted is permanently incapable of perform- ing his duties as a member of society in any position. The feeble-minded person may be of any chronological age, but his mental condition is indicated by a mental age corre- sponding to the ages of children from infancy to twelve years. For example, a man may be 32 years old and have a mental age of 6, which means he can comprehend only things that are possible to the mind of a six-year-old child. Feeble-mindedness is incurable and is transmitted from parent to offspring. Many of those afflicted can be trained to some degree of usefulness under supervision. Classification of the Feeble-Minded The feeble-minded are by far the greatest in number of the three classes of mental defectives. Classification of this group according to mental age and industrial ability gives a convenient angle from which to judge them. There are three grades of feeble-mindedness: Idiot, Imbecile, Moron. An Idiot is a person with a mentality of a child of two years or less. He can feed himself, perhaps, but other- wise is unable to attend to his personal wants. He does not talk, has no appreciation of danger, and has to be shielded from the common risks of fire and moving vehicles like a very little child. The Imbecile may attain to the mental grasp of a child anywhere between the ages of three and seven. He can be taught cleanly personal habits and simple routine tasks under constant supervision. He talks but cannot learn to read more than simple printed words. Idiots and im- THE PROBLEM 565 beciles represent a pitiful spectacle that makes an easy appeal for the best institutional care. The Moron mentality ranges between the ages of eight and twelve years. Thus he is frequently able to com- prehend school work up to the fourth or fifth grade, and may be taught to do fairly complicated tasks involving the use of machinery or the care of animals. Once he is trained, the details of his work may require only occasional supervision, but all planning must be managed for him as he has no judgment or foresight, and is helpless with- out the direction of competent guardians. The morons are more nearly like the rest of us — they may even appear normal. They make no emotional appeal, and they are seldom recognized by laymen, except to receive condemna- tion for the failures they cannot prevent. Given the phys- ical strength and the muscular experience of adults, these morons are able to do many things that are done by ordi- nary normal individuals. Common laboring work as a rule falls to their lot, but many can successfully attempt the less exacting forms of factory work. Their weakness is invariably brought out in their family and social reac- tions — their lack of self-control, the foolish ways in which their money is spent, their childish unconcern for the future, and the amiable indifference with which they ac- cept disorder, dirt, and disease. Morons — The Great Social Menace Chief among the causes of feeble-mindedness is heredity. It is a fact that idiots and most imbeciles do not bring children into the world. This leaves the propagation of our defectives to a few imbeciles and the morons. The family of the moron is 2.4 times as great as the family of the normal person. A conservative estimate of the number of cases of feeble-mindedness due to heredity puts the proportion at 65 per cent. The other 35 per cent of the cases are sporadic, barely more than one in a family. Such cases are due to accidents to child or mother previous to birth, accidents after birth, some childish diseases, such 566 THE RURAL COMMUNITY as spinal meningitis, deprivation of one or more senses, and other possible causes. The bulk of the causation is proven to be heredity — "like father, like son." It is found that the hereditary cases are the offspring of mental ages from seven to twelve years. This is the moron's big part in the problem. The salient fact is this: they are not recognized until their social, economic and educational failures draw the condemnation of public welfare authori- ties upon their defenseless heads. With the mental equip- ment of children they are expected to conduct themselves as adults. They fail pitifully. INDUSTRIAL CLASSIFICATION Mental Age FROM VINELAKD LABORATORY Under I year (a) Helpless, (b) Can walk, (c) Has vol- untary regard. Low Idiot I year Feeds self. Eats everything. Middle 2 years Eats discriminatingly. High 3years No work. Plays a little. Low Imbecile 4 years Tries to help. 5 years Only simplest tasks. Middle 6 years Tasks of short duration. Washes dishes. High 7 years Little errands in the house. Dusts. 8 years Errands. Light work. Makes beds. Low Moron 9 years Heavier work. Scrubs. Mends. Lays bricks. Cares for bathroom. 10 years Good institution helpers. Routine work. Middle II years Fairly complicated work with only occa- sional oversight. High 12 years Uses machinery. Can care for animals. No supervision. Cannot plan. the problem 567 Discussion of Data "C" County This county is situated on a river in the "blue lime- stone country." Its topography presents the usual varia- tion of the river counties : rich bottom lands, river terraces, steep hillsides, rough broken uplands and upland flats. Not all the land in the county is under cultivation; pos- sibly a fourth of its area is still in forest and marsh. As for existing agricultural conditions, while fine farms are numerous, there seems to be an opinion that the fertility of the soil has deteriorated under the wasteful methods of the past few generations. The first white men arrived in what is now "C" county soon after the close of the Revolutionary War, coming from Virginia and Kentucky. The colony grew rapidly at first, but throughout the years it has not maintained its growth ; in fact, in the early 50's the county population numbered considerably more than at the present time. The interests of "C" county have remained agricul- turzJ. Little manufacturing concerns have been promoted from time to time in the county seat, but in few cases have they prospered enough to Wcirrant continued existence. Lack of adequate transportation facilities can in large measure explain this. "C" county is dependent entirely upon its roads and the river for communication with the outside world, and in certain seasons of the year both roads and river are closed to traffic. The same conditions militate against the maintaining of school standards. In some parts of the county schools are of necessity closed during the flood season of the year, a serious matter when, at best, the school year is only seven months out of the twelve. "C" county people in general are kindly, conservative folk, proud of their liter- ary traditions and with a most decided taste for education and culture. The defective members of the population seem to be evenly recruited from degenerate members of fine old 568 THE RURAL COMMUNITY families, "C" county inhabitants for several generations, and from the present steady influx of undesirable im- migration from neighboring States. Further investigation might easily show these families to be of kindred strains. On account of the unusual isolation of the county these strains will certainly continue to multiply in the same or in greater ratio than in the past. In proportion to population the percentage of mental defectives from "C" county now under care in State in- stitutions is higher than any other county in the State. MENTAL DEFECTIVES IN "C" COUNTY, 1918 Location Fecble-Minded In- sane Epi- leptic Total defec- tives Moron Im- bedle Idiot Total In Community Institutional care not needed . . . Institutional care needed Total in Community 35 105 10 31 3 48 136 8 8 19 I 75 145 140 41 2 3 I 1S4 3 16 2 20 I 220 6 In Public Institutions County Orphans' Home School for Feeble-Minded Youth Epileptic Village I 5 6 6 I 23 2 I Hosoital for Insane 23 I Indiana State Prison I I Indiana State Reformatory Indiana Woman's Prison Indiana Boys' School Indiana Girls* School 7 7 7 Total in Institutions 9 7 I 17 26 2 45 Grand Total 149 48 4 201 42 22 265 Proportion of population defective, 2.7 per cent. 'D" County "D" county, located in the northeastern part of In- diana, is rolling, even roughly hilly in parts, and presents a certain amount of so-called waste land in numerous THE PROBLEM 569 forests, swamps and marshes. The soil shows consider- able variation throughout the county, being stony in some localities, light and sandy in others, and low and heavy with clay elsewhere. Thus the land has not been of easy cultivation; and as comfortable, well-tilled farms are the rule in this region one is forced to admire the courage and persistence of those hardy pioneers and their descendants who have accomplished so much in spite of great disad- vantages. "D" county is unique in that nearly 90 per cent of the population is native born and 75 per cent is of native stock of two or more generations. A large proportion of the early settlers came from western New York. Some were from New England ; in fact one of the country towns was settled almost entirely by Vermont people and retains to this day its characteristic New England atmosphere. It is said that as the early pioneers pushed their way west- ward they were attracted by the wild beauty of the region, which greatly resembled the country they left behind, and in spite of the fact that the fertile open prairie-land lay just beyond, they were impelled to locate in surround- ings so familiar and attractive. The people of the county are exceedingly democratic in their social relationships, are strongly individualistic, straightforward and independent, hence many leaders have come from among them. Agricultural interests dominate in "D" county. From time to time a number of manufacturing projects have been started at the county seat, but few have had solid enough footing to maintain their existence. Railroad communication and service is far from adequate. New- comers are rare aside from the seasonal influx of summer visitors. There are no charitable agencies other than the office of the township trustee, the county boards of chari- ties and children's guardians, to which may be added the semi-occasional activities of church organizations operat- ing chiefly at Christmas-time. As in other places, the existence of mentally defective persons in the county is disclaimed by the average citizen, 570 THE RURAL COMMUNITY zealous for the good name of his county. The problem is, however, recognized by a few, usually physicians or teachers who are equally zealous but possessed of clearer vision. Therefore, for the most part, there is but little understanding and toleration displayed toward the men- tally deficient in "D" county. Those who show erratic peculiarities in addition to their deficiency are relentlessly persecuted, while the incompetent and shiftless are ir- revocably judged by the standards of normality. MENTAL DEFECTIVES IN "D" COUNTY, 1918 Location Fuble-Minded Id. sane Epi- leptic Total defec- tives Moron Im- becile Idiot Total In Community Institutional care not needed . . . Institutional care needed Total in Community 112 124 6 15 3 118 142 IS 8 18 12 151 162 236 6 I I 21 7 3 2 260 15 1 9 23 6 30 I 313 22 I 9 I 26 I In Public Institutions County Poor Asylum County Orphans' Home School for Feeble-Minded Youth Epileptic Village 8 I I Hospital for Insane I I 25 Indiana State Prison Indiana State Reformatory Indiana Woman's Prison Indiana Boys' School Indiana Girls* School 2 2 2 Total in Institutions II 15 2 28 31 3 62 Grand Total 247 36 5 288 54 33 375 Fropoition of population defective, 9.6 per cent. "F" County "F" county, in the northern part of Indiana, is largely rich in farm land, yielding a prosperous livelihood to its owners. Sixty per cent of the farms are operated by their owners, who live in beautiful homes in the fine towns that THE PROBLEM 571 are to be found in the centre of the good districts. These towns have their origin in the social and political needs of the progressive farmers. Everywhere in the county the absence df extensive manufacturing interests is very apparent. In the west and north of the county the land is broken, farms are small and meagre, and the towns tiny and unprogressive. Indians lived in "F" county until 1838, when they sold the land to the government. Two years previous to this, German settlers had come into the northeastern part of the county, where the soil is the richest. Michigan settlers played an important part in the population of the county, along with immigrants from Ohio. "K" Marsh, in the northwestern part was once the centre of gay throngs of loose people who came for the berry season. Drinking and immoreility ran together there. For the last decade or more this marsh has run out and the section is deserted. The cases of feeble-mindedness are sporadic through- out the prosperous section. We found just one case, or at most one family in a given place, and sometimes a family or two scattered about in miserable shacks that were like sores on the fair face of the land. But over in the west and north there are two sections that are full of defective families. One little town contains about 200 people. When the State was "wet," this town was a centre of disease and drunkenness. Owing to the new "dry" laws and better schools, the town is undergoing a change for the better. There are no large factories and most of the men are section hands on the railroad. Many of the houses are poor shacks, whose only virtue is cleanliness, while many of the others are small, poor and dirty. With our present standards for normality, practically the whole population of the town is border-line or high-grade feeble- minded, with here and there families showing marked defect. Another section is a spill over from county and contains a group of defectives about forty in number, bearing only two original family names. The intermar- riage is appalling and it is almost impossible to calculate the exact relationships because these people themselves 57^ THE RURAL COMMUNITY MENTAL DEFECTIVES IN "F" COUNTY, 1918 Location Feeble-Minded la- sane Epi- leptic ToUl defec- tives Moron Im- herile Idiot Total In Community Institutional care not needed . . . Institutional care needed Total in Community 113 no 15 44 5 I 133 155 14 14 20 6 167 175 223 14 4 5 59 5 6 288 19 4 21 28 2 26 I 342 22 4 21 7 39 3 2 In Public Institutions County Poor Asylum County Orphans' Home School for Feeble-Minded Youth Epileptic Village 13 3 7 Hospital for Insane 39 I Indiana State Prison 2 2 2 2 Indiana State Reformatory Indiana Woman's Prison Indiana Boys' School 2 2 2 Indiana Girls* School Total in Institutions 29 18 3 50 42 8 100 Grand Total 252 77 9 338 70 34 442 Proportion of population defective, 1.8 per cent. do not understand them. These families live near each other, along byroads, in wretched houses, which are clean, but pitifully barren. These poor folks are chiefly adults, sadly in need of institutional care. Their defect embraces imbecility, insanity, epilepsy, and disease. In one branch of the family a young woman is raising a new generation that will likely carry on the problem of social difficulty. X , the county seat, holds the crux of the situation in " F" county. It is a beautiful town, a very garden spot, containing about the edges the saddest patches of weeds that are choking out the healthy normal growth of its fine population. At first sight of this attractive town it seems that at last the place has been found where all is well. But Saturday on Main Street brought out an ap- palling number of very defective citizens; lame, feeble- THE PROBLEM 573 minded, insane, and immoral. Their homes are mainly in two sections, one called "Swamptown" and spurned by all the good folks of the town; and one other, more scattered, but just as bad as the first. Many of the women in these sections are known as prostitutes, who receive into their homes high-school boys as well as older men. The loose, immoral relations within the families of these defectives are not a secret about town. The defect in these people is so noticeable that it does not escape recog- nition. Yet the good people of the town do not realize what a menace they have in their midst. "G" County "G" county is situated in the southwestern part of Indiana, part of the southern boundary extending along river. Little more than a hundred years ago the land was occupied by Indian tribes, but early in the nine- teenth century the United States acquired a title to this land. The first white settlement was made by a Pennsyl- vanian, who had moved in from Kentucky. In the first half of the nineteenth century German settlements were made, and at the present time many German families are found in the southern part of the county. The county presents varied topographical conditions. In the central part and along the river are fine agricul- tural districts, wheat, com, and tobacco being the prin- cipal products. Most of the northern section offers very poor farm land, the surface being broken and hilly and the soil poor. In this northern section coal in consider- able quantities has been found, often very near the sur- face. Little coal has been mined in this rather isolated section, but successful coal-mines have been operated for years in the southern part of the county. Manufacturing interests in this county a're represented chiefly by small milling and canning factories, but there are no large factories which would offer employment to large'; numbers of unskilled laborers, such as the feeble- minded. 574 THE RURAL COMMUNITY The difficulty of transportation is noticeable in many parts of the county. There is one railroad line across the county, and a few miles of electric railway in the southern section. The hilly northern sections of the county are quite isolated, it being fifteen miles to the nearest rail- road. In the township where the county seat is located quite good roads are found, but in many sections the hilly, unimproved roads make transportation difficult at any time, while after heavy rains many of these clay roads, along which are deep ditches, are almost impassable. The population of the county is decreasing. Many families, both better class and shiftless folks, have moved to the nearby city where wartime conditions have made possible more work and better wages. Except in some of the rural communities, the schools are very good. Where transportation is difficult, many of the children are often absent. The present difficulty in getting teachers has brought about a closing of several district schools and is going to have its effect on the school problem. The community seems to lack social consciousness and has little civic pride. Due to the almost primitive living conditions in some parts of the county, sanitary conditions are naturally bad, and in some of the feeble-minded homes conditions are filthy. In 191 6 this county had one of the highest death-rates for tuberculosis. Many cases of blind- ness and weak eyes, resulting from lack of care in child- hood diseases, and a great many cases of "red sore eyes," the result of venereal disease, were found, particularly in the central and southern parts of the county. All these conditions are related to the present problem of mental defect. Because of the isolation of some com- munities and the lack of social consciousness, a larger number of defective folks are able to survive and eke out a living than would be the case in a community where a more progressive attitude on the part of the community demanded more of its citizens. Considerable degeneracy was found among the feeble-minded. Degenerate moun- tain folks from North Carolina have come into the county. Descendants of the English convicts, who poured into THE PROBLEM 575 Georgia when England opened her prisons and sent her convicts over here to the colonies, are also found. The present generation pays the penalty with the offshoots from the riffraff of that population, and until something is done the burden will become increasingly greater. MENTAL DEFECTIVES IN "G" COUNTY, 1918 Location Feeble-Minded In- sane Epi- leptic Total defec- tives Moron Im- bedle Idiot Total In Community Institutional care not needed. . . Institutional care needed Total in Community 284 131 27 45 I 2 312 178 12 12 't 338 196 415 8 2 5 72 3 3 490 II 2 19 24 4 20 534 15 2 30 3 37 In Public Institutions County Poor Asylum County Orphans' Home School for Feeble-Minded Youth EoileDtic VillacB 13 I 3 Hospital for Insane 37 Indiana State Prison Indiana State Reformatory Indiana Woman's Prison Indiana Girls' School 2 2 2 Total in Institutions 17 16 34 41 4 79 Grand total 432 88 4 524 65 24 613 Proportioii of populatioa defective, a. 8 per cent. "H" County From every point of view "H" county presents strong contrasts. It is situated south of the central portion of the State, in a region of beautiful, wooded hills, fertile val- leys and quarries of fine limestone. The county seat is a bright, hustling little city whose inhabitants are justly proud of their extensive furniture manufactories and knit- ting mills, their fine public buildings and attractive homes, and, above all, proud of their institution of learning. A closer and clearer view of "H" county reveals many 576 THE RURAL COMMUNITY things out of harmony with these first pleasing impres- sions. In some districts the timber has been exhausted, leaving bleak, sterile hillsides and bluffs, the soil rapidly washing away through ever increasing gullies. Many of the county roads are impassable for weeks at a time, in low lands particularly, on account of drifted snow or floods. In the hills the highways are for the most part steep, rock- strewn trails, dangerous at any time to an unaccustomed driver. Along these poor, less frequented roads are to be found tiny log cabins and board shacks, reminiscent of pioneer days, and persistent search down half-hidden bypaths and "tie roads" brings to light still more of these primitive habitations. Some of the families in these homes are made up of steady, plodding, hard-working individuals, ignorant and illiterate perhaps, but capable of sustained work in quar- ries or fields. Other families are degenerate throughout, both in appearance and in all aspects of their family and social life, while still other family groups are found which are made up of a mixture of these and better types. Most of them are of old "H" county stock, descendants of the early colonists who pushed their way northward along Indian trails into central Indiana from the older States of the South. The first permanent white settlers made their appear- ance in 1815, and from that time the colonization of this county proceeded steadily. Many of these southern pioneers were persons of rare intelligence and character, but there also came a certain number who were unde- sirable citizens, to say the least. For those of vicious characteristics and criminal his- tory the hills afforded a ready refuge. The hills also claimed those colonists who had not the intelligence, the initiative, or the perseverance to obtain a foothold in the rich, open valleys or in the rapidly developing business affairs at the county seat. They and their descendants have proven a serious problem for "H" county. Formerly bands of "whitecaps" and "regulators" strove to bring the more notorious outlaws to speedy justice, while those who were THE PROBLEM 577 merely poor, inoffensive, shiftless folk were patiently sup- ported at the expense of the county and State. In the county-seat persistent efforts have been made for years to improve the condition of the poor. A well- managed charity organization has been busy for twenty- five years in this work, and a Visiting Nurses' Association has been at work during more recent years. The insti- tution of learning referred to is taking an increasingly wider interest in the social-problems of the county and through the Departments of Psychology and Sociology important research work is constantly being carried on. The material shown in the accompanying table was gath- ered by representatives of these departments. An in- tensive discussion of this material and relative data is under way and will be subsequently published. MENTAL DEFECTIVES IN "H" COUNTY, 1918 Location Feeble-Minded In- sane Epi- leptic Total defec- tives MoroD Im- bedle Idiot Total In Community Institutional care not needed . . . Institutional care needed Total in Communitv 220 167 32 37 9 I 261 205 24 26 39 19 324 250 387 7 I I 69 3 I 2 10 2 I 466 12 2 4 50 3 58 I 574 16 2 4 I 55 6 2 In Public Institutions County Orphans' Home School for Feeble-Minded Youth Pnilentic Villa.ce I 4 51 3 TnHi;i.na State Prison 3 2 3 2 Indiana State Reformatory Tnrlinnn Woman's Prison I 3 I 3 I 4 I Totjil in Institutions 18 6 3 27 57 7 91 405 75 13 493 107 65 665 Proportion of population defective, 9.8 per cent. 578 THE RURAL COMMUNITY "J" County "J" county is situated in the centre of Indiana in a fine agricultural region. The land is now all in use and flourishing, but it was not always good land; it was once massive forests and very wet swamps. The men who cleared this land and ditched the swamps were strong and persistent and to-day their descendants are living in a paradise of fine farms as a result of pioneer hardihood. The northern part of the county has poorer soil than the southern part and still one finds the most prosperous farm- ers in the more difiicult section. This county was bought from the Indians by the State and organized in 1830, and some Indians remained after the incorporation. One of the towns in the north bears the name of an Indian chief and is situated at one end of an old Indian trail, which is now a very fine h|ighway. The roads in "J" county are good and plentiful — ^gravel roads are the rule in almost every part. There are only about one hundred people of foreign birth in the county and many of the people are descended from the original settlers. Public spirit is progressive and active; there are organized agencies to handle the social problems of the county. The churches co-operate with the secular organizations for the good of the public. There are large and fine consolidated schools to which the children are carried in wagons. High schools are so well placed that any youth can attend. The general public is keenly interested in the high-school sports, particularly basket-ball. The county-seat is a flourishing town, containing fine stores and progressive merchants. The people believe in patronizing home trade. There are several very pro- gressive towns of about 1,500 inhabitants, in which the homes are fine and the town spirit is wide-awake and in very friendly competition with other towns of the county. Public sentiment in "J" county is alive and struggling toward high ideals. THE PROBLEM 579 MENTAL DEFECTIVES IN "J" COUNTY, 1919 Location Feeble-Minded In. ■ane Epi- leptic Total defec- tives Moron Im- bedle Idiot Total In Community Institutional care not needed . . . Institutional care needed Total in Community 159 76 23 28 I 3 183 107 14 3 10 8 207 118 235 II 8 51 4 3 7 4 1 290 16 II 7 17 4 18 2 325 22 II 7 4 32 2 5 In Public Institutions CouBtv Poor Asvlum County Orphans' Home School for Feeble-Minded Youth EoileDtic Wlaee. . .-. 4 32 Indiana State Prison 2 4 2 4 Indiana State Reformatory Indiana Woman's Prison I 3 3 3 Indiana Girls' School Total in Institutions 28 14 1 43 36 7 86 Grand total 263 65 5 333 53 25 411 ProportioD of population defective, 1.7 per cent. There are defectives in this county, as in every com- munity. They are found mainly in two large groups — one in a beautiful town in the northeastern part of the county and the other in the county-seat. In the first-men- tioned section there is a district of feeble-minded citizens segregated by their habits and their defect as effectively as if they were walled in. There are about eight family names represented in this community. The relation is almost impossible to trace now — they know they are surely cousins to each other, but beyond that they have no knowl- edge. There is no great social menace in this group be- yond the fact that they are steadily propagating their kind. The morality of the people here seems average — prostitution and drunkenness, contrary to expectation, are absent. At a guess it would be safe to say that 60 per 58o THE RURAL COMMUNITY cent of the feeble-minded of the county have sprung from this group. The defectives in the county-seat are to be found prac- tically all in one section, known as ^ville. The houses are poor, living standards very low, and dirt and disorder are the rule. There is no public prostitution here and the main problem lies in the great demand for township relief, which used to be given at wholesale rates and is now being more carefully investigated. This group is known as a "do-less crowd." The people of the town admit their helplessness to reform such people and are anxious to know what can be done. " J " county is above the average — has knowledge of its social problems and wants to further measures for solving the problem of the feeble-minded. MENTAL DEFECTIVES IN A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J COUNTIES 1916-1919 Location Feeble- Inssjie Epileptic Total In Community Institutional care not needed Institutional care needed 2,018 1,722 130 126 210 110 2,358 1.958 3-740 148 46 135 256 46 320 9 4.316 203 46 144 36 468 43 26 In Public Institutions Countv Orohans' Homes School for Feeble-Minded Youth . . . EoileDtic Villace 9 36 8 4 2 Hospitals for Insane I 23 459 14 I Indiana State Prison Indiana State Reformatory Indiana Woman's Prison 9 30 9 31 Indiana Girls' School I Total in Institutions 417 520 69 1,006 4.157 776 389 5.322 Proportion of population feeble-minded, X.65+ per ceat. Proportion of population insane, 0.31 — per cent. Proportion of population epileptic, o.x5 + per ceqt, Total percentage defective, 9.11 + . THE PROBLEM 58 1 IV. ORGANIZATION PROBLEMS THE WORK OF RURAL ORGANIZATION BY T. N. CARVER (From The Journal of Political Economy, November, 1914) How to organize the rural interests of this country ef- fectively is one of the most difficult problems in the world. A very little study of the history of farmers' organizations in this and other countries ought to convince any one of this. While there have been many successful organiza- tions, yet the number of failures easily outnumbers the successes two to one; but the fact that there have been a large number of successes in the aggregate makes it pos- sible to believe that there may be more in the future. If we can only find why some have succeeded and others failed, we shall then be in position to follow the policies which have succeeded, and avoid the errors which have led to failure. This will materially increase the percentage of success and decrease the percentage of failure. The difficulties in the way of effective organization of rural interests are not hard to find. They may be classi- fied under four general headings ; arithmetical, geometrical, economic, and psychological. By the arithmetical difficulties we mean the difficulties growing out of the fact that the farming class is by far the most numerous economic class in the country. Six and one-half million individuals would be difficult to or- ganize effectively, whatever other conditions might exist. In addition to the vast number of farmers there is a second fact, that they are so far apart. This is what we mean by the geometrical difficulty. The mere geometrical fact that they live far apart and are more widely scattered than other classes adds materially to the difficulty of or- ganizing them. This in turn grows out of the fact that agriculture more than any other industry requires land surface, superficial area, space. That being the case, it 582 THE RURAL COMMUNITY is impossible for farmers to live dose together in compact masses as other classes do. By the economic difficulties is meant the fact that there is a great diversity of interests with many antagonisms among this vast number of farmers living over such wide areas. The truck-farmers of one section, for example, have to compete for a market with the truck-farmers of other sections. Even though the farmers of one section were all organized, it would be difficult for them to ad- just their rivalry in such a way as to form an effective organization with those of other sections. By the psychological difficulties is meant a very large but somewhat intangible fact, namely, that a process of selection tends to attract to the cities those members of our population who are ecisily herded together and to leave in the country those who are strongly individualistic, who prefer to be their own bosses, and who have the capacity for self-direction. All of those people to whom the pain of a new idea is excruciation, who find it a great hardship to have to decide what to do next, will find farm life un- endurable. That, perhaps more than any other single fact, characterizes the life of a farmer. His work never can be standardized. He must always be in the act of deciding what to do next. His work from day to day, even from hour to hour, has to be adjusted to the con- ditions of soil and climate, the exigencies of plant and animal life, as well as of the weather. This is no kind of life for a man who is only capable of doing what he is told, and incapable of deciding himself what is the next thing to be done. This process of selection, as I said, makes a rural population very independent in spirit and tem- peramentally difficult to organize. Another psychological difficulty perhaps grows out of the fact that the farmer's success has in the past depended very little upon his mental adaptability to other men. He has had to control the forces of nature rather than the forces of society. He is therefore less adept in those arts and graces which adorn social life, simply because his living has not depended upon it ; but those of us, and we include THE PROBLEM 583 a large proportion of the urban population, who, however useful our work, live because we succeed in pleasing other people, who succeed not by making two blades of grass grow where one grew before but by making two dollars emerge from other people's pockets where one emerged before, must of necessity be somewhat successful in the art of getting along with people. The urbanite who can- not get along easily with other people will starve, and the process of natural selection tends to breed up a race of urban people who get along easily together. In the past this has not been true of the farmer. If he could grow good crops or breed good animals he could succeed whether he was successful in the art of getting along with people or not. We have therefore bred up a race of country people without the principle of selection which has made city folks "urbane." However, because a thing is difficult to do is no rejison for not doing it, if it is really worth while. That the effec- tive organization of rural interests is worth while, that it is in fact about the most worth-while thing in the world, will be apparent upon a very little consideration. Good transportation facilities and means of communica- tion have destroyed an older condition under which each local community had to be mainly self-supporting. I am not speaking now so much of the still earlier condition where we had the self-sufficient farmer who produced on his own farm practically everything which he con- sumed. I am speaking of a somewhat later period when a farmer sold a portion of his material at least, but sold it to the neighboring town, which Wcis usually within haul- ing distance, and who got his supply of things not pro- duced on the farm from the working men of the shops of the neighboring town. The marketing problem was here fairly settled. The farmer hauled his produce to town and showed it to the buyer who could inspect it and " paw " it over, if necessary — and buy it if he liked it. Again, the age of machinery has destroyed the con- ditions which existed at one time, even within the memory of a few very old men who are still living. I refer to the 584 THE RURAL COMMUNITY condition under which capital could scarcely be called a factor in agriculture. Capital is tools and machinery, though it is sometimes referred to as the money neces- sary to purchase tools and machinery. In an age when farming was done with a few simple tools which the farmer made himself or which were made by the local blacksmith there was no demand for capital in the modern sense ; that is, it was not a limiting factor as it now is. It was not a factor which by reason of its scarcity relative to the need would make successful farming impossible. At that time you could not say of any farming community, "the great need is more capital." If the farmers had had an abun- dant supply of capital they would not have known how to use it, because the invention of agricultural machinery had not yet appeared. At the present time all of that is changed. The farmer who cannot equip his farm with an adequate supply of stock and tools cannot compete and is foredoomed to failure. Capital is one of the limiting factors. There are many communities of which you can say, "If they had more capital they would succeed. Without more capital they will fail." Therefore it has come about that one of the great agricultural problems is that of supplying farm- ers with capital. Again, there was a time when most of the diseases which prevailed in rural districts were either regarded as visita- tion of divine Providence, or at least as something which could not by any possibility be avoided. He who embarked upon life had to take the chances of life, as he who enlists for war has to take the chances of war. Such a thing as preventing disease by stopping it at the source was im- possible because people did not know the source. Or- ganizations for rural sanitation would have been out of the question, because, however well organized the country people were, they would not have known what to do with their organizations in the way of improving sanitary con- ditions. So in a multitude of other respects the agricultural situa- tion has so changed as to make it absolutely necessary that the modern farmers organize. Since the farmer pro- THE PROBLEM 585 duces not for a local but for a far-distant market, he cannot haul his stuff to town and sell to the consumer. He must part with it at the station and consign it to the tender mercies of the middlemen whom he has never seen and concerning whom he knows only the names. The indi- vidual, unorganized farmer is not in a position to market successfully under these conditions. When his success as a farmer depends upon his having an adequate supply of capital he is about equally helpless unless he has inherited or otherwise acquired the neces- sary funds. For perfectly legitimate and obvious reasons the possessor of capital does not like to let it get out of his hands unless he feels reasonably certain of getting it back again at some time or other. He cannot be blamed for that. We are all alike in that respect. But the market for capital, like the market for farm produce, is nation- wide or world-wide, and not a local market. They who possess the capital which the farmer needs are seldom his near neighbors. They live a long way off and do not know him even by name. Under these conditions his only chance of getting capital is through a series of brokers or middle- men, unless he can organize with his neighbors to perform for themselves the function which these middlemen per- form. And with the purchasing of his farm supplies the same conditions arise. His tools and machinery, his fer- tilizer, etc., are not usually produced in his immediate neighborhood. An individual, unorganized farmer is under about the same disadvantage here that he is in market- ing his produce in distant markets. Sanitation, the extermination of the fly, the mosquito, the hookworm, and other pests which afflict the lives of the country people, is possible only by a thorough organi- zation of rural neighborhoods. An individual farmer may be ever so careful to destroy all breeding-places for flies and mosquitoes on his own farm, but it will do him little good if all his neighbors are careless. These are some of the reasons which make the organi- zation of rural interests of such transcendent importance at the present time. At one time the idea seemed to prevail that agricul 586 THE RURAL COMMUNITY education consisted mainly in informing the farmer as to the best methods of growing crops and feeding animals. This idea has rapidly broadened out until the idea has already taken possession of the minds of the people that it is equally important that farmers be informed as to the best methods of marketing the products which they have grown, of purchasing the raw materials for farms — for the farmer is now a purchaser of raw materials almost in the same sense as the manufacturer is — and of supply- ing themselves with capital. The idea therefore seems to prevail at the present time that all that is necessary is to enable the farmer to grow his products and to buy and sell to advantage in order that his income may be increased. I dare say that most people who are thinking on this problem to-day believe that the problem is solved when the farmer has been as- sured a satisfactory income. I wish to insist, on the con- trary, that this is only half the problem. Paradoxical as it may seem, it is a matter of actual observation that the sections of the country where the land is richest, where crops have been most abundant, where land has reached the highest price, and the farm-owners attain to the highest degree of prosperity, are the very sections from which the farm-owners are retiring from the farms most rapidly and leaving them to tenants. Now I need not enlarge upon the evils of absentee-land- lordism. It is perhaps sufficient to say that absentee-land- lordism never did work in the history of the world and it is not likely that any miracle will happen to save this country from disaster if it drifts into that vicious system. When the owners of the land live at a distance they have no particular interests in country schools, churches, or any of the civilizing influences which make country life attractive. Therefore all these civilizing agencies tend to disappear. Similarly, the tenants who are here this year and somewhere else the next have no interest in main- taining the social institutions of any rural neighborhood. I am willing to state deliberately that there is no pest or plant or animal disease known to man which will bring THE PROBLEM 587 ruin upon a country so rapidly as the system of absentee- landlordism. But why do these prosperous farmers leave the farms and go to town ? Simply because the town contains the things they want to buy with their money and the coun- try does not. We may as well face the fact first as last that there are only two things that will keep people in the country. One is poverty, or the inability to live in town. The other is an attractive country life which will induce people to stay in the country even though they are financially able to live in town. As between these alternatives there is no room for choice. To try to hold people in the country by their poverty or their inability to get away from the country and get to town would be criminal. The only thing, therefore, is to make country life sufficiently attractive to keep people in the country even when they are prosperous enough to live in town. This will indicate that the problem of organizing rural interests is very much wider than the problem of market- ing; or of marketing, of rural credits, and of purchasing combined. It is much wider than all the problems con- nected with the increase of the farmer's income, because getting the income is only half the process. It is just as important that we solve the problem of spending it wisely and rationally in order to get the maximum of enjoyment as it is that we solve the problem of getting it. I think it is a fair proposition that the American people are more expert in the getting of incomes than they are in the spend- ing. Conditions, however, vary in this respect. There are many poor sections where farming is unprosperous and the first and most acute problem is to increase the farmer's income; but there are many other sections which are so prosperous that the other question has become more acute, namely, the question of spending the farmer's money. There being an imperfectly organized social, intellectual, aesthetic life in the country, the farmers are driven to the towns to find the satisfaction of life which their prosperity enables them to purchase. 588 THE RURAL COMMUNITY While, as stated above, the conditions vary consider- ably in different parts of the country, it is my belief at the present time that the latter of these two questions is for the country as a whole, on an average, even more im- portant than the former. I have classified problems calling for organization under the following outlines: I. For increasing the farmers' income: (c) the marketing of farm products (fr) the purchasing of farm products (c) the securing of adequate credit {d) the improving of means of communication and transportation. II. For better living conditions in the country: (c) education (b) sanitation (c) recreation (d) beautification. Every part of this programme calls for organization and it must ultimately be the work of any government agency, such as the Office of Rural Organization, looking toward the effective organization of rural interests to pro- mote it in every detail. V. VILLAGE CONDITIONS HOW THE VILLAGE PEOPLE LIVE BY L. D. H. WELD, PH.D. (From Social and Economic Survey of a Community in the Red River Valley. Research publications of the University of Minnesota) Ada is far more attractive than the ordinary prairie village. The railroad runs through the centre of the town ; the two main business streets run parallel to it, one on either side. Between the railroad and the street on the west side there is a little park with lawns and walks, There THE PROBLEM 589 are a number of well-kept brick buildings on the business streets, and there are mature trees which improve the appearance of the village. The better stores are on the west side of the railroad; the more attractive residence section is on the east side. The streets are broad and fairly well kept ; there are cement walks along many of the prin- cipal streets. On the whole the villagers live in comfortable and at- tractive houses. Of the 201 families visited, ^2 per cent own their homes. The average number of rooms in all houses is 6.9; in houses occupied by owners alone, 7.4; by renters alone, 5.6. The monthly rent paid by renters ranged from $4 and $5 to $12 and $15, with an averz^e of $8.44, or an average per room of only $1.51. Many of the rented houses are very small, and very few have any modern improvements. The yards of the village homes are large, and 74 per cent of the residents keep their lawns mowed. One hundred sixty-six of the 201 families visited, or 82.5 per cent, heat their houses with coal or wood stoves. All but a few of these use coal. There are 16 houses with hot-water heat and a like number with hot-air furnaces. The hot-air furnaces are mostly crude brick casings built around an iron fire-box. In addition to the heating ap- paratus 79 families, or 39 per cent of the total, reported oil-stoves which they used for cooking during the sum- mer. The number of comforts and conveniences in the houses is rather surprising. Sixty per cent of the houses are lighted by electricity, and 91, or 45 per cent, have electric fiat- irons. There are 16 families, or 8 per cent of the total, that use vacuum cleaners. Fifty-eight per cent of all fami- lies visited have telephones. Fifty-five per cent have running water in the house; about half of the remainder get their drinking-water within five rods of the house, while others have to go some distance. Thirty-six, or 18 per cent of the total, have bathrooms in the house. Half of the families report washing-machines, but many of these have fallen into disuse. Washing-machines are 590 THE RURAL COMMIJNITY not used so much in the village as on the farm. About 15 per cent of the houses have screened porches. Most of the housewives of the village do their own work. There were 37 families, or 18.4 per cent of the total, who reported employment of a hired girl during the year 1912. The average number of days that these 37 families had help was 190, or only a little over a half year. The average expenditure of these 37 families for hired help was $93.83, and the average wages per week were $3.57. Twenty- eight families, or 14 per cent of the total, hire women to do their washing. Ninety-six families, or 48 per cent of the total, hire dressmakers to do at least a part of the sew- ing. Social Life in the Village In the early days Ada was undoubtedly a lively little town. An item in the local paper in 1883 informs us that travelling men said that Ada was the "liveliest town on the road." Another item states that "Ada is fast becom- ing the Paris of the Red River Valley. For music and pleasure her people take the lead and all the surrounding villages dance to her music." Dances, card-parties, church socials, and home entertainments were of very frequent occurrence. The brass band was in great demand not only in Ada, but in surrounding towns. Pinafore was given by local talent in 1884. A sportsmen's club was or- ganized in that year, mainly to enforce the game laws. Shooting prairie-chickens always has been and still is one of the principal recreations for the men. Roller-skating became the rage in 1884 and a "large new rink" was built in 1885. This same rink to-day serves as a very poor ex- cuse for an opera-house, the only one in town. This great social activity lasted until about 1887; numerous organizations had been formed, such as a dra- matic club, a toboggan club, and a military company. Frequent masquerades were held; the town had a suc- cessful baseball team; elaborate Fourth of July celebra- tions were held. As trade languished during the latter eighties, however, the gay life and spirit also of the place THE PROBLEM 591 apparently languished. In 1888 Ada failed to celebrate the Fourth of July for the first time; social events became less frequent; even the band disbanded. An "old resi- dent" returning in 1893 said, according to the local paper, that "Ada is going backward. Her sidewalks are getting .dilapidated. The buildings need painting, and everything looks old." There have been two noticeable changes in the develop- ment of social life in the village since the early days. These are, first, whereas formerly the village people and the farm- ing population mixed freely in the social activities of the village, to-day there is very little social intercourse be- tween the village and the country; and, second, while the people of the village formerly got together for general good times, to-day they are split up into groups or cliques, each group having its own social activities. It is said that in the early days there often used to be as mcuiy farmers as villagers at the dances in Ada; that the country people frequently drove as much as ten miles with the thermometer well below zero to attend these vil- lage functions. The stratification of social groups in the villcige heis undoubtedly had something to do with the change that has come about. Country people seldom attend more than one or two dances a year in the village now; such dances as they do attend usually occur on days like the Fourth of July, and are not heavily attended by certain classes in the village. There is of course much social intercourse between certain families in the village and their relatives in the country, and villagers sometimes venture forth to church suppers in the country. The social ties between village and country that result from church activities are largely among the Norwegians. The splitting up into groups within the village has been developed to such an extent as to be unfortunate. Church affiliation is the principal factor that determines these groups; nationality plays its part. Although the social life revolves largely about the churches, there are numerous societies and lodges, certain details of which are shown in the following table: 592 THE RURAL COMMUNITY TABLE XXX Z SOCIAL ORGANIZATIONS Societies Total mcm- beisbip Rural membeishjp Number of meet- ings dur- ing year Average atten- dance Purpose igi3 igoS Young Ladies' Read- ing Club i6 25 15 20 68 16 16 15 57 24 12 30 I 18 18 18 1 7 2 8 2 15 18 7 18 12 18 9 12 7 8 8 12 10 10 20 Study and social Study and social Study and social Recreation Insurance and fraternal Insurance and fraternal Insurance and fraternal Sick benefits and fraternal Fraternal Insurance ' and fraternal Fraternal Fraternal Twentieth Century Club Schiller- Verein Ada Gun Club Lodges: Modern Woodmen. Yeoman 3 3 20 6 2 3 I 4 17 6 4 3 2 5 6 3 I.S. W.A Odd Fellows Masons Royal Neighbors. . Rebekahs Eastern Star 1 Not known. It will be seen from the table that these organizations have a comparatively small membership, and that some of the lodges hold very few meetings, which are also poorly attended. The insurance feature is the only thing that keeps some of these in existence. There should also be mentioned in this connection the Commercial Club, a thriving organization of business men organized for both social and promotive purposes. This club has large and well-furnished quarters in the City Hall, a brick building, the lower floor of which is occupied by the fire-fighting apparatus, the city offices, and the city jail. The Com- mercial Club occupies the second floor. It maintains a small but neat rest-room for the accommodation of women visiting the village from the country or surrounding towns. THE PROBLEM 593 The Young Ladies' Reading Club was organized in 1891 and has had continuous existence. The active member- ship is sixteen, and it meets every two weeks during the winter at the houses of members. It usually holds at least one function during the year to which it invites non-mem- bers, and it has two club picnics during the summer. At the meetings some member reads a paper or gives a talk on an assigned subject. One season was spent in studying France, its history, literature, art, etc. During the last two years it devoted meetings to the initiative and referen- dum, woman suffrage, the schools, and subjects in home economics. It is the only organization that has taken up the study of subjects of this nature. Following the discussion, a lunch is served. The Twentieth Century Club has been in existence since 1901, and became federated with the State Federa- tion of Women's Clubs in 1904. The membership is limited to twenty-five, and the average attendance at meetings in 1912-1913 was eighteen. It meets every two weeks at the houses of members, and meets in the evening to per- mit the attendance of school-teachers. It is primarily a study club, and carries out a regular programme at each meeting. Each member responds to the roll-call with an account of some important event of general interest that has recently occurred. For the season 1913-1914 this club was planning a study of the modem drama. That this organization is sincere in its wish to be a purely study club is evident from the fact that it allows no refreshments to be served at its regular meetings. It holds at least one gentlemen's evening each year, and generally a social gathering to which non-members are invited. It sends delegates to the annual convention of the State Federa- tion, and also to the District Federation meetings. The Schiller- Verein was also organized in 1901 among ladies of German descent, with the object of becoming more proficient in the German language and of studying German literature. This club, however, has developed more into a social organization. Originally conversation at the meetings had to be carried on in German, and there 594 THE RURAL COMMUNITY was a fine for speaking English. This requirement is not lived up to now. Some of the subjects studied during the last few years have been German musicians, the art of Germany and other countries, and great inventions and inventors. This club always has German refreshments and entertains the men at German suppers about three times during the season. Card-playing is the form of enter- tainment usually employed. This club is very exclusive and limits its membership to fifteen. Other organizations which play an important part in the social life among the ladies of the town are the ladies' aid societies of the churches, and the W. C. T. U., which has an active chapter. The extent to which the people of the village belong to the various organizations is shown in the following table, which indicates the proportion of the 201 families visited which have one or more members in the organizations listed: Percent Sunday-schools 44-8 Ladies' aid societies 41-2 Young people's societies 29 . 3 Lodges 27.3 Literary societies 14.9 W. C. T. U 13.9 Although social functions are of frequent occurrence in winter, they are confined to the various groups and clubs. Some of the people frequently entertain each other in- formally at dinner. There are almost no formal calls made, except on new people. It is said that formal calls were made more frequently a few years ago than to-day. Many people complain that there is a surprising amount of snob- bishness in this little town; that the people seem very self-centred; that new people often have great difficulty in getting acquainted and in gaining entrance to the social life. These criticisms came not only from people who had been residents for only a short time, but also from old residents who were leaders in the social life. THE PROBLEM 595 Recreation Although 93 per cent of the families report reading as a form of recreation, the reading matter in the village is neither very abundant nor very substantial. There is no public library, although one Wcis started during the eighties and lasted for a few years. The Commercial Club receives books from a travelling library, but these do not have a very wide circulation. Although the matter was not in- quired into during the investigation, it was apparent that there are but few private libraries of substantial value. Fifty-eight per cent of the families are regular sub- scribers to city daily papers (principally from Minneapolis and St. Paul). Eighty- three per cent take at least one of the two local papers, and 36 per cent take both. Fifty-three per cent have first-class magazines, and the average num- ber of magazines per family for those who take them at all, is 2.8. About 22 per cent take the cheaper magazines, those having a subscription price of thirty-five cents a year or less, with an average of 1.3 per family. Thirty- eight per cent of the families take religious publications, and 37 per cent agricultural papers. The commonest forms of recreation besides reading are card-playing, dancing, moving-picture shows, and music. Of all the families visited, 47 per cent reported card-playing as a form of diversion, although some of these families play but little. Thirty-three per cent of the fami- lies were opposed to card-playing. Thirty-seven per cent had members who attend dances, and 25 per cent were opposed to dancing. In a few families, daughters had begun to dance in spite of the opposition of parents, and the opposition had died out. This probably accounts for the greater proportion who are opposed to card-playing than to dancing. (This situation is interesting when com- pared with that in the German-Lutheran settlement of farmers northeeist of the village where the preacher is un- alterably opposed to dancing, but sanctions both beer- drinking and card-playing.) 596 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Moving pictures were shown at the opera-house at least twice a week during the year, and four times a week part of the time. There were about 68 per cent of the families which reported that parents or adults attended the "movies," an average of 18.7 performances per family dur- ing the year. There were about 56 per cent that had children or young people who attended, with an average of 33.4 during the year. Very few theatrical companies come to town, partly because of the inadequacy of the opera- house. Fifty per cent of the families reported that adults had attended the two or three shows that had visited the village, and 39 per cent that young people had attended them. The lyceum course is held in the schoolhouse each winter, and is well attended. The brass band gave a series of three or four concerts in the opera-house during the season of 1912-1913, and 47 per cent of the families reported attendance at one or more. One hundred thirteen families, or 56 per cent of the total, reported musical instruments in the home. This proportion is a bit misleading because in many houses the instruments are used but little. Thirty-eight per cent of the families had pianos; 15 per cent, organs; 17 per cent, violins; 14 per cent, phonographs; 8 per cent, banjos, mandolins, or guitars; and 16 per cent, band instruments. The brass band has a paid leader who also teaches music in the school and who plies the trade of a tailor on the side. There has also been organized a juvenile band, the members of which were industriously attempting to learn to play their various instruments during the summer that this investigation was under way. During the summer the most noticeable recreation is motoring. Of the families visited, 34, or 16.9 per cent, own automobiles. The total number in the town reaches 50 or 60. Besides daily rides out on the prairie, parties frequently take long trips over Sundays. There is no good lake near at hand and auto parties often go 60 to 70 miles south into the lake region near Detroit, for a week-end outing, and for a little fishing. Most of the people who can afford it spend vacations of two or three weeks dur- THE PROBLEM 597 ing the summer at the lakes. The continual absence of a large proportion of the inhabitants and the constant use of automobiles by those who own them practically preclude social activity during the summer. The coming of the automobile during the past few years was assigned as a reason for the segregation of the villagers into distinct social groups. The number of villagers who keep driving horses was found to be 34, the same as the number that own automobiles. About half of these keep teams; the others, single horses. Other out-of-door sports are not much in evidence. Baseball is played a little, and occasional games are held with surrounding villages on Sundays during the summer. Eleven per cent of the families of the village have boys who play Sunday baseball. There are two or three tennis- courts, but only one is kept in good condition and used frequently. The high school has football, baseball, and basket-ball teams. Means of Livelihood of Town People The following table shows the occupations of the heads of 182 families. This table does not give an adequate idea of the importance of the sawmill as a source of em- ployment, because many of the mill heads are temporary residents living at boarding-houses, and were not included in the survey. Heads of families Retired farmers 21 Merchants 21 Professional men 15 Laborers 12 Sawmill 12 Contractors and carpenters 11 Government positions (federal, county, and city) 10 Liverymen and teamsters 9 Railroad work (including station) ; 8 Real estate 6 Active farmers 5 Banking 4 Clerks in stores 4 Elevator managers 4 Retired from business, . . , . , 3 598 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Heads of families Saloon-keepers and bartenders 3 Threshing outfits 3 Manufacturing (other than sawmill) 3 Barbers 2 Butchers 2 Tailors 2 Painters 2 Automobiles (garage and repairing) 2 Blacksmiths 2 Engineers and machinists 2 Janitors 2 Newspaper publishers 2 Tinsmith Hotel clerk Cement business Well-driller Insurance Photographer Butter-maker Plumber Pool-room Mason 182 By "retired farmers" is meant those who have actually retired from active life. They constitute only 11 per cent of the families reported, although 127, or 63 per cent, were raised on farms. Government positions are important in this town because it is a county-seat. It should be re- membered that the figures apply only to families visited during the survey; that they include about four-fifths of the permanent residents; and that there are always a number of temporary residents, especially while the sawmill is in operation, that are not included at all. Em- ployment in the less-skilled occupations is not very regular, owing not only to the shutting down of the sawmill in winter, but also to the fact that other out-of-door occu- pations are suspended during the cold months. For this reason wages are much lower in winter than in summer. Only 62.2 per cent reported that they had worked full time during the previous year. The average number of days of work for all was 270. There is but little opportunity in Ada for the younger THE PROBLEM 599 generation to find profitable employment, and this ac- counts for the noticeable efflux of sons and daughters to other places. This is clearly shown with regard to sons over 1 8 years of age by the following statement: Number Percent of total Sons living at home and working in Ada Sons working in country Sons working in cities and towns other than Ada . . . Sons fanning in home community Sons farming at a distance Total 37 86 19 IS l86 20.0 15.6 46.2 10.2 8.0 1 00.0 Of the 37 sons living at home and working in the village, 12 are clerks, 4 work in the sawmill, and 2 are carpenters; the others are in a variety of occupations. There are also 9 daughters living at home and working in the village. Three of these are in the cigar factory, 2 in the hotel, and one is a barber in her father's shop, and the others are clerks or stenographers. The 86 sons working in other cities and towns represent 55 families, or over 25 per cent of those visited. Their principal occupations, with the number in each, are shown in the following table: Clerks and salesmen 9 Merchants 7 Engineers 5 Lawyers 5 Contractors and carpenters 5 Common laborers 5 Banking 4 Printing and publishing 3 Machinists 3 The foregoing statement accounts for but little over half of the sons working in other cities. The remainder are in too great a variety of occupations to enumerate. It should be mentioned, however, that there is one of each 6oo THE RURAL COMMUNITY of the following: doctor, professional ball-player, grand- opera singer, and artist. Only 14 girls were reported as away from home and working in cities. Eight of these were clerks, 2 were nurses, 2 were telegraph operators, one a milliner, and one was doing housework. There were also 28 daughters repre- senting 25 families reported as teaching, which therefore forms the principal occupation of girls who are gainfully employed. Annual Incomes The annual income of the head of the family was ascer- tained from about seven-eighths of all families visited. In some cases the returns were estimated, and are only ap- proximately correct. The following table shows the num- ber with incomes in five-hundred-dollar groups : Annual Income Number Percent of toUl Under $500 From $500 to $999 From $1,000 to $1,499 From $1,500 to $1,999 From $2,000 to $2,499 From $2,500 to $2,999 From $3,000 to $3,499 $3,500 and over Total 31 77 19 14 12 7 7 9 176 17.6 43.7 10.8 8.0 6.8 4.0 4.0 51 1 00.0 Sixty-one and three-tenths per cent have incomes of less than $1,000, and 43.7 per cent have incomes between $500 and $1,000. There were nine people among those visited who claimed incomes of $3,500 or over. The average in- come means but little, owing to the fact that a few large incomes raise it inordinately. By eliminating the two largest incomes, both well over $5,000, the aggregate in- come of 174 heads of families was $202,300, or an average of $1,162. The mode, or point of greatest frequency — and this is more significant — may be said to lie between $700 and $800. THE PROBLEM 60 1 11 1 WMt:-^ g:t ::::::: :: ;:::;:: i^iiil :. t : FUT M i 1 Hii ii::M::|-ii:::'|| Plj-"^ iff ;| 5 Till iiiiiiiiiihi mmm ^^m fflMflMffm :i :H::i; \ ... ^^^m^ TTT ■ :: : '■ ^^^Pi^ ■: ii^B:§: ■ : : ::^R';:i ,i f ^H^'-s ffllFFH* I"-' t'-""- ijjf 1 . fl IIItii ■Hb HH m i : in III 1 ■ n Incomes of Heads of Village Families (Per Cent of Total in Each $500 Group) In addition to the incomes of heads of families, house- wives, and sons and daughters living at home reported considerable incomes. The principal methods by which housewives add to family incomes are the selling of milk and eggs, renting of rooms, and taking in washing. There were 49 families in which the housewife added to the in- come in these ways, with average annual earnings of $109.20. There were also 36 families with children living at home who earned on the average $557 per family. There were 62.2 per cent of the families having vegetable-gardens, many of which are small, and the value of truck raised 602 THE RURAL COMMUNITY ranges from $5 to $50; 28.4 per cent keep chickens; 11.4 per cent, cows; and 6 families living on the outskirts of the village keep hogs and thus raise part of their own meat- supply. Socialism Ada has a little body of socialists who are affiliated with the Socialist Party and who have been holding meetings since 1902. They began as a club which made a study of socialism and most of the members soon became socialists. This organization meets once a month, and has two special meetings each year. There are thirty-two members of the local organization, ten of whom are farmers, but the average attendance is only about eight. It has no presi- dent and elects a chairman for each meeting. At the meet- ings general discussions of socialism are held, and there are generally two or three social meetings during the year. A holiday supper or dance is generally given, and an an- nual picnic is held during the summer. These functions are exceptional in that the farmers and townpeople mix freely. As one of the leaders put it, "Socialism seems to be the only bond that brings country and townpeople together socially." Occasionally arrangements are -made to have some outside speaker address open meetings. Since its organization in 1902 socialism has not gained in Ada ; it has been gaining steadily, however, in the coun- try, and in other villages in the county. In fact there are eleven locals in the county, some of which are fairly strong. The number of stores in the village is much larger than is necessary to supply efficiently the population of the section. No store has as much as $40,000 annual business, and the cost of doing business is high. Some of the stores are neat and attractive, however, give good service, and a few carry surprisingly complete and attractive stocks of merchandise. The feeling among the merchants against the mail-order business is largely unwarranted, because it appears that TBE PROBLEM 603 TABLE XXXI COMPARISON OF VILLAGE AND COUNTRY Percent of all families visited In village Incoiintiy Hot-water, steam, or hot-air heating-plant Electric lights Electric flatirons Vacuum cleaners Running-water in house Telephone Bathroom in house Washing-machines » Screened porches Employ maid for housework Average weekly wage: village, I3.57; country, $4.16 Hire dressmakers Represented in ladies' aid societies Represented in Sunday-schools Represented in young people's societies Represented in lodges Represented in literary societies Represented in W. C. T. U Subscribe to city daily paper Subscribe to local paper Subscribe to first-class magazines. Average number per family: village, 2.8; coun try, 1.9 Subscribe to cheap magazines Subscribe to religious publications Subscribe to agricultural papers Play cards Opposed to card-playing Attend dances Opposed to dancing Adults attend theatricals Children attend theatricals Have pianos Have organs Have phonographs Have automobiles 16 60 45 8 55 58 18 50 15 18 48 41 45 29 27 14 14 58 83 53 22 38 27 47 33 37 25 50 39 38 15 14 17 3 o o o 2 67 1-5 61 3-5 26 32 40 23 19 14 o o 43 84 22 34 35 76 46 25 ■41 27 14 20 6.5 33 24 6 * Most memben of farmers' families attend dances very seldom, perhaps only once or twice a year only 52.5 per cent of all families visited ever buy from catalogue houses, and that their average purchases amount to only $42.04 per year. .The whole mail-order business 604 THE RURAL COMMUNITY amounts to only about 3 per cent of the total business of those stores which are open to this sort of competition. In many ways the social life of the village is very pleas- ant, and the people form close friendships. They are divided, however, into well-defined groups, with the re- sult that each group is rather self-centred and self-sufficient. In view of the lack of contact with the outside world, a more general social life in the village would undoubtedly aid in developing wider interests. There is very little social mingling between the village folk and the farmers. On the whole the village people have a surprising number of comforts in their homes, and live in attractive houses. The cost of living is decidedly low as compared with city life and people with moderate means enjoy certain com- forts that would be impossible with the same incomes in larger cities. This is one of the principal conveniences of small- town life, although, on the other hand, the small town offers but little employment for the young people, thus forcing them to move to larger cities to gain a liveli- hood. There is a much more noticeable movement of young people from the village to the city than from the farm to the city. CHAPTER X THE PROGRAMME 1. HOW SHALL WE SECURE COMMUNITY LIFE IN THE OPEN COUNTRY? BY L. H. BAILEY (From The Country-Life Movement in the United States) It is generally agreed that one of the greatest insufficien- cies in country life is its lack of organization or cohesion, both in a social and economic way. Country people are separated both because of the distances between their prop- erties, and also because they own their land and are largely confined to its sphere of activities. There is a general absence of such common feeling as would cause them to act together unitedly and quickly on questions that con- cern the whole community, or on matters of public mo- ment. This lack of united action cannot be overcome by any single or brief process, but as one result of a general re- direction of rural effort and the stimulating of a new or different point of view toward life. It will come as a re- sult of a quickened agricultural life rather than as an effect of any direct plan or propaganda. When the rural social sense is thoroughly established, we shall be in a new epoch of rural civilization. It is now the habit to say that this desired rural life must be co-operative. A society that is fully co-operative in all ways is one from which the present basis of com- petition is eliminated. I think that no one intends, how- ever, in the common discussion of co-operation to take sides on the theoretical question as to whether society in the end will be co-operative or competitive; these per- 605 6o6 THE RURAL COMMUNITY sons only mean that co-operative association is often the best means to secure a given result and that such co-opera- tion may exert great educational influence on the co- operators. Theoretically, the co-operative organization of society may be the better. Practically, a capitalistic organization may be better; it quickly recognizes merit and leader- ship ; but if it is better, it is so only when it is very care- fully safeguarded. It cannot be contended that a co-operative organization is correct because the majority rules. Majorities only show what the people want, not necessarily what is best. Minorities are much more likely to be right, because think- ing men and fundamental students are relatively few; yet it may be the best practice, in common affairs, to let the majority have its way, for this provides the best means of edutation. It will now be interesting to try to picture to ourselves some of the particular means by which social connection in the open country may be brought about. It is com- monly, but I think erroneously, thought that community life necessarily means a living together in centres or vil- lages. I conceive, on the contrary, that it is possible to develop a very effective community mind whilst the per- sons still remain on their farms. In this day of rapid com- munication, transportation, and spread of intelligence, the necessity of mere physical contiguity has partly passed away. That is, "isolation," as the city man conceives of it, is not necessarily a bar to community feeling. The farmer does not think in terms of compact neighborhoods, trolley- cars, and picture-shows. The country is not "lonely" to him, as it is to a city man. He does not search for amuse- ment at night. Hamlet life. It is said that the American farmer must live in hamlets, as does the European peasant. The ham- let system that exists in part of Europe represents the results of an historical condition. It is the product of a long line of social evolution, during which time the persons THE PROGRAMME 607 who have worked the land have been peasants, and, to a greater or less degree, have not owned the land that they have worked. Some people fear that the American farmer is drifting toward peasantry. This notion has no doubt arisen from the fact that in certain places the man who works the land is driven to great extremity of poverty, and he remains uneducated and undeveloped; but ignorance and poverty do not constitute peasantry. The peasanthood of the Old World is a social caste or class, and is in part a rem- nant of feudal government, of religious subjugation, and of the old necessity of protection. The present day is characterized by the rise of the people on the land; this movement is a part of the general rise of the common people (or the proletariat). If popular education, popular rights, and the general extension of means of communication signify anything, it is that we, necessarily, are developing away from a condition of peasantry rather than toward it, however much degradation or unsuccess there may be in certain regions or how much unadjustment there may be in the process. . . . In contradistinction to the exclusive hamlet system of living together, I would emphasize the necessity that a first-rate good man must live on the farm if he is to make the most of it. Farming by proxy or by any absentee method is just as inefficient and as disastrous in the long run as the doing of any other business by proxy; in fact, it is likely to be even more disastrous in the end because it usually results in the depletion of the fertility of the land, or in the using up of the capital stock; and this be- comes a national disaster. I hold that it is essential that the very best kind of people actually live on the land. The business is conducted on the land. The crops are there. The live stock is there. The machinery is there. All the investment is in the place itself. If this business is to be most effective, a good man must constantly manage it. A farm is not like a store or a factory, that is shut up at night and on Sunday. The more difficult and complex the farming business 6o8 THE RURAL COMMUNITY becomes, the greater will be the necessity that a good man remain with it. We must remember also that if the landowner or farmer lives in a village or hamlet and another man lives on his farm, a social division at once results, and we have a strati- fication into two classes of society; and this works di- rectly against any community of interest. It is not likely that the farmer who has retired to town and the hired man who works his farm under orders will develop any very close personal relation. The farmer becomes an ex- traneous element injected into the town, and has little interest in its welfare, and he has taken his personality, enterprise and influence out of the country. He is in a very real sense "a man without a country." The increase of his living expenses in town is likely to cause him to raise the rent on his farm, or, if the tenant works for wages, to reduce the improvements on the place to the lowest extent compatible with profit. We need above all things to produce such a rural condition as will satisfy the farmer to live permanently in the country rather than to move to town when the farm has given him a competence. I am not to be understood as saying that farmers ought never to live in town. There will always be shifting both ways between town and country. In some cases, small-area farming develops around a village ; or a village grows up because the farms are small and are intensively handled. In irrigation regions, the whole community may be practically a hamlet or village. In parts of the Eastern States, small farmers sometimes live in the village and go to the farm each day, to work it themselves. But all these are special adaptations, and do not constitute a broad agricultural system. In time we probably shall develop a new kind of rural settlement, one that will be the result of co-operative units or organizations, and not a consolidation about the present kinds of business places ; but it is a question whether these will be villages or hamlets in the sense in which we now use these words. The category of agencies. My position, therefore, is that we must evolve our social rural community directly from THE PROGRAMME 609 the land itself, and mostly by means of the resident forces that now are there. This being our proposition, it is then necessary to dis- cover whether, given permanent residence on pieces of land, it is still possible to develop anything like a com- munity sense. I do not now propose to discuss this ques- tion at any length, but merely to call attention to a few ways in which I think the neighborhood life of the open country may be very distinctly improved. In this discussion, I purposely omit reference to public utilities and governmental action, because they are out- side my present range. The farmer will share with all the people any needful improvement that may be made in regulation of transportation and transportation rates, in control of corporations, in equalizing of taxation, in providing new means of credit, in extending means of communication, in revising tariffs, in reforming the cur- rency, and in perfecting the mail service. To work out the means of neighborhood co-operation, there should be sufficient and attractive meeting-places. The rural schoolhouse is seldom adapted to this purpose. The Grange Hall does not represent all the people. The church is not a public institution. Libraries are yet in- sufficient. Town halls are few, and usually as unattrac- tive as possible. There is now considerable discussion of community halls. Several of them have been built in different parts of the country to meet the new needs, and the practice should grow. 1 . The mere increase of population will necessarily bring people closer together, and by that much will it tend to social solidarity. 2. The natural dividing up of large farms, which is com- ing both as a result of the extension of population and from the failure of certain very large estates to be profit- able, will also bring country people closer together. The so-called "bonanza farms" are unwieldy and ineffective economic units; and many farmers are "land poor." 3. We shall also assemble farms. The increasing pop- ulation on the land will not always result in smaller farms. Most of the richer and most profitable lands will gradually 6lO THE RURAL COMMUNITY be divided because, with our increased knowledge and skill, persons can make a living from smaller areas. The remoter and less productive lands will naturally be com- bined into larger farm areas, however, because a large proportion of such lands cannot make a sufficient profit, when divided into ordinary farm areas, to support and educate a present-day family. . . . Contiguous areas of the better lands will be combined with them, in order to make a good business unit. As several farms come together under one general ownership, this owner will naturally gather about him a considerable population to work his lands. The probability is that, under thoroughly skilful single management, a given area of remote or low-productive lands will sustain a larger population than they are now able to sustain under the many indifferent or incompetent ownerships. It is to be hoped that some of these amal- gamated areas will develop a share-working or associative farming of a kind that is now practically unknown. 4. The recreative life of the country community greatly needs to be stimulated. Not only games and recreation days need to be encouraged, but the spirit of release from continuous and deadening toil must be encouraged. The country population needs to be livened up. This will come about through the extension of education and the work of ministers, teachers, and organizations. All per- sons can come together on a recreation basis. . . . The good farmer will have one day a week for recrea- tion, vacation, and study. 5. Local politics ought to further the entire neighbor- hood life, rather than to divide the community into hos- tile camps. All movements, as direct nominations, that stimulate local initiative and develop the sense of respon- sibility in the people will help toward this end. 6. Rural government is commonly ineffective. It needs awakening by men and women who have arrived at some degree of mastery over their conditions. We talk much of the need of improving municipal government, but very little about rural government; yet, government in rural THE PROGRAMME 6ll communities is inert and dead, as compared with what it might be, and there is probably as much machine politics in it, in proportion to the opportunities, as in city govern- ment. Very much of the lack of gumption in the open country is due to the want of a, perfectly free and able administration of the public affairs. The whole political organization of rural communities needs new attention, and perhaps radical overhauling. As I write these sentences, I have before me a newspaper in which a progressive surgeon expresses his opinion (which he has verified for me) on the question of supervision of health in a rural county in an Eastern State. He found the statistics too inaccurate and too indefinite to enable him to draw exact conclusions, but these are approximately the facts: No township seems to have deliberately paid its health officer, and but one town deliberately paid its poor physician. The others paid various bills for "quarantine" and "fumigating" and "fees," and other misleading items. There was no way to distinguish between the care of the poor and the sick-poor except to guess and to figure on what I happened to know about. A , the richest and largest township, has no health officers, and spent $200 for the poor in a population of 4,000 people living in an area of 93 square miles. B , the poorest township, with a population of 1,000, and an area of 36 square miles, paid her health officer $28 and her poor physician $23. One township has 2,170 inhabitants living in 51 square miles of territory, worth one and one-eighth million dollars. Its super- visor is paid $352.95 a year for a few days' work ; its officers are paid $612.95. It cost $274.79 each year to elect these officers, and I understand each township is to spend about $5,000 for good roads. The health officer that cares for these 2,000 people over 51 miles of territory gets $42.53 a year, and the poor phy- sician $34; while the sick-poor get helped to the munificent sum of $59.36, or two and one-half cents from each citizen. The health officers get almost exactly two cents a head for caring for the inhabitants over 51 square miles of land. The supervisor gets out of each inhabitant seventeen cents a year, the officers get thirty cents, while the sick-poor take from each citizen al- most three cents. The discrepancy is too glaring to need com- ment. A community assessed a million dollars and probably worth two millions spends $40 a year on public health, and $60 a year on one-sixteenth of its population for sickness. 6l2 THE RURAL COMMUNITY The physician proposes a county commission to take the place of the board of supervisors. He declared that the members of the board have outgrown their usefulness. "They should be junked along with other stage-coaches and a nice, new 60 h. p. county commission put in their place. The fact is that the system is wrong. Our 'gov- ernment* is a survival of early times, and our science is up to date. They do not fit. You cannot expect super- visors who were useful in the time of Adam, when there were no cities, no problems, no roads, to serve in the twentieth century with its surgical treatment of de- generates, its germs and prophylactics, its preventive medicine and its scientific spirit. Supervisors could look after noxious plants and animals in the old days, and they could paper the court-house and eat fat dinners in the poorhouse. They did fairly well at settling line fences, drinking sweet cider, and blarneying with insurgents. But they are out of place when it is a question of constructing roads of macadam, of building a tuberculosis hospital for an $18,000,000 county, and especially they are out of place when it is a question of dozens of defec- tives in jail and thousands outside who ought to be^in hospitals." 7. A community programme for health is much needed. The farmer lives by himself in his own house, on his own place. If a disease arises in his neighbor's family, it is not likely to spread to his family. Therefore, disease has seemed to him to be a personal rather than a neighbor- hood matter. There is the greatest need that the farmer possess a community sense in respect to disease and sani- tary conditions. If the city is the centre of enlightenment, it should help the country to get hold of this problem. We should have a thoroughgoing system of health super- vision and inspection for the open country as well as in the city. Health inspection should run out from the cities and town into all the adjoining regions, maintaining proper connections with state departments of health. It should be continuous. It should include inspection of animals as well as of human beings. In other words, the whole tELE PROGllAMMfe 613 region is a unit, one part depending on the other. The remarks of the physician, just quoted, indicate how great is the need of an organized health supervision for country communities. We need meat inspection laws for meat killed and sold within the states, to supplement the interstate law. We need community slaughter-houses in which all slaughter- ing of animals shall be under proper inspection. We need state milk inspection programmes. It is not right that any large city should be compelled to inspect the milk throughout the state in order to protect itself. It is not right to the farming districts that such inspection should centre in the city. We must not assume that the farmer is specially guilty of sanitary faults. There are many such shortcomings in the open country, and I accept them without apology; but I can match them every one in city conditions. The fact is that the whole people has not yet risen to an ap- preciation of thoroughly sanitary conditions, and we can- not say that this deficiency is the special mark of any one class of our population. Persons ride along the country roads and see repulsive barnyards, glaring manure piles, untidy back yards, and at once make remarks about them. All these things are relegated to the rear in towns and cities and are not so visible, but they exist there. I know that there are very filthy stables in the country districts, but I have never known worse stable conditions than I have seen in cities and towns. All progress in these directions must come slowly, and we must remember that it is expensive to rebuild and reorganize a stable. No doubt one of the reasons for the high cost of living is the demand of the people that pure-food laws shall be enacted and enforced, for all this adds to the cost of food supplies; similarly, we must expect a betterment in conditions of stabling to result in increased price of dairy products. In the cost of living we must figure the expense of having clean and pure food. The farmer is much criticized for polluting streams; but when the farmer pollutes one stream occasionally. 6l4 THE RURAL COMMUNITY a city will pollute a whole system of streams continually. One of the greatest sins of society is the wholesale befoul- ment of streams, lakes, and watercourses. I do not see how we can expect to be called a civilized people until we have taken care of our refuse without using it to fill up ponds and lakes, and to corrupt the free water-supplies of the earth. If the countryman has been ignorant of sanitary con- ditions, we must remember that his ideas are largely such as he has derived from teachers, physicians, and others. We cannot expect a man to develop within himself enough community pride and altruism to compel him to go to great expense for the benefit of the public; but he will gladly contribute his part to a public programme. 8. Local factories and industries of whatever kind tend to develop community pride and effectiveness. Creameries have had a marked effect in this way in many places, giving the community or locality a reason for existence and a pride in itself that it never had before, or, at least, that it had not enjoyed since the passing out of the small fac- tories. There is much need of local industries in the open country, whether they are distinctly agricultural or other- wise, not only for the purpose of providing additional employment for country people but to direct the flow of capital and enterprise into the country and to stimulate local interest of all kinds. It is not by any means essen- tial that all new life in country neighborhoods should be primarily agricultural. 9. The country store ought to be a factor in rural better- ment. How to make it so, I do not know. The country store is the nexus between the manufacturers or the city jobbers, with their "agreements," on the one hand, and the people, on the other hand, whose commercial inde- pendence the jobbers may desire to control. The country merchant takes up the cause of the large dealer, because his own welfare is involved, and he unconsciously becomes one of the .agencies through which the open country is drained THE PROGRAMME 615 and restrained. The parcel-post — which must come — will probably considerably modify this establishment, although I do not look for its abolition nor desire it. Cer- tain interests make strong opposition to the parcel-post on the ground that it will ruin the country merchant and, therefore, the country town. I doubt if it will do any such thing; but even if it should, the end to be gained is not that the country merchant shall not be disturbed, but that the people at large may be benefited. No one knows just what form of readjustment the parcel-post will bring about; but trade will very soon readjust itself to this condition as it has reacted to the introduction of farm machinery, good roads, the telegraph and telephone, rural free delivery. The trader in the small town in some parts of the coun- try is likely to own the people. He is almost necessarily opposed to co-operation and to any new movements that do not tend to enlarge his trade. I wish we might also do something with the country hotel. ID. The business metis organizations, or chambers of commerce, in villages and country cities will not confine their activities within the city boundaries in the future. A wholly new field for usefulness and for the making of personal reputation lies right here. The business organi- zation of one village or city should extend out into the country until it meets a similar organization from the adjoining village, and the whole region should be com- mercially developed. ... A chamber of commerce could exert much influence toward making a better reputation for the pack of apples, or for other output of the region. II. The influence of certain great corporations is likely to be felt in the rural adjustment. This is particularly true of the new interest that railroads are taking in East- em agriculture. A co-ordination between railroads and farming interests will do much for the property of both sides; and the railroads can exercise great power in tying country communities together. The Wall Street Journal comments as follows on the situation, after calling atten- 6l6 THE RURAL COMMUNITY tion to the fact that the "Eastern trunk-lines have already entered upon a campaign for the encouragement of agri- culture": Thirty-six years ago the Pennsylvania state legislature made an eflfort to save the farmers of that state from the damaging competition of ruinously low rates on Western grain to Eastern mills and to the seaboard. The result was practically nil. East- ern farmers were left so completely out in the cold that thousands of them sold out and went West to raise more grain there, still further to handicap the Eastern producer. The widespread bankruptcy of the middle states farmers during the eighties was a consequence partly of cut-throat competition among rail- roads to haul Western grain to the East at less than cost, and partly the result of a general depression from which it took ten full years to recover. What is it that has brought the railroads to the farmers on terms of co-operation for the development of their common territory? It is the same thing which has served the railroads so admirably in the solution of their cost problems. It is science applied to reducing the expenses of transportation in the one case, and to the greater mastery of the resources of the soil in the other case. In this lies the possibility of increasing railway freight to and from rural sources. The co-operation of trans- portation and agriculture, in the East especially, is not wholly new, but it is highly significant. Nothing could be more encouraging than the service which the railroads are beginning to render in the better distribution of population over the land, by putting a premium on good farm- ing and encouraging the young to find careers for themselves in rural industries. 12. Local institutions of all kinds must have a powerful effect in evolving a good community sense. This is true in a superlative degree of the school, the church, the fair, and the rural library. These institutions will bring into the community the best thought of the world and will use it in the development of the people in the locality. Such institutions must do extension work. The church, from the nature of its organization, could readily extend itself beyond its regular and essential gospel work. The high school will hold winter courses and will take itself out to its constituency. The library ought to occupy its whole territory, . . , THE PROGRAMME 617 Similarly, village improvement societies should organ- ize country and town together, extending free care, better roads, lawn improvement, and other good work through- out the entire community contributory to the city. Civic societies, fraternal orders, hospital associations, business organizations . . . women's clubs and federations, could do the same. 13. The local rural press ought to have a powerful in- fluence in furthering community action. Many small rural newspapers are meeting their local needs, and are to be considered among the agents that make for an im- proved country life. In proportion as the support of the country newspaper is provided by political organizations, hack politicians, and patent-medicine advertisements, will its power as a public organ remain small and undevel- oped. 14. The influence of the many kinds of extension teach- ing is bound to be marked. Reading courses, itinerant lectures, the organizing of boys' and girls' clubs, demon- stration farms, the inspection of dairies, orchards, and other farms, and of irrigation supplies, the organization of such educational societies as cow-testing societies, and the like, touch the very core of the rural problem. The influence of the travelling teacher is already beginning to be felt, and it will increase greatly in the future. I mean by the travelling teacher the person who goes out from the agricultur£il college, the experiment station, the state or national department of agriculture, or other similar institution, to impart agricultural information, and to set the people right toward their own problems. 15. The modem extension of all kinds of communication will unite the people, even though it does not result in making them move their residences. I have in mind good highways, telephones, rural free deliveries, and the like. The automobile is already beginhing to have its effect in certain rural communities, but we have yet scarcely begun to develop the type of auto- vehicle which is destined, I think, to make a very great change in country affairs. The improvement of highways on a regular plan will itself 6l8 THE RURAL COMMUNITY tend to organize the rural districts. We must add to all this a thoroughly developed system of parcel-post, not only that the farmer may receive mail, but that he may also have greater facilities and freedom to transact his business with the world. . . . 1 6. Economic or business co-operation must be extended. There is much co-operation of this kind among American farmers, more than most persons are aware. Some of it is very effective, but much of it is co-operative only in name. It takes the form of milk associations, creameries, fruit Eissociations, poultry societies, farmers' grain eleva- tors, unions for buying and selling, and the like, some of which are of great extent. A really co-operating association is one in which all members take active part in government and control, and share in their just proportions in the results. It is properly a society, rather than a company. Many so- called co-operative units are really stock companies, in which a few persons control, and the remainder become patrons; and others are mere shareholding organizations. Business co-operation in agriculture is of three kinds: (i) Co-operative production; (2) co-operative buying; (3) co-operative selling. The last two are extensively practised in many regions. Co-operative production of animals and crops is practically unknown in the rural communities in the United States, and we are not to ex- pect it to arise in those communities to any extent under the present organization of society. Colonies organized on a co-operative basis may practise it within their mem- bership, but it is doubtful whether persons who are well equipped to be farmers will enter such organizations for this purpose so long as it is easy to make a financial suc- cess at independent farming. There is a fourth form that should be mentioned, al- though it is not co-operation in the real sense, but rather a form of combination. I refer to movements to control the production or output of commodities, such as wheat, cotton, tobacco, maize, and arbitrarily to fix the price. This cannot be permanently accomplished with any of THE PROGRAMME 619 the great staples, and even if it could be accomplished, in my opinion it would be an economic and social error. Very much has been said about the necessity of busi- ness co-operation among farmers, and the importance of the subject can hardly be overstated; and yet it should be fully understood that economic co-operation is only one of many means that may be put in operation to propel country life. The essential thing is that country life be organized : if the organization is co-operative the results — at least theoretically — should be the best ; but in one place, the most needed co-operation may be social, in another educational, in another religious, in another political, in another sanitary, in another economic in respect to buy- ing and selling and making loans or providing insurance. When the chief deficiency in any region is economic, then it should be met by an organization that is primarily eco- nomic. Some of the effective co-operation in the West, so often cited, is really founded on the land-selling spirit of the community. In Denmark, the co-operative movement has been one means of the salvation of the country, following the dis- astrous German war. The movement in some parts of the world is really a culture movement, having for a back- ground the general good of society. We should not be impatient if our farmers do not organize themselves co-operatively as rapidly as we think they ought to organize. Economic personal co-operation may be expected to thrive best in a community of small farmers. It is a ques- tion whether we shall develop the strongest leaders in a condition of more or less uniform small farms. There is much to be said in favor of rather large farming (say 500 to 1,000 acres), for a business of this proportion demands a strong man. This does not mean landlordism, which is a part of a political and hereditary system, but merely 620 THE RURAL COMMUNITY large and competitive business organization. Such far- mers, if they are so minded, can accomplish great things for their fellows. I am looking for some of the best results in co-operation to come from the establishment of field-laboratories and demonstration farms, to which the farmers of the locality contribute their personal funds in the expectation of an educational result. The best results to country life can- not possibly come by the government continuing to take everjrthing to the farmer free of cost and without the ask- ing. Disadvantaged or undeveloped regions must be aided freely, but as rapidly as any localities get on their feet, they should meet the state part way, and should assume their natural share of the expense and responsibility. This form of co-operation is already well under way; and I suspect that in many localities that have been dead to all forms of co-operative effort, this idea will afford the starting-point for a new community life. From this form of educational co-operation, it would be but a step to a neighborhood effort to introduce new crops and high-class bulls, to undertake drainage enterprises and reforestation; and to unite on business matters. It is possible for a national organization movement to come out of the existing agricultural institutions in the United States. We may picture to ourselves a perfectly co-operating rural society that will have all the means of salvation with- in itself. Even if we accept this picture, we cannot say that the structure will rise out of one seed or starting- point, or that one phase of co-operation is of necessity primary and another final. Our theoretical structure will rise from several or many beginnings; it will be a com- plex of numberless units; whatever range of co-operation is found, by investigation, to be now most needed in any community, must be the one with which we are to set that community going. 17. In the end everything depends on personal gump- tion and guidance. It is not strange that we have lacked the kind of guidance that brings country people together, THE PROGRAMME 62 1 because we have not had the kind of education that pro- duces it; and, in fact, this kind of guidance has not been so necessary in the past as it is now. A new motive in education is gradually beginning to shape itself. This must produce a new kind of outlook on country questions, and it will bring out a good many men and women who will be guides in their country as their fellows will be guides in the city. They will be captains because they will per- form the common work of farming regions in an uncom- mon way. I think we little realize to-day what the effect will be in twenty-five years of the young men and women that the colleges of agriculture in these days are sending into the country districts. Community interest is of the spirit. In conclusion, let us remember that everything that develops the common commercial, intellectual, recreative, and spiritual interests of the rural people, ties them together socially. Residing near together is only one of the means of developing a community life, and it is not now the most important one. Persons who reside close together may still be torn asunder by divergent interests and a simple lack of any tie that binds ; this is notably true in many country villages. Community of purpose and spirit is much more im- portant than community of houses. Community pride is a good product; it produces a common mind. 2. RURAL SOCIALIZATION BY NEWELL L. SIMS The term socialization as currently used in popular discussions of social problems generally lacks definiteness. Vagueness together with much latitude and looseness in its employment attaches to the concept. Even recognized sociologists give it various shades of meaning and stress important factors differently. A few definitions from acceptable authorities may be cited to make this clear and in addition to bring immediately before us material 622 THE RURAL COMMUNITY whence that which expert opinion in general considers essential to the process may be deducted. Socialization Defined Making it practically synonymous with group regu- lation or social control, Lester F. Ward held that: "So- cialization is conscious, intentional, wished for, and wel- comed telic action, not of the individual as such, but of those individuals into whose hands society, by whatever means intrusts the conduct of its affairs." ^ To Franklin H. Giddings it signifies the growth of a social mind and character, as is evinced in the following: "The process of getting acquainted with one another, of establishing sympathies and friendships, of learning to enjoy association, and of discovering how to co-operate with one another in our work, we may call socialization." ^ Very much like Giddings's definition is that of E. A. Ross: "The socializing process is that growth in the close- ness and extent of similarity which multiplies sympathies, promotes co-operations, and makes for harmony among men." » Albion W. Small, conceiving it to be the transformation of conflict into co-operation, says that socialization "con- fines men in restraints, in order to reach the needed sup- port and co-operation for fulfilling and securing their natural or supposed interest; or in restraints which the force of social conditions imposed upon them." * J. Q. Dealey formulates his notion to the effect that "the members of society become socialized in that they become sympathetic one with another and learn the art of co-operation." ^ In less specific terms J. M. Gillette says that: "Social- ization commonly refers to the historical process of de- veloping in individuals the associational ability." * With emphasis upon the process rather than the product, » Pure Sociology, p. 547. ■ Inductive Sociology, 1901, p. 59. • Foundations of Sociology, 1905, p. 262. * General Sociology, 1905, p. 192. ' Sociology, p. 89. • Constructive Rural Sociology, 191 5, p. 184. THE PROGRAMME 623 E. W. Burgess views it from two angles : " From the stand- point of the group, we may define it as the psychic artic- ulation of the individual into the collective activities. From the standpoint of the person socialization is the participation of the individual in the spirit and purpose, knowledge and methods, decision and action of the group." ' Other definitions might be added, but these are suf- ficient, for nearly all seem to run in much the same vein. A detailed critique of the many notions which have been formulated might be entered upon. Since this, however, would not materially further the particular object of this essay, it may well be dispensed with. In lieu of it, to note merely the trend of thought in these definitions and their points of agreement will be enough. Suffice it, then, to say that apart from a considerable difference in regard to phraseol»gy, completeness of statement, and points of emphasis in the attempts at describing the phenomenon, there appears to be a pretty general unanimity among real social scientists as to what constitutes socialization. Essentially it may be said to be the integration of group consciousness and conduct. Obviously it is and may cor- rectly be thought of either as product or process. Socialization as Product Looked at from the standpoint of product, socialization is always a relative matter. The social situation or status of the individual or aggregate in any given instance de- termines its nature or in -what it shall consist. Burgess has brought this out in saying that "the socialization of the individual is of qualitatively different types in different historical periods and within different classes." ^ There have been, according to this author, three historical epochs with their corresponding types of socialization. These he designates as the kinship, the personal, and the im- personal. At each stage socialization differed qualita- ■ The Function of Socialization in Social Evolution, 1916, p. 2. 'Ibid., p. 71. 624 THE RURAL COMMUNITY tively. And so does it differ pertaining to existing in- dividual and group situations. For instance, the socializa- tion of a country boy in the city environment is by no means the same in quality as is the socialization of a youth of an African tribe entering an American group. But socialization varies quantitatively also. There are de- grees of it demanded according to the development of the particular individuals or groups in any stage of social evolution. This of course applies to individuals or groups and communities in present-day society. It may be assumed fairly that the beginnings of group consciousness and conduct, at least in some degree, are always present in any aggregate of mankind, however heterogeneous its composition. This may amount to little more than the most basic sort of consciousness of kind — that of belonging to the human species — but nevertheless, it is the manifestation of a degree of socialisation. Sup- pose, for instance, we imagine an aggregate of racial and cultural elements as mixed as it would be possible if com- posed of all the available stocks of the earth — a polychrome crowd, a complete Babel of tongues, a jumble of cultures both savage and civilized, a veritable pantheon of faiths, a confusion of folkways and mores — there would yet be even here a primordial stage of socialization. To be sure, that community of feeling, thought, willing, and acting about which the members of such a group would cluster and from which they would deviate would be the very least, but, they being human beings, it would not be wanting. The socialization of an aggregate of this kind would involve the progressive enlargement of that minimum community of consciousness and conduct. Specifically, in this case, it would mean, among other things, the integration of a common speech, of common feelings, and ideas, of group customs and attitudes, of a like faith, of collective activi- ties, etc. At any stage of development in this direction the aggregate might be spoken of as being more or less socialized. Whatever the degree attained, however, there would still remain something further that might possibly be achieved in the way of socialization, for there cannot THE PROGRAMME 625 be said to be any absolute degree of it recognized. If any such degree exists, it lies wholly within the realm of imag- ination rather than reality. There may be an ideal or normative measure of socialization set up as the goal for any given group or community on any plane of social evolution, and there may also be a point beyond which socialization cannot be carried save at the expense of a wholesome individuation, but both the ideal and the point of unprofitable return can be determined, if at all, only ex- perimentally with reference to each group. When, therefore, the socialization of some particular group or class is the problem, there is implied the develop- ment of that which is lacking of group consciousness and conduct according to some preconceived standard. Take for illustration a group of immigrants, say Slavic or Italian — ^just landed in the United States. The social environ- ment into which they have entered furnished the ready- made criteria of socialization that are signified when we speak of assimilating them. It is implied that when such a group has acquired the English language; attained the American standard of living and conduct for its class, eco- nomically, morally, politically, and socially; and has come to assume the general American attitude on all important questions, it will be socialized. The standards of the Ameri- can social environment are here set up as the norm by pop- ular opinion. Likewise, to socialize any group whatso- ever always involves the attainment of some different or higher plane of social consciousness and conduct than is already enjoyed either upon the demand of another or from voluntary choice. In the light of the foregoing analysis the question of rural socialization presents itself for consideration. While the subject has been widely discussed and written about, just what it means to socialize a rural neighborhood and particularly how to go about it have not always been com- prehended or made clear. If concerning rural communi- ties such as are typical of the open country throughout America, which, because of their maladjustments and unsatisfying social conditions, have created and brought 626 THE RURAL COMMUNITY to the fore a farm life problem, we ask: What is lacking from the standpoint of socialization ? We shall be putting ourselves in the way leading to an understanding of the question in hand. Merely to clear the way at the outstart let us take account of the prevalent state of socialization existing in the ordinary rural neighborhood. There will be found a fairly general homogeneity from nearly every view-point. Several racial elements may indeed be pres- ent, but all will probably speak the English language. Some farmers will have more land than others and some will own none, but nearly the same standard of living will after all be seen to obtain among them. There will, of course, be manifest inequalities in ability and education, but still all will observe essentially the same personal and neighborhood code of morals and follow the same customs. Practically, despite different church afHliations or none they will be found of like faith and practise religiously. Among them the same general mental attitude — that which is designated the rural mind — will be assumed. In brief, there prevails a rural social order to which the in- dividuals are organically related and wherein similarity of feelings, thought, and action holds sway. Though strik- ingly individualistic, those of a neighborhood conform to a type — the rural social type. Indeed, a cursory survey should naturally lead one to the conclusion that rural communities were already socialized as far as practical. However, a more thorough insight reveals the fact that notwithstanding the obvious homogeneity and conformity to type on the part of the individuals of these groups, there exists a woful "sociological poverty." The most vital phase of social life is wanting. This deficiency, despite the common practice of speaking of the rural neighbor- hood as a community, is the lack of essential community itself. Community in a measure there is, to be sure, in every neighborhood, but there is not often that which constitutes the vital and essential community — a con- sciousness or realization of community and the expression of it through co-operative activities. Below this level the country neighborhood as found over much of America THE PROGRAMME 627 is thoroughly socialized. Above it further socialization is imperative. Specifically stated, that higher degree of socialization consists subjectively in bringing about the realization of a common consciousness — a consciousness which perceives that like interests should be pursued in common — and objectively in developing co-operation. There is, I am fully aware, nothing new unearthed in pointing this out. Students of rural conditions have long appreciated the need, and agencies of rural betterment have been endeavoring to supply it. Kenyon L. Butter- field, for instance, expresses it when he tells us that social- ization is "in general the breaking-down of the extreme individualism which exists in most of our country life and is in fact, engendered by the farmer's mode of living, and the bringing together of these independent individual ele- ments into a more coherent social group." ' And to the same effect is Mr. Clarence Poe's observation that "the chief task of the rural reformer to-day is the creation of the rural community." Our restatement here of what rural socialization signifies is, therefore, chiefly for em- phasis and by way of introduction to what follows. The Socializing Process The process of socializing the rural neighborhood or of developing an essential community consisting of a com- munity consciousness and co-operative activities is one fraught with difficulties. However, these have probably been mzignified through the failures of those leaders and reformers who have gone about the work of organizing the forces of country life blindly. With finely drawn plans and specifications for community construction, they have all too frequently besought countrymen to build them a more stately social structure without even once consider- ing whether or not the materials of which it could be made were available or could be rendered serviceable if at hand. In consequence these would-be rural architects have most often found rising only castles in air where they expected ' The Country Church and the Rural Problem, p. 37, 628 THE RURAL COMMUNITY substantial creations. They have purposed to make bricks without straw. Testimony as to the futility of. their efforts is borne by the wreckage of their plans which lie strewn everywhere by the rural wayside. Occasionally, perhaps, idealistic schemes have been in a measure successfully realized, but, where so, it was likely due to exceptional con- ditions rather than to the wisdom of the reformer either in foreseeing or creating a favorable situation. If, then, we seek first to discover of what materials co-operation is made and how these are builded together, perhaps some of the difficulties of rural socialization will vanish. At least this will be the case in so far as the theory goes and a programme of action is involved. As already suggested, the rural neighborhood cannot often be socialized to the point of co-operation merely by planning any sort of concerted activities and inviting people to participate in them. Many are prone to assume that organization is the one thing needed. This to them is the all-sufficient agency. In some cases it will indeed prove to be so. Highly developed sections of the country, like rural New England, may be ready for a whole pro- gramme of organization. But not so rural America at large. Generally, the way must be prepared for organiza- tion, else it fails to work. Organization, at best, is only the organ, the form of community, and before it can arise and be maintained the substance of community must be present. And this substance it is which is wanting and must be created. Except in rather rare cases co-operation must therefore be developed gradually. For, given the ordinary run of rural dwellers, alike mentally and prac- tically, but living and working in an unorganized society and in habitual isolation, and being unused to frequent social contacts or scarcely any activities in conjunction with their fellows, and their ability to get together and cohere in common undertakings is largely latent if not almost non-existent. Mutual confidence, sympathies, enthusiasms, purposes, and understandings, adequate co- ordinations between the several socii as to their personal habits and conduct and important adjustments of each THE PROGRAMME 629 to all and all to each are wanting and must first be es- tablished. A true group mind through the interplay of individual minds in close contact and through a simul- taneous like-response to common stimuli must arise in consciousness. When this has taken place, then co-opera- tion of every kind follows as a natural and easy reaction. The necessary psychological environment may in some instances be produced through the educative effects of engaging in or attempting to engage in more or less pre- tentious co-operative programmes themselves, but such procedure is costly and sometimes disastrous, just as the school of experience is always hard and costly compared with the school of organized discipline. There is, how- ever, a truly genetic method whereby co-operation may be developed, and which, if followed, will give the requisite social mind for sustaining permanent social activities of this nature. That method we may now trace somewhat in detail. Instincts are the fundamentcJ incentives to human action. Any appeal to them elicits ready response and any social programme based on such appeal is securely grounded. Among the most powerful of all instincts the herding or social disposition is undoubtedly to be classed. For strength as a motivating force it closely rivals native ten- dencies even of a more primitive nature. In man it is manifestly strong; he is a true political or social animal, and next to his food and sex desires, he hungers and thirsts above all things else for companionship and association. The rural people of America no less than other human elements are socially predisposed. Unfortunately, how- ever, this instinct in them does not function altogether normally under existing conditions in the open country. It is partially dormant, having become what Graham Wallas would call a "balked instinct." The suppression of this instinct has a history which we may briefly relate. Beginning back in the long centuries of pioneering and in the generation of lonely frontier existence through which the stock of America has passed, the gradual balking of the social nature has gone on until under the isolation of 630 THE RURAL COMMUNITY the prevalent mode of farm life into which the country has finally settled, it has reached an advanced stage of atrophy. The main factor in bringing about this balking was the rural environment, which neither demanded nor allowed the free indulgence of the social nature. Human life and the conditions of its existence were considerably out of harmony. A peaceful adjustment of any sort to the situation necessitated the suppression of this disposi- tion. Thus through disuse and the process of stifling the natural desire for social contact, the instinct thereto has grown feeble and often so weak that it scarcely responds to stimulation of any sort. Still, normally it cannot be said to be dead, for the touchstone of social opportunity will and does reawaken it to a full and vital functioning. Far-reaching and important consequences have fol- lowed the partial balking of this instinct. These we need not pause to enumerate save to say that one of them has been an effective thwarting of community efforts. This inactive social nature has therefore to be taken account of in any plan for socializing the rural neighborhood. And not only this but the further fact also that the very con- ditions under which the social nature was originally balked have acted in more recent decades as an expulsive force driving from the open country those whose natures re- mained persistently social in spite of the adverse environ- ment. The cities and towns have drawn this element, and the rural neighborhoods have been generally depleted of their most tenaciously socially disposed people. So true is this in many sections that the saying has arisen that "country folks will not come together, and if they do they won't talk and when they do talk they haven't anything to say." A stock having a balked social nature to begin with and from which, besides, those retaining their social disposition have been sifted out is, then, the material of which the co-operating community is to be constructed. The first step is therefore to stimulate and reawaken this social instinct until it begins to function normally. Association itself is the means to that end. To begin tHE PROGRAMME 631 with, it should be of the simplest kind — that of the casual, incidental, informal, and temporary meeting for the pur- pose of extending and deepening acquaintance. Frequent opportunity for such contact and commingling of the people dwelling in a neighborhood must be afforded. For thus the farmer is released from an undue familiarity with na- ture to the more helpful communion with human nature, through which in turn his latent social desire is called into play and made to grow by indulgence. A notable utter- ance of Socrates which Xenophon reports is to the point here. It runs: "The sayings of the wise men of old we unroll and con together, culling out what good we may, but counting it the greatest gain if meantime we grow dear — one to another." ' To "grow dear — one to an- other," by means of simple social intercourse is precisely what is needed among rural people. The significance of this is that the mutual give and take incident to such inter- course thoroughly effaces their hypersensitiveness and suspiciousness, enlarges their experiences, expands their personalities, until they tend to grow wide like men of the town, and makes them stand revealed one to another in a new and better light. Or as John Dewey analyzing it has so well said : "In social feeling we merge our private life in the wider life of the community, and in so doing immensely transcend our immediate self and realize our being in the widest way." And further:* "Not only is social life identical with communication, but all communi- cation (and hence all genuine social life) is educative. To be a recipient of a communication is to have an enlarged and changed experience. One shares in what another has thought and felt and in so far, meagrely or amply, h£is his own attitude modified." ' This necessity for fos- tering acquaintances and inducing social contact among farmers if ever the essential community is to come into being in the rural neighborhood is beginning to be under- stood by rural sociologists. C. J. Galpin, for instance, has ■ Xenophon's Memorabilia," quoted by Devine in Practice of Charity, 1901, p. 78. > Psychology, 1888, p. 272. » Democracy and Education, 1916, p. 6. 632 THE ftURAL COMMUNITY given it deserving emphasis. He says: "The first plain necessity is for every farm family to extend its personal acquaintance and connections from its own dooryard out to every home in its neighborhood, and then out to every home in its community. This must become a settled policy for social preservation, a sacred determination, a sort of semireligious principle in home, neighborhood, and com- munity. In village and city daily pressure brings contact. In the country, rational procedure must take the place of pressure. This places rural acquaintance making of a large-scale character on the same high moral level with the great idealisms which move men when bare economic compulsion is wanting." ' But merely to deepen or to widen the range of acquain- tance through chance, occasional, or even planned in- dividual and family contacts is not enough. There must be also assemblages — common meetings together of the many — for without these the social experience is incom- plete and the social tendencies denied full realization. In no other way, indeed, save by the frequent participation in society in action can the social disposition unfold and come into its own. Emile Durkheim is quite right in the main point when he says: "Society cannot make its in- fluence felt unless it is in action, and it is not in action unless the individuals who compose it are assembled to- gether and act in common. It is by common action that it takes consciousness of itself and realizes its position; it is before all else an active co-operation. The collective ideas and sentiments are even possible only owing to these exterior movements which symbolize them, as we have established."* The rural socii must then form the acquain- tance of fellowmen, their neighbors, in an associational capacity. They must be drawn together into assemblages and through them acquire the mind to and learn the art of groupwise functioning. The influence exerted by the mass upon the individuals > Bulletin 234, Agr. Exp. Station of the University of Wisconsin, 1914, pp. 4-5- ' The Elementary Forms of Religious Life, p. 418. THE PROGRAMME 633 in common meetings of various sorts has been sufficiently studied in its pathological aspects, but not nearly enough attention has been given to the purely normal side. For a normal side to this influence there is, and the rdle it plays as a socializing force is very important. The rural sociologist must take account of it and utilize it to the utmost for community building. Neighborhood meetings of almost any kind under any auspices whatsoever conduce to the growth of the social disposition in those associating. But not only this; they afford to rural people common stimuli also, through re- sponse to which co-operation has its genesis. Indeed, such meetings, however simple, informal, and unorgan- ized, are themselves elemental forms of co-operation. The "felt union of heart and spirit," upon which co-opera- tion rests, as Walter Bagehot rightly said, is in and by them effectively engendered. Moreover, they continue to be the chief means and impetus to its further growth and fuller development. For where even a slight realiza- tion of a state of common consciousness is brought about, this of itself straightway begins to "motivate action toward and with other persons." ^ It becomes a dynamic agency for deepening this state of social consciousness itself, and for determining further combined action. Says F. H. Giddings: "Among individuals mentally and practically alike co-operation beginning in spontaneous like-response to common stimulation, is further developed, because it yields to the co-operative individuals the same kind of pleasure." * The type of meeting together which may be considered simplest and most primary is any assemblage which is convoked for the purpose of play or recreation. For in such appeal is made to another basic instinct — the play instinct. To be sure, if viewed abstractly, a more primary form of assemblage than that on the play basis might be said to take place, namely, that on the associational basis pure and simple. But while it is conceivable that a neigh- ' M. M. Davis, Psychological Interpretations of Society, pp. 49, 77. ' Descriptive and Historical Sociology, p. 353. 634 THE RURAL COMMUNITY borhood might assemble in response to the social instinct merely for the sake of association, in actual experience this does not commonly occur. Almost invariably there is some additional motive or interest in coming together, and as none is more fundamental or more easily responded to than the play instinct, it seems proper to say that any coming together for play gives the simplest and most primary type of assemblage. Anyhow, it is fair to say this because in fact neither the play nor the social instinct can be appealed to for associational purposes without in- volving the other. The play instinct is strongly reinforced by the social ; the two function most completely together. Play is indeed a ready method, perhaps the easiest of all ways of realizing or satisfying the social instinct. However, the existence of a specific play instinct is very doubtful. Still, there is something that amounts to the same thing — an organic imperative to exercise which is attended by pleasure whenever normal activities are in- dulged in. Unexpended or surplus energy is the biological basis upon which the impulse to play rests securely. The proposed utilization of this impulse as a means to rural co-operation, however, brings us face to face with another case of a more or less balked instinct. At least, if not ex- actly balked, it has with many country folks virtually lapsed into a state of disquietude. So little play has en- tered into their experience that any natural inclinations for it have remained almost altogether undeveloped. Most especially is this true as regards group play. The exigencies of the pursuit of agriculture are largely responsible for this condition. The farmer's surplus energy is expended mainly in the unremitting toil incident to his occupation. He must work long and late during the greater part of the year. And when a brief respite from toil comes, his overworked being normally cries for rest rather than for exercise. Thus is accounted for in large measure the ab- sense of much play, a fact which has often been remarked in the ordinary country districts. Besides, a contributory factor of no mean import conspiring to rob rural life of the play interest has been a narrow Puritanism in morals THE PROGRAMME 635 and religion. For generations the influence of Puritanism has hung Hke a pall over much of rural America, and still casts its darkness over some sections, notably the South- land quenching the spirit of fun, suppressing the most valuable forms of amusement, turning leisure hours into gloom, and making Sundays a horrid nightmare for the youth of the country. Yet notwithstanding all this, the play impulse is easily called into action and may be most effectively employed for bringing together the neighbor- hood in groupwise fashion. When the rural neighborhood is brought together for play, community ends will scarcely be subserved most advantageously unless the activities engaged in are of the group or team sort. These will have to be fostered and organized, for they are really not indigenous to the country. An investigator of the United States Depart- ment of Agriculture is responsible for the statement that out of 189 games known in the country catalogued by him only 8 could be called team games. The others were purely individualistic. Team play, then, must be learned; and an induction into it will probably be found easiest through outdoor recreational activities. For more or less strenuous outdoor physical sports are first in the order of preference, inasmuch as the farmer's habitual life lies in this plane. Country people express themselves naturally in a mus- cular way, though to be sure not in groupwise fashion. The value of team play for them inheres not of course in the mere exercise it affords, but in the social discipline it gives. Out of it arises the real we-spirit together with a sense of group loyalty. Accompanied by a heightening of spirits, team play results in a more complete fusion of minds toward common purposes. Thus the essential com- munity comes into existence. Brought together often enough for such play, the rural neighborhood will undergo rapid transformation in this direction of mental and prac- tical oneness. Field-days, intercommunity matches, and contests of various kinds, both outdoor and indoor, athletic and otherwise, neighborhood fairs, celebrations, simple pageants and the like are all admirable means leading 636 THE RURAL COMMUNITY to the desired goal. There are instances personally known to the writer where through the participation of the whole neighborhood in frequent field-days and picnics combined, far-reaching changes were wrought in the mental atti- tudes and the united activities of the people. When the element of rivalry in intergroup contests is utilized for play organization, appeal is again made to an- other instinct. This time it is the combative nature that is involved. When coupled with the social and play in- stincts it is a motive of sufficient power to give the very strongest sort of grouping. And when thus brought under the restraint and discipline of group interests and aims, it becomes a useful rather than a dangerous factor in the socializing process. Any comprehensive programme of rural socialization should by all means provide for the training of childhood. Obviously, this is the sure if somewhat the longer way to the realization of the co-operating community. Child groups or primary groups are the protoplasm of society; they are, as C. H. Cooley points out, the true nurseries of human nature and community life. The country is naturally poor in children's play groups, and the rural educational institutions have sadly neglected to foster them. When, however, they are properly nourished and team play is cultivated in them, there grows up that unity and common consciousness wherein consists the true com- munity. Thus the desired stage of socialization is arrived at without difficulty. Yet, as indispensable as the proper moulding of the rising generation through the medium of group play is, we may dismiss the subject without further comment, since it pertains chiefly to the field of formal education rather than to the specific topic of this essay. Once fully sharing in the common pleasures of meeting and associating in group play and enjoying that primary form of co-operation thereby established, the rural neigh- borhood will easily and almost inevitably pass on to the more complex and difficult forms of co-operation. Having learned how to play together, the group is then definitely inclined and fully prepared to work together. Thus it THE PROGRAMME 637 comes to the second stage in the development of co-opera- tion, namely, the work stage. Most rural neighborhoods have certain traditional prac- tices combining both work and play — the familiar bees, such as the barn-raising bee, the husking-bee, etc. These play-work activities shade off from those where play pre- dominates to those of the all-work kind. Unfortunately, bees are passing out, and already belong more to the past than to the present. It is doubtful whether owing to their spasmodic and infrequent occurrence they have ever con- tributed much toward a community spirit giving perma- nent co-operation. Be this as it may, it is fair to say that they furnish a simple basis for working together which permits of being broadened and made to serve immediate as well as remoter ends. While the range of possibility for co-operative work in farming is necessarily limited and apparently is tending to become more so under modem conditions, a fairly ample field still lies open. To culti- vate this field will be profitable, especially where a pro- gramme of socialization is involved, for co-operation in work will prove a stepping-stone to a still more difficult stage of combined effort. Perhaps it is not an indispensable step to the next stage, but to say the least, it will make the next easier of approach. The third stage of co-operation is reached at the eco- nomic level where the business end of agriculture is in- volved. Undertakings of this character must necessarily start with those that are simple and which incur but little risk or cost. An enterprise of this sort is combined effort for the purchase of farm supplies. Indeed, where economic co-operation has been successfully developed, it has usually started in this manner. Throughout the Central Valley, where in places the community has become sufficiently formed this type of economic association is beginning to arise. A little higher order may be reached where com- munity live-stock associations for purchasing and owning thoroughbred animals are organized. These afford ex- cellent opportunities for neighborhood enterprises com- bining as they may common ownership with common risk 638 THE RURAL COMMUNITY and effort. -The range of practical common ownership among farmers is perhaps not great, but there are far- reaches of it which await exploitation. The community ownership of tools, grain elevators, storage-warehouses, and the more easily achieved and managed types of com- bination are already coming into vogue in certain quar- ters. Community selling is a more highly complicated vien- ture than either buying or ownership. The co-operative marketing of live stock is of all about the least difficult type. It is being tried in a limited way, and with growing favor in many sections of the general farming area. Among farmers engaged in the most specialized kinds of agri- culture, notably, fruit-growing, community selling has be- come widely established. Co-operation in production brings us to the upper limits of communal effort along economic lines. Co-operative selling very often and very naturally leads to co-operative production, or at least to certain phases of it. The creamery is a typical undertaking of this kind. Others, such as re- duction plants for making fertilizers, and electric plants for light and power are not beyond the reach of the rural neighborhood which has attained a high degree of socializa- tion. These advanced forms of co-operation for economic purposes are well established in certain communities of the Northwest and elsewhere. The communities in ques- tion are for the most part composed of Teutonic racial elements with long standing communal traditions of Eu- ropean origin. The people are so well socialized that com- bined action is a natural mode of attaining economic ends. Typical American neighborhoods, however, have so far made only the merest beginnings, if any, in this direction. They await the transformations of the socializing process to fit them for it. Through the associational, recreational, and combined-work agencies already mentioned they may be brought to the desired goal. When step by step through appeal to the gregarious instinct, the play impulse, and the economic motive, the THE PROGRAMME 639 essential community has been gradually built up, then the non-essential and less utilitarian modes of co-operation are rendered possible. The highly cultural, altruistic, and aesthetic interests of the community may now be sought through group organization, provided, of course, that there are such needs to be satisfied. Not all communities, however, become aware of these needs. /Esthetic senti- ments especially are likely to be wanting. They arise late even in the individual and it is therefore not at all strange that they seldom appear as group wants. In so far, though, as any of these interests manifest themselves in the rural neighborhood, they may be pursued co-opera- tively, and a fourth stage of communization be entered upon. This for the want of more suitable terms we may call the cultural or welfare level of socialization. Nor in so naming it, is the fact forgotten that before it is reached certain activities in this plane which are more or less group enterprises are found in most rural neighborhoods. There are schools, churches, and, may be, farm organizations and clubs for educational or other purposes. And these always mean at least a minor degree of co-operation. But it is only as a rule a very minor one, for the real stage of com- munity cultural and welfare organization and endeavor proper is normally the last to be reached. The Law of Rural Socialization Having indicated the four stages of co-operation in what seems to be their genetic order of appearance, we may now attempt to formulate the law governing its de- velopment. The ruling factor is that of preferential mo- tives. As already pointed out, the first is the gregarious tendency; the second, the play instinct; the third, the work impulse; the fourth, the economic need; and the fifth, the cultural interest. Each succeeding motive comes into play less easily and operates at greater cost to the group; and thus is established their order of choice as well as the sequence in which co-operation of various types takes its rise. Viewing it chiefly on the mental side, F. H. 640 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Giddings has partially analyzed the phenomenon under discussion and has attempted to account for the order of motives as follows: "It is unnecessary to argue that immediate pleasure appeals to the mind more directly than considerations of remoter utility. There is a vast amount of co-operation, for example, in play, games, sports, and festivals, in which immediate pleasure rather than remoter utility is the motive. The mind here simply fol- lows the law of activity in the direction of least effort. When immediate pleasure begins to be a diminishing re- turn, the mind reaches out with new effort to discover and obtain the possible remoter utilities." ^ Coming together on the simple associational plane, which is one of instinctive pleasure and also the one of least possible cost, the neighborhood group passes on to the plane of organized play, which also is one of instinc- tive pleasure but which is of slightly increased cost for combined action. From these initial stsiges the aggregate rises through the working-together plane to the economic level with a gradual yielding of immediate pleasure to utilitarian incentives and satisfactions. During the transi- tion the cost of co-operation becomes steadily enhanced, and continues to increase as the more elaborate forms are ventured upon. And finally, when the community reaches the fourth level, where mutual culture and welfare vitally concern it, and the more subtle and far more re- mote utilitarian interests furnish the motives, the cost to the group has become the greatest yet demanded. Neither on the economic nor cultural planes, however, is the pleasurable incentive wanting; it is only subordi- nated to the more rational factors. The satisfactions of combined action have only come to be of a higher and more enduring nature. The law summarizing the process we have been describing may be stated as follows: Co- operation in rural neighborhoods has its genesis in and de- velopment through those forms of association which, beginning on the basis of least cost, gradually rise through planes of in- creasing cost to the stage of greatest cost in effort demanded, and which give at the same time ever increasing and more ' Descriptive and Historical Sociology, p. 353. THE PROGRAMME 64 1 enduring benefits and satisfactions to the group. Normally, it is only where the cost is at the minimum that the un- socialized rural people will get together and function group- wise ; and normally, it is only by virtue of the cumulative effects of such functioning that the gradual integration of a real community mind takes place and makes possible co-operation on the basis of ever-increasing cost. In- stances where the operation of this law may clearly be ob- served are not wanting. One or two may be cited for illustration. Within a half century Denmark has evolved in its agricultural life into the most thoroughgoing co- operative commonwealth known to the world of modern times. Students of the history of this development are generally agreed that the Danish people learned the art of co-operating through the medium of common meetings for simple social purposes. A wide-spread interest in sing- ing together the popular songs and hymns of the Lord seems to have been the original ground for common meet- ings among the people. Such singing together on frequent occasions gave birth to an enthusiasm for common festivi- ties and recreations of a religious and patriotic character. From these, association passed into its economic phase, and various sorts of co-operative activities even to the most extensive and complicated types arose. The result has been the upbuilding of a thoroughly satisfying rural community life remarkable for its solidarity and mutual helpfulness. Mr. Warren D. Foster tells of a New Eng- land neighborhood whose experience coincided with that of Denmark and likewise exemplifies the law we have formulated. He says: "Homewood paid attention to the example of a near-by village, the leader of which had tried again and again to form a successful co-operative onion-selling society. The farmers were unable to do business together. Then they organized a singing society. They sang together for the fun of singing together, not for the music they produced. They acquired the habit of doing things together efficiently. A successful co-opera- tive onion-selling organization was the inevitable result." ^ Failure to recognize the principles upon which the de- > See Proceedings National Educational Association, vol. LIV, p. 52. 642 THE RURAL COMMUNITY velopment of communization rests and to obey the law governing it has led both the practical and the theoretical reformer astray in dealing with the problem of country life. But if leadership will conform to these demands, a reasonable degree of success ought to attend the execution of any programme of community building and the desired measure of socialization for the rural neighborhood be achieved. Directive Agencies The foregoing analysis of the process of rural socializa- tion has been unfolded somewhat along the lines of a pro- gramme to be followed in community building. Through- out, the presence of leadership or a directive agency to effect the process has been assumed. This leadership or agency, as the case may be, now merits attention. The dynamic forces and the telic or leading directive agency of society are wrapped up together in the same individuals. Only for the sake of science do we speak of instincts, impulses, desires, needs, interests, etc., as propelling forces, and of ideas and purposes as telic or controlling agencies. As a matter of fact, the two are not separated; they operate conjointly. It is sometimes difficult even to distinguish them at all, for the forces may play spontaneously and accidentally and take direction seemingly of themselves and lead to goals as though by actual design. Thus, apparently, co-operation has now and then taken its rise in rural neighborhoods. Of course, the specific form that it may have assumed was determined by the telic agency, but not so the genesis and the develop- ment of the communal activity itself in so far as can be discerned. To be sure, where the development has gone to much length the controlling agency has become mani- fest; but rarely has this automatic co-operation extended beyond the simpler stages. Again, co-operation . has often arisen ■ in response to environmental, social, and economic pressure. It would not be far wrong to say that in such cases the directive agency has been the critical circumstances themselves. THE PROGRAMME 643 However, I suppose, this view would not be acceptable to those sociologists who deny the dualistic theory of social causation. For they would insist that the force must be either psychic or cosmic, whereas the operation of both is here implied. But this mooted question aside, it will do no harm for the sake of simplicity to think of crises as sometimes being the directive agencies in the rise of co- operation. Among people of practically every stage of evolution in the world pressure has been a community-making fac- tor. Drought, plague, the portents of nature, fire, flood, wind, famine, peril, calamity, oppression, crisis of any sort whatsoever, and however induced, have been among the divinities at work creating vital group life. Durk- heim notes their role among the primitive tribes of Aus- tralia.^ Ch. Letourneau lays stress upon the part they played in the making of the feudal commune.^ And the history of co-operation in the rural districts of Europe shows in many instances a very close correlation with environmental pressure. One outstanding case, for ex- ample, was the rise of co-operative credit associations in rural Germany. In America, likewise, pressure has forced communization upon many a farming group and neigh- borhood. One striking instance, admittedly exceptional, has come to the writer's attention from a community of the Central Valley. This neighborhood had been devas- tated by a cyclone which had left the farmers in all but ruined circumstances. Among the losses were practically all the public buildings of the district. Before the storm there had been three substantial Protestant churches. Only one of these weathered the gale and for a time be- came the refuge of those whose houses had been destroyed. Sharing in a common calamity, and being driven together in mutual sympathy and aid by it, when Sunday came and custom inclined them toward the Sanctuary, the people of the neighborhood actually found themselves assembling together in the one building for worship. They found, ' See The Elemental Forms of the Religious Life, pp. 403-404. ' See Properly : Its Origin and Development, pp. 309, 368. 644 THE RURAL COMMUNITY moreover, that it was good so to do — that their divisive doctrines and habits could be merged in a harmonious fellowship. Since that ill wind they have continued to worship together as one church. And this is not all, for other co-operative efforts have followed. Several com- munal undertakings of a fairly difficult nature have been organized. Thus are verified the words of Letoumeau: "It is often said by way of a proverb that union makes strength, but it is still truer to say that weakness makes union." ' Economic pressure has forced co-operative marketing upon a good many neighborhoods engaged in the more highly specialized lines of farming. Notable among these are some of the fruit and truck growing communities of the West. Here "weakness made union." Dire failure on account of the inability of the individual producers to find markets drove them together in united action. Thus have some of the best known and most successful co-operative organizations had their genesis. The pres- sure of adversity in such cases has simply pushed the un- socialized and atomic individuals into a relatively ad- vanced kind of communal action from the outstart. The law governing the development of co-operation thus seems to be set at naught. But the fact remains that rarely are these ventures successful at once. Generally they achieve success through many failures, the co-operators having finally learned the art of combined action through the educative process of their own efforts. If, as is not in- frequently the case, they do not succeed at all, the ex- planation will be found in the lack of sufficient integration of the communal mind and in the failure of the association forced through pressure to create it. Obviously, the agency of pressure is a thoroughly capricious one which plays as chance decrees. Its effects are far more likely to be malevolent than benevolent. Most ill winds blow nobody good, and seldom are the uses of adversity sweet even to farmers. Clearly, then, ' Properly : Its Origin and Pevehpment, p. 368, THE PROGRAMME 645 rural socialization cannot rely upon crises with confidence ; least of all, await their pleasure. The real and only dependable agency is personal leader- ship. Rural teachers, pastors, county agents and per- haps occasionally others are those upon whom must fall the task of socializing the country neighborhoods of America. And these, as has been again and again em- pheisized, must be soil bom and country bred, and in ad- dition must be trained so that they will have the communal outlook and know how to proceed in building the essential community. Theirs it is to set in motion the genetic proc- ess, to exercise supervision over it, and to direct it until it is well under way. Then it may be trusted to run of its own momentum, and as it further evolves to produce its own leaders. Imported leaders, however vital their social vision, and indigenous leaders, however orthodox their rural culture, are both alike misfits, if either lacks the merits of the other, the absence of which in the one means inaction, and in the other, failure. Beautifully wrought out and feasible programmes of co-operation, which the theorists are wont to put into the hands of the untrained and visionless country teachers and pastors are useless because such leaders cannot execute them. Similarly, reformers who know what the country really needs are unable to supply that need because perchance they are not countrymen themselves and cannot command a fol- lowing. In the face of these conditions, the socialization of the rural neighborhoods of our land will, for the most part, long continue to go forward accidentally, haltingly, and blindly, since the development of competent leader- ship is a process slow at best and as yet scarcely begun. CHAPTER XI THE AGENCIES /. EDUCATIONAL 1. RALLYING ROUND A SCHOOL BY ALICE MARY KIMBALL (From The Country. Gentletnan, January 19 and January 26, 1918) Five years ago Porter schoolhouse, near Kirksville, Adair County, Missouri, squatted forlornly on the tree- less prairie. The rain had gouged gullies from the clayey soil around it; winds and storms had beaten the paint from the walls; the sun had baked the vegetation in the yard to a ragged yellow crisp. The inside matched the slatternly exterior. The stove was connected with the flue by coils of horizontal pipe that filled with soot and forced gas and smoke into the room. The woodwork was painted an ugly robin's-egg- blue, dotted with fly-specks and begrimed with dirt. The plaster was tumbling from the walls and ceiling. Pictures? A highly colored chromo bought with soap coupons and a gaudy advertisement calendar. A few soiled, dog-eared books. The boys and girls washed in a filth-enamelled basin, wiped on a collectively blackened roller-towel, and drank from a common cup fastened to a water bucket. Fifty-three children of school age lived in the Porter district. The attendance fluctuated between eight and ten. Agriculture in the Porter neighborhood, like education, was in a bad way. Successive crops of corn had vitiated the soil. Scrub hens boarded in every farmyard. Scrub potatoes and scrub apples flourished. In the nine square 646 THE AGENCIES 647 miles of the Porter district, one farmer had built a silo. One or two had installed water-systems. There was nothing to draw folks together and every- thing, it seemed, to drive them apart and fill their hearts with bitterness. Community spirit had flickered out. That was five years ago. The Porter neighborhood was settled by pioneers from Pennsylvania and the Carolinas. To-day the community has a new and not less heroic set of pioneers, who are fight- ing ignorance and prejudice as their plainsmen ancestors fought Indians; and they are exploring the possibilities of co-operative work and co-operative play as their fore- fathers explored the wilderness. They are learning to apply scientific knowledge to the rebuilding of the soil and to the production of fruit, beef, pork, poultry, and dairy products. They are replacing catch-as-catch-can ways of purchasing, marketing and accounting by the business methods of the down-town office. Farm Values Go Up Since the Porter neighborhood organized in 191 2, not a boy or a girl has sought a future in the city. The young generation is on the land, and Kirksville bankers and real- estate men say that the winning fight against the let-well- enough-alone spirit has boosted the value of every farm in the Porter neighborhood from 25 to 33^ per cent. The dynamo of the re-energized and revitalized com- munity is the Porter rural school, taught by Mrs. Marie Turner Harvey and by Miss Margaret Crescelius, com- munity organizers and pioneers. Mrs. Harvey, when she was on the faculty of the Kirks- ville Normal School, often told her fellow teachers and country audiences that of all wastes in wasteful America, the down-at-the-heels, one-room country school was the most shameful and the most unnecessary. She pictured the ideal rural school as a centre of education and social life not alone for children, but for grown-ups; an intro- ducer and interpreter of government and university ex- 648 THE RURAL COMMUNITY perts to the people; a distributing point for better farm- ing and better farm housekeeping propaganda; the hub round which every vital community activity would re- volve. Of this organized community machinery, the teacher must be the engineer. She must not be a transient, using the country school merely as a stepping-stone to promo- tion. She must be a permanent resident, like a physician or a clergyman, and must make the intensive cultivation of one neighborhood her life-work. And she must, if pos- sible, live in a cottage on the school grounds and be on the job the year round. After her talks, Mrs. Harvey often was approached by critics, asking: "If you think it would be so fine to go out into the open country and teach in a one-room school, why don't you try it?" The challenge seemed sensible. In 1912 the progressives of the Porter neighborhood had elected school directors who had determined there should be a new deal at the rural school — a better teacher and a more comfortable schoolhouse. They had heard that Mrs. Harvey had given up her position at the Kirks- ville Normal School and was searching for the worst rural school in Missouri. "We have a bad one," they told her. "Perhaps you could make it do." She was engaged at a salary of fifty dollars a month. When it became known that Mrs. Harvey was to re- ceive fifty dollars a month, men who had never been in- terested in education pricked up their ears. Fifty dollars a month for a mere teacher — and a woman teacher at that ! Hadn't the school been run for $218 a year, in- cluding teacher's salary, janitor service and the patching up of the ramshackle building ? Wasn't thirty-five dollars a term in fall and winter, and twenty-five dollars a term in summer enough for any teacher ? "Our first job," Mrs. Harvey told the school directors, "is to make the schoolhouse comfortable and wholesome." Practically no funds were available, so amid the jeers THE AGENCIES 64^ of the objectors, volunteers from the forward-pushing element gathered at the schoolhouse. They raised the building on jackscrews and commenced to dig a basement. They hauled sand from the river, mixed concrete for the basement floor and walls and for a new foundation. A few women who were eager to do their bit cooked scrump- tiously encouraging meals for the workers. The volunteers sweated and dug in the warm summer weather, and soon men appeared who did not dig, but leaned over the fence and spat tobacco. They watched Mrs. Harvey suspiciously when she came down to chat with the diggers, and nudged one another. "This new-fangled foolishness will bear watching," they said. One morning the watching bore fruit. The chief of the opposition mounted his horse and galloped through the country, like an infuriated Paul Revere, urging the farmers to up and arm. The new teacher and the school directors were planning to put a furnace in the basement ! As if all the best men in the country hadn't learned to spell and write and cipher without furnaces ! As he urged his foam-smeared mount from house to house getting signatures to a petition to stop all improve- ments by injunction, the diggers heard of it and threw down their shovels. They hitched a pair of astonished old Dobbins to a farm wagon and made a flying trip to town. They drew up before a hardware store. When the objectors rode past the schoolhouse that night sanguine of success on the morrow, they saw that a brand- new furnace had been dumped unceremoniously into the half -excavated basement. It had cost $175 of the tax- payers' money. The Victory of the Furnace was the Battle of Gettys- burg of the Porter district. It was the decisive fight in the war for progress and modernity. The furnace was followed by a simple pressure water- system which cost fifty dollars, including a sink, lavatory and sanitary drinking fountain in the basement. It sur- prised up-and-doing people of the neighborhood to learn 650 THE RURAL COMMUNITY that SO small a sum as fifty dollars had stood for years in the way of banishing from the schoolhouse the disease- breeding common water bucket and drinking cup. For three dollars individual towels were bought to replace the roller- towel. The ugly stove and its uglier coils of leaky pipe were sold for old iron. Doors and windows were screened. In six months the neglected schoolhouse never would have recognized itself. With the gay enthusicism which springs up when people do fine things together, the people of the district rallied round the new teacher. Women with scrub-brushes, soap, mops, and tin boilers pooled their services with the men who were hauling sand, mix- ing concrete and working with shovel, spade, saw, and hammer. There was scrubbing and cleaning, a deluge of soap and water, a remodelling of outhouses, burning of rubbish and tidying of the school grounds. When the orgy was over, everything inside and out was as clean and sanitary as a Dutch housewife's kitchen. Mrs. Harvey tackled the jail-like interior of the school building. Tattered wall-paper was replaced by brown oatmeal paper. A hardwood floor was laid and the wood- work was finished in golden brown. Windows were sup- plied with blinds and shades. A few pictures — prints of masterpieces — were hung from picture moulding. The blackboards were lowered. Closets for books and dinner baskets were tucked away in unused spaces. Shelves for a library were built in the vestibule. To Classes on Wheels In time chairs and tables largely replaced seats and desks. A telephone, a typewriter and a magazine rack were added. The room was supplied with magazines, farm journals, New York and Chicago daily newspapers, and books on agriculture and rural life. The well-lighted basement was equipped with folding chairs, cooking ap- paratus and a long table for community dinners. Mrs. Wiggs, philosopher of the "Cabbage Patch," in- THE AGENCIES 65 1 sisted the people with chilblains couldn't get religion until the chilblains were cured. Mrs. Harvey explained the bearing of this principle on education. Children who walked three or four miles to school, enduring cold and storms, were badly handicapped for study. They were lucky if they escaped with chilblains. Boys and girls often had frozen their feet on the way to school, and cases of grippe and pneumonia contracted from exposure were not uncommon. "We'll have to get a wagon and transport the children," she declared. "No!" thundered the old fogies. Mrs. Harvey talked it over with the mothers, womjin to woman. She spoke not alone of the danger to health, but of the moral menace to childhood from trips over lonely roads and hours of unguarded associations. She offered to buy a wagon with her own funds if the school district would co-operate to make transportation possible. She won her point. Every morning the school wagon stops at the homes and gathers up the children. They are de- livered warm, safe, and merry to the school in fit condi- tion for the day's work, and are returned, still warm, safe and merry to their parents at night. The fathers take turns driving the school wagon, giving their services with- out charge. "We're more proud of our community possession than we could be of any individual possession — and that's a sign of healthy democracy," Mrs. Harvey told me. "The old building cost $600. The improved plant couldn't be duplicated for $6,000. That means the plant is increas- ing in value at the rate of $1,000 a year. This value has been added not by taxation — Missouri laws unwisely limit the rate of school taxation in rureil districts — but by co- operative labor. Our school has been built by the sacrifice and toil of fathers, mothers, teachers, sons, and daughters who are determined that the people of this neighborhood shall have just as good social, educational, and economic opportunities as the people of the city. "In the development of a finer rural life, there is room 652 THE RURAL COMMUNITY for the good old pioneer institution of co-operative labor. Co-operative labor on the Porter school brought to the community the merry zest of the 'bam raisings' and liusking-bees of long ago. "Volunteer labor has advertising value. If half the neighborhood is working at the schoolhouse, the other half is talking about the school at home. There's nothing quite like it for stirring up interest. A man may pay school taxes grumblingly for twenty years; but let him blister his hands shingling the schoolhouse roof and he'll know he has something invested in the school plant. The chances are he'll never pay his taxes in quite the same per- functory way again." As Mrs. Harvey talked, a group of men and grown boys were working with a great clatter of hammers and saws to finish a new high-school building. "Why shouldn't we make a high school from an old tenant house, if we want to?" asked a farmer who had driven to the grounds with a load of timber. The new high-school building, finished in November, 191 7, cost less than $100 actual cash. One of the farmers had a little house on his place which had been used for sleeping quarters for his hired men. He thought he could spare it. A school director had cars and teams that made frequent trips to town. He hauled material. Every man and grown boy in the district worked in his spare time — tore off old plastering and put on new; tore out a parti- tion; painted inside and out; transformed a door into a window; set up a stove. Women contributed bits of furniture here and there. Mrs. Harvey and one of the older girls spent a day select- ing tan oatmeal paper for the walls, ivory-white paint for the woodwork, burlap for the bulletin-board, picture moulding, a telephone box, and window curtains. Two members of the Farm Women's Club discovered they had left-over pieces of linoleum that would do nicely for the floor. They didn't exactly match, but nobody minded. A few rough edges didn't count. The high school was the main thing. THE AGENCIES 653 Co-operation — Big and Little One of the show places of the district is the tastefully furnished cottage in which the teachers live the year round. When Mrs. Harvey first visited the community she had to wade waist-deep in weeds to peep into the windows of her future home. It was an abandoned hut in which hired men scorned to live. Co-operative labor on the school plant and the teachers' cottage gave the Porter neighborhood its first training in team-work. The habit of co-operation has been like capital at interest. The farmers who worked together on the schoolhouse have since bought coal, twine, seed potatoes, tankage, and commercial fertilizer co-opera- tively. The women have raised money to pay rent on the school piano and to light the schoolhouse; to buy equipment and to start the young people's band. Co-operation in little things has led to co-operation in big things. The Porter neighborhood took the lead in the campaign for a county agent. It was the first com- munity in the county to call a meeting of farmers interested in the Federal Farm Loan Act. It was the first to respond to the Liberty Loan drive, and the first to affiliate with the United States Food Administration. In the old Porter schoolhouse children hated school. The school programme was the charnel-house of dead things. But outside the schoolroom nothing was dead. On the school grounds were rivalry, play and fine com- panionship. The journey home was interesting business. There were pools of poUywogs, beetles under stones, nest-build- ing birds, and butterflies on milkweed flowers. Home, too, had its adventures. It was good to slough off such meaningless junk as the heights of Andean moun- tain ranges and the dates of the Fifteen Decisive Battles, and to watch, with minds and senses alert, the absorbing cycle of farm activities. Soap making and jelly making were real. So were the curing of hams and the baking 654 THE RURAL COMMUNITY of gingerbread. Sowing and planting, the growth of gar- dens, the harvesting of corn and red apples were spectacles not to be viewed with indifference. Calves, pigs, chickens, pet racoons and puppies were as exciting as people. Mrs. Harvey resolved that the schoolroom should tingle with life no less than the playground, orchards, and pas- tures. She threw out the cut-and-dried course of study and made up lessons from those things that the children were already touching, tasting, seeing, and discovering. She introduced a system of work, study, and play similar in principle to what is now known as the Gary plan. Lessons from Everyday Things School was made the servant of the creative impulses of the boys and girls. If the children on their own hook were exploring the ways of pollywogs, beetles, and tree- toads, the teacher stimulated curiosity by exploring too. When planting, harvesting, threshing, pickling, and can- ning were in full sway at home, they were made the basis of lessons at school. When trees were budding and the children were picking blossoms, nobody was asked to dis- miss plant life near the school grounds as unimportant and study the fauna and flora of some country the other side of the globe. Material for lessons in arithmetic, com- position, geography, reading, drawing, and spelling was taken from current happenings in the country child's world. "Farm children are forced to sit for hours memorizing, the exports of Borneo and Madagascar and Ecuador, when they haven't an idea of the possible exports of their home farms," says Mrs. Harvey. "They spend years covering reams of paper with 'examples,' but nothing is done to interest them in farm accounting. Boys who can do cube foot and proportion like lightning, hesitate at such practical everyday calculations as the cost estimate of a proposed silo or the annual profit from a herd of Jer- seys. Girls who can rattle off the facts of physiology come to school with vitality depleted by a bad diet or from sleep- ing in a room with windows closed." THE AGENCIES 655 Mrs. Harvey discarded numbers of text-books. Many text-books used in country schools, she found, are written by city people for city schools, and their subject matter is not adapted to country conditions. Besides, a text- book is a package of facts on one particular subject. It kills one bird with one stone. Mrs. Harvey kills a flock of birds with one stone every time she teaches a class. From the big school garden planted in the spring of 1 91 3, near the teachers' cottage came lessons in oral ex- pression, writing, soil composition, vegetable growing, dietetics, botany, physical culture. Names of garden tools, vegetables, flowers, shrubs, birds, and insects fur- nished material for spelling lessons which meant more than memorizing the spelling of words from a book. Building trellises and cold-frames gave opportunity for manual training. The Porter neighborhood is alive to the need of saving beef by eating chickens and eggs, just as it has been strain- ing every nerve to can vegetables and fruits. The scrub hen has been driven from the neighborhood. Everybody acknowledges that the children's poultry club did it. The poultry club is no mushroom growth. It is affiliated with the Missouri State Poultry Association, and it co- operates at every turn with the Missouri Poultry Experi- ment Station at Mountaingrove. The teachers spent two years in thorough preliminary instruction, which prepared the ground for the organization. The club has held suc- cessful shows in the school basement. The members have heard lectures by experts, filled note-books, read treatises and bulletins. It is a permanent fixture in the life of the neighborhood. Little Lorena Linder used to hate chickens. That was in the days of "Old Speckle," the "old blue hen," the half Buff Cochin and half Plymouth Rock rooster, and other nondescripts. To-day Lorena is proudly paying piano rent from the earnings of a pure-bred flock. When she comes home from school she runs to the porch, throws her dinner basket one way, her books another, and hurries to the chicken house. It is a fool-proof chicken house, built 656 THE RURAL COMMUNITY on a plan of the State experiment station. She returns with a basket of eggs and rushes to the telephone "Hello, Erma," she calls. " This is Lorena. Nineteen of my hens laid to-day. How many did you get?" I saw thirteen-year-old Mary Novinger figuring her poultry accounts at the roll-top desk in her father's farm office. She kept steadily at work until nine-thirty, com- puting the costs of feed, labor, coops, and houses; the cost of producing a dozen eggs; proceeds of the sale of eggs and broilers; the percentage of profit on her invest- ment. She went over her check stubs and reckoned her bank balance. The thirty-one members of the club have bank-accounts and transact all business by check. Selling Eggs to One Another "Why do you sell eggs for setting at so low a price as fifty cents a dozen?" I asked Mary as I glanced over her accounts. "When we sell chickens or sittings to one another," she answered, "it is at the regular rate voted by the club. We have a co-operative organization and none of us is trying to make profits from the others. The profits will come when we are ready to market co-operatively under a Porter community trade-mark and to get fancy prices for extra quality." "You really plan to do that?" "We've had our eyes on that goal ever since we started the club," she replied sturdily. "If we fail, it will be the first time the Porter school has failed." A canning class which reported to the teacher one Friday afternoon revealed the fact that the mothers and daughters of eight families had put up 1,562 quarts of fruits, vege- tables, and greens. The children multiplied the number of cans by twenty, which they estimated was the value of each in cents, and found that the 1,562 quarts repre- sented a saving of $312.40. The Porter school has no rules, no punishments, no artificial rewards, no hard-and-fast systems of grading. THE AGENCIES 657 Children move about as they please, leave the room with- out asking permission, go to the water fountain when they wish. There is a steady hum of industry which would make an old-fashioned strict disciplinarian shudder. One looks in vain for a pupil with his mind off his work. The school programme is so well adapted to the normal in- stincts of the pupils that their vitality is absorbed in their tasks. None remains for Peck's Bad Boy antics. The teachers have no policeman airs; neither have the other young women who for no other pay than the joy of service volunteer to act as assistant teachers, play- ground supervisors and garden helpers. They have the friendly, smiling ways of a hostess at a party. There is an occasional bubble of laughter. The children are neatly f rocked, alert and wide-awake. They could hardly be more natural if they were making mud pies. Sometimes they go skipping to their classes with the eager expec- tancy once reserved for the playground. Some people saw only foolishness in starting the Com- munity Band. "Better save your money and buy a pig," counselled a practical uncle whose nephew was about to acquire a cornet. The nephew was still more practical. Pigs were pigs. Music was a means of redeeming leisure from tedium and triviality, of enriching lives, developing talent, and mak- ing a neighborhood companionable. I rode with the bandmaster over three miles of wet, slippery road to the Saturday night rehearsal. The air reeked with rain, but the bandmaster pointed to tiny points of light pricking through the black in varipus directions and moving toward the brightly illuminated schoolhouse. The Porter Band Rehearsals "The band has a fine spirit," he commented. "Rain won't stop 'em." We had been instructed to pick up the Pinkertons on the way. The Pinkerton family consisted of a slender, 658 THE RURAL COMMUNITY brown-eyed girl in dark red, carrying a piccolo, and a cheery young farmer, carrying a saxophone. The two stowed themselves away in the back seat and held hands. They had been married a few days before, the bandmaster whis- pered, and were starting farming on their own hook. No, they weren't graduates of the Porter school, but they were members of the Porter young folks' circle just the same. The brown-eyed girl had been employed in the home of a farmer and had been going to the schoolhouse gather- ings for years. Everybody liked her. It isn't a social misfortune to earn a living by housework in the Porter neighborhood. When the newly married pair entered the schoolhouse friends crowded round them. There was shaking of hands, a kiss or two for the bride, laughter, and tentative plans for a housewarming. Mrs. Harvey made a friendly, wel- coming speech. "Honeymooners," announced the bandmaster in mock solemnity, "will kindly glue their eyes on the music." The band tuned up. Horns and flutes and drums and piccolos and trombones and clarinets and French horns and comets — twenty-two pieces in all — rattled and tooted, and, at a wave of the baton, broke into a folk-air melody — the first lap of two hours was difficult, thorough work. Most of the young people had travelled from two to five miles to the rehearsal. All had been through a day of hard tasks, and some had to struggle to keep awake be- fore the practice period was over. Parents and visitors dropped in. Here and there a grandparent smiled and tapped his foot when the music became lively. One admitted he would just as lief dance as not if he weren't an elder. "I like to come to band practice," he said, "not for the music, though that's all right enough. I come because I like to see our boys and girls enjoy themselves instead of worrying and fretting to get away to town as they used to. I've lived in this neighborhood going on thirty years, and I've seen one generation of young folks go away. I didn't blame 'em. There was nothing for them. THE AGENCIES 659 "But it's different now. We can give our young men and women opportunities the city can't touch. The best of it they know it, and they're planning to stay here and build homes of their own. It gives us old fellows some- thing to live for." A farmer approached a neighbor with a dollar admission to the Short Course of the Missouri Agricultural College. The neighbor leaned against the fence of his unsprayed orchard. A ragged-tail speckle hen "dusted" under gar- den weeds near by. Across the road a field of sickly corn eked out a sad existence from impoverished soil. He faced the visitor belligerently. "It don't set very well — bringing in college fellers to teach us farming. I can find better uses for my dollar." When Marie Turner Harvey proposed to bring a Short Course from the university to the Porter rural school, the Old Fogy chorus jubilantly seized its advantage. It ding-donged the refrain of "bringin' in dudes in patent leathers and white chokers" until enlightened farmers began to wonder if the "college fellers" might not appear in Tuxedos; and if the importation of theorists from the university wasn't pushing progress a little too fast. Mrs. Harvey stood firm. Assisted by the progressive men and women of the district, she had already trans- formed the schoolhouse from "a ragged beggar sunning" to an up-to-date educational plant. She had vivified the course of study and organized a social centre. It was time for the next step — spreading technical knowledge of farm- ing and home-making to every nook and cranny of the community. Twenty Miles to the Short Course The Short Course opened with eighteen wary farmers. It closed with two hundred. By the end of the week fami- lies in farm wagons and motor-cars were driving twenty miles along the dusty roads to attend the "doings" at the schoolhouse. A big, circus-like tent was put up near the schoolhouse and a dairy farmer lent his herd of regis- 66o THE RURAL COMMUNITY tered Jerseys for stock- judging classes. Farm homes were opened to entertain visitors and instructors. The old fear of superior assumption in the university-trained men melted in the neighborly atmosphere. The "college fel- lers" were quite at home in overalls, humanly sensible to talk to, and so sincerely eager to be of service that every wisp of prejudice blew away. , People who came to scoff remained to listen attentively, to talk of silos, dairying, farm accounting, spraying, and pruning, the raising of legumes, the nourishment of worn-out soil. The Short Course became an annual event. Soon after the first course a group of farmers and their families accompanied Mrs. Harvey to Columbia to get a closer acquaintance with their university. Farmers' Week was in progress and wide-awake farmers from every part of the State were hobnobbing and listening to pro- grammes arranged by the Agricultural College. The young people from the Porter School amazed every one with their keen enthusiasm and their technical knowledge. Three Porter School boys captured first, second, and third prizes in a judging contest in competition with pupils from wealthier districts and from well-equipped, consolidated schools. Bankers and business men read in their news- papers of the Porter School laurels. They decided that Adair County had an asset in a rural school which was producing expert farmers. The Kirksville Commercial Club arranged a home-coming banquet in honor of the youthful prize winners. A new leaf was turned in the economic history of the neighborhood. Agricultural specialists came and went at the schoolhouse. Bulletins came into the district in in- creasing numbers. Farm journals were taken in every home. A five-acre plot was presented to the neighbor- hood by a farmer whose land adjoins the school. The plot is cultivated under the direction of the Missouri Agri- cultural College by boys of the high-school class, and re- ports of experiments are made at meetings of the Farmers' Club. the agencies 66 1 Winning Over the Mossbacks The meetings of the Farmers' Club and the Farm Woman's Club at the schoolhouse are the equivalent of an evening school for grown-ups. "The agricultural work of the Porter School has in- creased production in that neighborhood almost 50 per cent," said E. A. Dockery, chairman of the Adair County Committee of the Council of National Defense, "and what has been done is a small part of what will be accom- plished within the next five years. "We've just had an example in this office of the cash value of the better farming campaign. A business asso- ciate of mine planted rye last spring on land near the Porter schoolhouse. A farmer volunteered, across the line fence, some information on growing rye he'd got at the Agri- cultural College. He bore down strong on commercial fertilizer. "My friend didn't pay much attention. The other farmer dropped into the office last week to say, ' I told you so.' My friend's rye threshed out seventeen and a half bushels to the acre. The other farmer got thirty- five bushels to the acre. They sold at the same price. My friend got thirty-five dollars an acre and the other farmer pocketed seventy dollars. "There are men in this part of the State who don't know soy-beans from kafir corn. The farmers of the Porter neighborhood had been raising soy-beans, clover, and cowpeas since the first Short Course in 1 913. Every child in the Porter School understands crop rotation and the need of building up the soil. "One of the farmers who jeered at 'book farming' bragged that he'd raised corn on an eight-acre field for twenty years and that he planned to raise corn there twenty years more. He was getting from twelve to twenty bushels to the acre. His son showed him that it costs $16.75 to raise an acre of corn ; and that farmers who had reclaimed their land by successive crops of legumes, wheat, and rye are raising from 40 to 100 bushels to the acre. The worst 662 THE RURAL COMMUNITY mossback has to give in when his boy faces him with facts like that." The economic value of the rural school has become more evident each year. There are still reactionaries whose religion is to oppose progress and tcixes, but a majority of the unbelievers have been won over. A man who had devoted years to fighting "foolishness and faderals," and who felt himself snowed under, decided to move from a neighborhood which refused to heed his prophecies. A Kirksville real-estate agent listed his farm as follows: "Number 15. — One hundred and fifty acres near Porter School. Good improvements. One hundred and eighteen dollars per acre." Land at $118 an acre was unheard-of in the Porter dis- trict in the days of the old school. Farms in other districts just as favorably located were quoted on the same list at $60 and $65 an acre. D. F. Hall, a Kirksville attorney and real-estate agent, estimates that the improved rural school, by increasing the production and stimulating the demand for farms in its vicinity, has raised the value of land from 25 to 33^ per cent. Land bought for $60 an acre four years cigo in some cases now is valued at $100 to $115 an acre. In one corner of the Porter district lived Mrs. Emmett Linder. From five o'clock in the morning until dark, Mrs. Linder cooked meals, washed dishes, scrubbed and cleaned, fed her chickens, reared children. Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Linder, now close friends and coworkers, lived within walking distance sixteen years before they ever exchanged a recipe for tomato catchup or swapped patterns for chil- dren's dresses — before they ever met or knew each other by sight. The incident is not exceptional. It is typical of the former isolation of the women of the Porter dis- trict. If one desires an estimate of the worth of the Porter School from the women, one doesn't mention increased corn production or the rise in the price of real estate. "It foots up in happiness — not in dollars and cents," said a member of the Farm Woman's Club. THE AGENCIES 663 The Women Were Hungry The backwardness of the district five years ago was hardest on the women. When the men went to town they talked with storekeepers and clerks. Politicians came round to shake hands. They went to road meetings and pre-election rallies. To some extent they were a part of what was going on in the world. Men cannot escape progress if they want to. They have to buy up-to-date machinery because it is the only kind on the market. Necessity has ruled that they shall no longer mow with a scythe or reap with a sickle. But women ? Why, still over the country farmers' wives are drawing water from the well like the women of Bible days. If a farmer announced he had decided to reap his wheat with a cradle we'd know he'd gone crazy; but it isn't a bit odd for his wife to do the family wash by elbow grease. It's a matter of course that the Jerseys and the Percherons shall be well housed, but it isn't universally expected that every country woman shall do her work in a furnace-heated house. Farm machinery is sheltered and oiled against rust and damage. Human machinery isn't always kept so carefully. If farm women are to endure their difficult tasks and improve their condition, they must get out, meet people, brush up their minds and find interests outside the farm- house walls. There is a hunger for play, relaxation, and companionship which kills not so fast but just as surely as hunger of the body. These women were hungry that way. The Frobes family, whose whole-hearted co-operation has backed the Porter School from the start, told me of the first attempt to bring fun and color into the lives of the men and women who had been neighbors in name only. A round harvest moon helped. Big as a dishpan it was, and it bathed the prairie with clear white light. The teacher's cottage was frocked up for a party with Jack-o'- lantern, paper black cats and autumn leaves. Gay Japanese 664 THE RURAL COMMUNITY lanterns splashed vines, trees and shrubs. And in spite of all the calls to festivity — in spite of the moonlight and the spicy-smelling late October night — the incorrigible elders sat apart in two stiff divisions on the lawn, mothers on one side in a prim, wistful, softly chatting group; fathers on the other. They never dreamed they weren't too old to play. Everybody Joined Hands Mrs. Harvey and certain life-loving young people plotted together. They turned the talk to good old times of long ago — to singing schools, lyceums, and long-forgotten games. At the right moment they led the way to a silvery-lighted space in front of the cottage and suggested that then and there every oldster and youngster join hands and play "Ruth and Jacob." The older people were stumped. They protested, but a normal hunger for fun, long suppressed and unrecognized, urged them on. Sons and daughters pleaded, pulled their parents, blushing and objecting, into the game. "Ruth and Jacob" was a success. Other games followed; then other parties. People at play are natural. They show each other their kindest, most human sides. It is easy to love one's neigh- bors if one is permitted to play with them. Porter com- munity folks worked together more easily because they had learned to play together. Gradually the self-perpetuating vicious circle of starved soil, run-down school and lonely, frustrated women was broken. Mrs. Harvey quietly utilized a wasted Niagara of woman power and set it turning the wheels of the re- organized community. Nine community gatherings the first year yielded a harvest of new acquaintance and friend- phips. In the fall of 1913 the Farm Woman's Club helped to make successful the first Short Course of the Missouri Agricultural College ever given at a one-room school. As the club tackled big jobs, rich veins of native talent were uncovered and hidden executive ability came to light. The mothers brought their pooled strength to bear on neighborhood problems. Energy which had turned in on THE AGENCIES 665 itself and blasted lives found expression in co-operative mothering of the community's youth. "The new movement has pulled us completely out of our mental quarantine," said one farm woman. " I thought once that public affairs were no concern of mine. I had never been inside the schoolhouse and I was willing that a handful of men should manage the school elections which shaped conditions for my children. But when the reac- tionaries wanted to dismiss Mrs. Harvey, to end the social centre at the schoolhouse, to abolish the short courses from the university and to destroy everything we'd built up, I couldn't be neutral. None of us mothers could. We got out and fought on the side of progress. We went to school elections in a body. The law wouldn't let us vote, but we sat together and urged on our men. "Efficiency in farm, home, and school versus grand- father's good ways has been an issue in every election since Mrs. Harvey came. But the old fogies are in the minority now. We don't have to fear them as we used to; but we've had to fight every inch of the way. In the election of 1914, won by only one vote, the feeling was so strong that the opposing sides came almost to the point of carrying muskets. I shall never forget how we felt, sitting there at the rear of the schoolhouse, tense and breathless, while the ballots were counted. A young man — one of the "antis" — tallied the votes on the blackboard. His chalk squeaked. There was no other sound. Everything that made life bearable for us and hopeful for our children hung in the balance. When we knew we'd won, everything was still for a second. The opposition broke into indignant hisses and our men into a roar of cheers. We mothers couldn't say a word. We just clung to each other and cried. We knew better than anybody else what that last vote meant. We work hard now, but we have something to feed our minds and we don't exhaust ourselves with worry and brooding. We are interested in current happenings. We have become citizens of our community and our country. The second pioneering of Porter community like the first, has called for resourcefulness, tireless work, friend- liness, faith, and courage. The new frontier, no less than 666 THE RURAL COMMUNITY the old, has developed strong men and women. It has brought to the neighborhood that one offset to the hard- ships of pathfinding adventure. It has made life virile, vigorous, and livable. Every new departure at the school- house has created more excitement than a barn burning, a line-fence feud or a Charlie Chaplin film in a crossroad village. Dulness and stagnation has disappeared. Every- body in the community is working with full energy re- leased. Everybody feels useful and happy. Along the rural telephone-lines go messages more vital than idle gossip. An eavesdropper on farmers' wives and their daughters as they bake breakfast biscuit or wash supper dishes would hear them talking only of schoolhouse affairs. Hired men, employed women and tenant farmers feel they have a stake in a community which makes no undemocratic class distinctions and which puts its mobil- ized good- will behind their struggles to get ahead. One of the newest offshoots of the community life is a non-sectarian, community Sunday-school, which places emphasis upon the social creed of the New Testament neighborliness. What fun the Porter community would have missed if some millionaire had been inconsiderate enough to hand it a ready-made new school on a silver platter. 2. A VERY REAL COUNTRY SCHOOL BY B. H. CROCHERON PRINCIPAL OF THE AGRICULTURAL HIGH SCHOOL IN BALTIMORE COUNTY, MD. (From The World's Work, January, 1912) "It is to be a little school on a hillside a few miles from Baltimore" — that is what the Voice of Authority said to me. "There's no town nor village near, but the railroad station is only a quarter-mile below the school and the main turnpike a quarter-mile the other side. We want to make it an agricultural high school with all the trend toward rural life. Schools send too many children to the THE AGEI^CIES (>(i^ city. We want at least one school in the Baltimore County system to keep them in the country. There isn't anything there yet but farms and woods and streams and in our office a bunch of blue-prints. We want some one to take it who'll create new customs and forget old precedents. If we give you the chance, it will be 'make good or get out.' What do you think of it ?" "Well," said I, "there ought to be a four-year course in agriculture for boys and a four-year course in domestic science for girls. There ought to be a lot of good work in English composition and literature, mathematics, and history; and there oughtn't to be a Latin sentence or a Greek verb in the whole show. There ought to be a corre- lation between all the subjects, and the basic idea ought to be that these children are to live in the country. Every- thing should tend toward the outdoors as much as possible. Then, too, the school should be for all the folks instead of the school children. There ought to be meetings and lec- tures and sociables in such a steady stream that they'd keep every class of persons in the neighborhood interested all the time. We'll have women's meetings and farmers' lectures, young people's literary societies, and rural teachers' conferences, boys' field-day sports and neigh- borhood picnics with a brass band and a " "Hold on!" said the Voice of Authority. "Wait till we get started. Besides, nobody has ever succeeded in doing that. It looks fine in the Proceedings of the National Educational Association; but the thing hasn't been done, although there was a lot of talk about it for a dozen years. 'Correlation with Rural Life' and 'Making the School a Social and Neighborhood Centre' are regular subjects for convention talks. But don't think you can do it for that reason. In spite of all the talk, there's been little done. Better get the school running first and then go at it slowly. However, I judge that you're interested in the proposition?" "Interested! I've got plans for five years made al- ready." And then I went home and made plans for an- other five years. 668 THE RtfRAL COMMUNITY One day I walked up the hill from the station to see a small gray stone building with the roof almost on and many workmen swarming over it. Round about were the green fields of northern Maryland. The plans showed five classrooms, a science laboratory, a domestic-science room, a manual-training room, and a farm-machinery room. There were also offices, coat-rooms, toilet-rooms, and the like. Four rural school grades were to be con- solidated into two large classrooms. The other three classrooms were to house the high-school department. To a man fresh from a great university, one lone labora- tory looked such a small beginning. It was going to be a problem to demonstrate a four-year course in agriculture and four years of science — botany, zoology, chemistry, and physics — in one small laboratory. In Maryland the county school unit prevails so that the school was built entirely by county-school funds, at a cost of about twenty-five thousand dollars. It is an integral part of the county-school system, not created by legislative edict and placed where political pull de- manded, but grown where the people wanted it after a steadily increasing demand that was expressed more than thirty years before the school materialized. Records show that, several years before the school's first principal was born, there was a motion in a farmers' club that the club should agitate for the promotion of a school to teach the principles of agriculture. When, years afterward, the school was organized, it was in a neighborhood to which the institution was the outgrowth of an old desire. In order to secure a better school building farmers of the neighborhood contributed work and money for the grad- ing of the grounds, to the value of more than a thousand dollars. The first event was to be the dedication of the new build- ing. The management of this affair was put in the charge of two farm clubs, one of women, the other of men, which locally had considerable influence. As the new principal THE AGENCIES 669 knew practically no one in the county, a card index of three thousand names was made up from borrowed poll lists of voters, account books of physicians, memberships of farmers' clubs and granges, and like sources. For the dedication of the new building three thousand personal invitations were issued — to persons whose names were on the card index — and a great throng came on a special train and by carriage and wagon to hear the speeches and to see the new building. Of course the school wouldn't hold the crowd so that all exercises were outdoor under the gray November skies. A luncheon was served to a hundred special guests by the women's club. The school didn't yet own any chairs so that all stood during the meal. But every one believed in the school, you couldn't help it after that good luncheon. After the dedication came the opening of school. Fifty prospective students registered the first day. Only a dozen had been prophesied. They were a mixed crowd. Some were youngsters with treble voices and short trousers, fresh from rural schools. Some were grown men with hands hardened by days at the plough and faces browned by the summer. All must enter the lowest and only class, for none had the first year's training in science or in agricul- ture. Ninety pupils comprised the elementary school, filling the two classrooms allotted for their use. Then began the grind. Text-books must be adapted for high-school use; for, although agriculture has been adapted for college instruction and exploited for elemen- tary teaching, yet there are no competent texts designed for four-year high-school courses. All books are made for collegiate or elementary grades. Secondary schools are chaotic. A scientific equipment had to be selected to teach applied science and it had to be cheap enough to fit the purse of the county schools. Some pupils had not been to school for six years and had forgotten how to study — if they ever knew. Some came for a good time, some for work. We've still got those who came to labor. Some who came to scoff remained to study. But many fell by the wayside or faded away 670 THE RURAL COMMUNITY under the blast of lessons and laboratory exercise. The mortality was awful; but at the end of six months we emerged serene with half of our original number in a de- voted nucleus of children who would stand by the school till the last fire. The school speedily developed "student self-govern- ment" and the "honor system" in examinations. The students practically manage their own affairs. No teachers are present in classrooms during examinations. The school started without rules or regulations and still has but few. Formal discipline is unknown. The scheme works because the pupils are partners for the good of the school; and then, too, they are good native Americans raised from two centuries on the same soil. The community work started almost at once. A series of meetings for rural teachers was projected for one Satur- day a month. The teachers came in the morning, heard methods of instruction discussed by the county super- visors, and ate luncheon together in the domestic-science room. In the afternoon each teacher went through a typical agricultural exercise suitable for use in his school. The meetings were not successful. The teachers, scattered throughout the country, could not all easily reach the school. Some from their small salaries hired a horse and buggy. Others came across country, riding on the milk wagon to the station and taking the early train. The weather made attendance as difficult as possible. One teacher came thirty miles in a blinding snow-storm to at- tend a meeting. Ultimately I felt sorrier for those rural teachers than for the lack of agriculture in the schools, and I stopped the meetings. Another plan is now being tried. A winter lecture course for farmers was the next project. The plan was for a series of ten evening lectures once a week, throughout the winter. The subject was "Soils" because in that the farmers seemed most interested. Yet there was no definite demand for such a course. Persons when asked whether they would attend, uniformly said either that they "didn't know" or that they "might come once or twice." The voice of authority urged that the THE AGENCIES 67 1 course be limited to five lectures, since, if they were not a success, the fact would not then be so disastrously ap- parent. Ten lectures to empty seats would be a. real dis- aster; five might be survived. But the posters were issued for a series of ten lectures "to be illustrated by experiments in soil physics." The two largest classrooms were thrown together to make a small auditorium. A temporary labora- tory table was built fronting the audience and weekly series of experiments ranged on it. Mimeographed out- lines of each lecture were prepared and audiences were asked to bring the outlines of all previous lectures with them for reference. The first lecture was attended by sixty persons, the second by ninety, the third by a hundred, and so forth. For the entire course the attendance averaged a hundred and twenty-five at each lecture. For the second winter the lecture course was on " Dairy- ing"; and, while the attendance was not so large as the first year, because of a virulent epidemic which for a time closed the school, yet it was demonstrated that lecture courses for farmers in winter have come to stay in that school. Almost as soon as the winter lectures were well begun a series of meetings for women was projected. The school wagons, used for the elementary consolidated school, are run over their regular routes one Saturday afternoon a month to bring in any women of the neighborhood who cared to come. Many arrive by train from more distant points. The meetings are opened by a talk from some woman of importance who comes to address the gather- ing. She is always some one busy in some vital phase of the work of the world. After her brief talk, there is some good music by one person who usually comes from the city for the occasion. At the end of this general meeting the audience divides itself into four sections. Each person chooses a course of work for the entire year. At the end of each year the sections change. There are sections in domestic science, manual training, home crafts, and modern literature. The basic principle is that everybody shall do 672 THE RURAL COMMUNITY something. Every woman of the domestic-science section takes an equipment — gas-stove and cooking utensils — and goes to work under the direction of the teacher. They do not attend a "demonstration " ; they do the thing them- selves. In manual training the women saw, plane, and hammer under the eye of the manual-training teacher. They make bread boards, ironing boards, broom racks, and such articles. These women will not have to wait till the men find time to build the chicken-coops. In the home- crafts section, rugs, baskets, and hammocks are woven or chairs are caned. Many of the articles are taken home and finished between meetings. In modem literature the section discusses various authors of special interest to themselves. Readings are given at each session. The literature section is a large one and is said to be helpful. After the meeting is over the wagons take the members home in time to get the family supper. The women's meetings are very uniform in attendance. Usually from eighty-five to a hundred have been present during the two years they have been conducted. A young people's literary society was formed by those who were not in school. The community seemed to lack a definite social centre. One farmer said with disgust that "most of the folks crawled in a hole when it came winter and pulled the hole in after them." The literary society was designed as a social nucleus; and, while it is doubtful if it has been conspicuously literary, it has at least been remarkably social. Before two months it had almost a hundred members on its rolls paying dues for the support of the organization. Toward spring it was decided to hold a corn congress. It was to be a big affair for the whole neighborhood and to last two days with three sessions a day and meetings for both men and women at each session. We put up the posters advertising the corn congress and giving a list of the prominent speakers who came from the State ex- periment station and agricultural college and from the Department of Agriculture at Washington. Corn came in from all over the county, from granges, clubs, schools. THE AGENCIES 67J, and from private individuals. Tiie women's club agreed to conduct a lunch-counter in the building for the benefit of the school and hungry humanity. People came in and practically camped for the two days, going home only to sleep at night. All sessions and ad- dresses were well attended and a thousand persons crowded the building, seeing the corn-show of eighteen hundred ears — although seats were at a premium and half the people couldn't hear, it was good. During the summer vacation every boy in the high school was required to undertake an experiment of his own choice on his home farm. This mandate has since been somewhat tempered with justice, since some of the boys haven't any farm on which to experiment. Yet the plan remains practically as started. Because of the com congress and its influence, many students wanted to experiment with com. Others took up an acre of alfalfa, or tested the home herd of dairy cows, or conducted a fertilizer plot test. For the "com boys," as we called them, the Department of Agriculture sup- plied four varieties of corn of promise for the locality, in quantities of an acre of each variety. These acres were each carefully measured and planted adjacent to the father's com with which it was to be compared. The boys were told to treat their com precisely as their fathers did theirs, for this was to be a variety test. The school principal gave most of his summer vacation and spent his days jogging around from farm to farm see- ing these experiments of the boys. Although the boy was usually an optimist, the "old man" was almost sure to be a pessimist on the subject of the boy's com. In some cases the father opposed the boy, so that he had difficulty in taking care of his com plots. One boy, unable to get permission to cultivate his corn, stole a horse from the barn at night and cultivated the com by moonlight. But, as the summer went on, my outlook on the world grew more and more cheerful. By fall I could look at those acres of corn and feel happy. When the results came in we found that, compared with adjacent measured quarter 674 THE RURAL COMMUNITY of an acre of the father's corn, every boy had not only beaten the yield once but with all four of the varieties. One fact was of more value still. In every case one variety, "Boone County White," did best of all. As a result of those fifteen corn experiments, we this year have "Boone County White" growing at more than two hundred places in the county, and are preparing to advocate it wherever our new results shall show it to be of special value. Requests now began to come in for advice of many kinds. I have been asked concerning varieties of roses, corn, wheat, servants, schools; concerning breeds of cows, horses, poultry, mosquitoes, and hogs; for methods of treating insect pests, fungus diseases, and all varieties of farm animals. I have been sent for to identify or to inspect soils, rocks, ores, gems, books, insects, fruit, milk, and specimens of other languages. I have been asked to deliver addresses on education, lawns, lime, literature, boys, religion, and my work. Life in such a school is al- ways varied. Among the requests for assistance was one asking that the school conduct a series of experiments with the members of a farmers' club. From this began our co-operative work with farmers. From the beginning the school had been of practical help wherever possible. The school had conducted Bab- cock tests for butter fat, had tested clover seeds for purity and viability and had made a mechanical analysis of soils or conducted fertilizer tests of soil samples by the wire- basket method. These things were wedged in between clcisses or during the noon hour. It was not uncommon to combine a Babcock test and the eating of sandwiches. But to go into the extensive work of experiments with many farmers looked a little impossible with all the other work on hand. A conference with the state experiment station dis- closed the fact that they were willing to co-operate by paying part of the salary of an assistant, provided dupli- cate results of the experiments were sent them. The county school authorities agreed to furnish the other portion of an assistant's salary because of the additional teaching which THE AGENCIES 675 he could do in the school. Thus the experimental work with farmers was begun. This season (191 1), which is the second summer of the school's existence, there are 140 co-operative experiments in the county which cover it almost from end to end. Most of these are conducted through various farmer's clubs and granges which almost cover the entire territory. Others are secured through individuals who apply to the school for such experiments. They comprise variety tests of corn, variety tests of pota- toes, and fertilizer plot tests. As the result of the ofiFer of a fifty dollar prize for the best acre of com raised by a boy under eighteen, seventy boys in the county started an acre prize contest. While many of the agricultural high-school boys were debarred because of age, yet many of the rural schools furnished their most enterprising youngsters for the event. These formed a nucleus for the later com clubs in each rural centre. i In order to assist the spread of good seed corn through the country, we purchased enough high-grade seed to give each contestant enough to plant his acre. On an appointed day the boys, many of whom had never seen the Agriculturail High School, met there to get their seed com, and at that time formed a county organization of "Boy Com-Growers," electing a county president and secretary. It happened that both the boys elected were high-school pupils, so that in the later formation of boys' com clubs in the rural schools, I was able to take these boys with me, have them meet the rural schools and their teachers, and even talk to the boys. Indeed, it soon tran- spired that not I but they formed the clubs, roused the boys' enthusiasm and showed them how to "ginger up and get busy." The boys looked with wonder at the two young- sters who had so rapidly become leaders. Such sentences came from the Secretary, Russell Lord, as these — "You fellows are fast asleep"; "the com plant is the most interesting thing I ever saw"; "the farmer doesn't get a square deal but we mean to see that he will. In a few years we'll have votes and be real citizens"; "get 676 THE RURAL COMMUNITY out and get busy." Under such stimulus the boys indeed woke up and went to work, some of them with only ten hills of corn, but all in the game with the rest. One rural teacher said that those two boys had done more in half an hour to interest her pupils than she had been able to do in years of work. Of course it has been necessary to devote the entire summer to the supervision of the farmers' experiments and the boys' acres of corn. Thus something more than two hundred farms in the county are this summer growing crops under the direct supervision of the school, and all must be carefully observed if we are to get the best re- sults. The boys and their corn are the most interesting. They are sure of success and optimistic all the time. The men are under the influence of other work and other failures and are "not going to believe in a thing if they can help it." One day I came on my list to Willie Johnson, whose post-office was a little settlement the most distant in the county. Inquiry developed that he lived five miles up a bad road. After a mile, this degenerated into little more than a trail through the woods, so sandy that the auto- mobile could hardly plough its way, so narrow and wind- ing that tree branches had to be broken off to get through. Finally I reached a small clearing in the woods, a truck patch, and a dilapidated house. Mrs. Johnson and a large brood of children told me that Willie was out in his corn- field. Said Mrs. Johnson, "Willie's clean daffy over the corn. He's out there every chance he gets." "What corn is it?" "Why it's that tall corn next the woods. We sure will be proud of him if he gets the prize." While all these forms of community work have gone on, the school itself — the classes of boys and girls in the building — have been growing and the course of study opening up from day to day. Boys who "hated farmin' " have decided to take up agriculture for life, and girls who "always did detest cooking" have found domestic science THE AGENCIES 677 more interesting than any other subject. It is not as spec- tacular as a corn congress to see a trifling crowd of young- sters change to an interested group of students, but it is far more fun to do it. The success of the school will after all depend not on its community meetings or its farm ex- periments but on the citizens whom it turns out as its graduates and the use which they make of their knowl- edge. Not all the emphasis is placed on agricultural and do- mestic science. Almost as much interest is taken in litera- ture and history as in the purely vocational work. It is probable that they can both be made as truly an impetus toward rural life as the more direct knowledge of farm things. In many cases it is not the financial side of coun- try life that sends persons to the city, but the social and inspirational conditions which are wrong. If we can show these children that there are both a career and a vision in the country — both a living and a life — there is no doubt that many of them will respond. Therefore through the best of the old imaginative litera- ture, the classics, and through the best of modem out-of- door and nature literature, attempts are made through- out the entire school to have the children feel the appeal of country life without sentimentalism or cant. Some correlation has been accomplished which is definite and clear. A production of "The Merchant of Venice," promoted by the students as the result of a dramatic study in class reached unlooked-for proportions. The costumes were made in sewing classes — copied after historical prints. The scenery was built in the manual-training department by the boys. The rehearsals were held by the children themselves at odd times. The production, given twice at the school with a neighborhood audience, was later taken to Baltimore for the benefit of fifteen hundred chil- dren of other schools who had studied, or soon would study, the same play. The whole school became temporarily im- bued with the Shakesperean feeling to a degree impossible otherwise. For some weeks they lived in the days of good Queen Bess and with the thoughts of the Bard of Avon. 678 THE RURAL COMMUNITY In manual training, of which four years are given, the work is all centred about country things. A model farm power-plant was installed by the boys, whereby are operated from a central engine a washing-machine, a feed-cutter, a cream-separator, a chum, a butter-worker, and a grind- stone. In carpentry the boys turn out brooders, chairs, butter prints, ironing-boards, and other articles useful at home. They have been lately hard at work furnishing the school library with a table, chairs, bookcases, and magazine-racks, while the girls wove the rugs and made the curtains. The school has a good time. As one boy expressed it, "there is always something doing." In the spring, lessons are as likely to be given outdoors as in, classes ramble over the hills on botany field trips, surveying parties signal from hill to hill, the smaller children work in their school gardens, and the good breezes sweep the building from end to end as it rests on its hilltop site. The boys went on a camping trip engineered by the principal. Attired in khaki, carrying blankets, slickers, and with food for three days, they built their own shack in the woods and fished and swam to their hearts' content. Inquiry de- veloped that only one of all these boys had ever slept out- doors before, yet they were country lads. The girls, at- tired in gymnasium costumes, went off for a day in the woods with the distinct understanding that it was a camp- ing party and not a picnic. On a picnic you wear your best clothes and carry things to eat in a pasteboard box. On a camping party you wear old clothes and cook your meals over a smoky fire. The elementary school delights in its school garden, its flower-beds, and window-boxes, its lessons in elementary agriculture, sewing, and manual training. Their school garden is not built on the graveyard plan whereby each child has a tiny plot. Their garden looks like the real farm garden that it is. There are no paths or plots. Yet each has a part of his own. During the summer vacation the school wagons bring the children one afternoon every three weeks to till their gardens and harvest their crops. THE AGENCIES 679 They meet as if for a school day, sing some songs, and then go out to the gardens for the afternoon of work. The summer meetings are not, of course, compulsory but the attendance is fully as good as on an average school-day. As the children go home singing in the wagons loaded with vegetables, the summer meetings seem much worth while. There are many problems yet to be solved before the Agricultural High School will be judged complete, but a few lessons we have learned and on a few points we are convinced. These seem to be: 1 . The vital school will be one placed where the demand for it is strong. Schools created by legislation and dis- tributed on maps at regular intervals may be handicapped for years by lack of local interest. The folks must first want the school. 2. Boys and girls under eighteen should return every night to the farm home. In this manner only will they be educated toward the farm or the farm itself be helped by the new knowledge that they gain. 3. Community work is not only possible but easier of accomplishment than might appear. Unless a school reaches every class of persons in the community it fails to live up to its possibilities. Men and women need the school. 4. Experiments and demonstrations should be made on the farms of the community and not on the school farm. Facts are more convincing when literally brought home. 5. Agriculture and domestic science can be taught in secondary schools as thoroughly and satisfactorily as in colleges or universities, but it needs as competent an equip- ment and distinctive texts. 6. A rural school of the new type takes the whole de- votion of the man who would work it out. 680 THE RURAL COMMUNITY 3. "THE LYCEUM: AN IMPORTANT FACTOR IN COMMUNITY BETTERMENT" BY W. FRANK MCCLURE (From The American City, T. and C. edition, October, 1914) As a community builder, the lyceum movement in America, now opening its forty-sixth season, is rapidly coming into its own. Concrete examples of its quickening influence on municipal life and in the solution of town and city problems are multiplying, while the movement itself is growing by leaps and bounds. The opening of the lyceum season in October finds nearly sixteen thousand communities in the United States and Canada supporting regular lyceum courses. It is esti- mated that more than eight million different people will attend, the greater portion of them on season tickets, in- tent on hearing the entire course and not simply on being entertained for an evening. Of current interest also is the international meeting of lyceum workers — committee men, lecturers, bureau managers, and representatives — which was in session for eleven days in September at Chautauqua, New York, where all present reaffirmed their allegiance to the high ideals for which the lyceum as an institution stands, and laid plans for further broadening its scope. This organ- ization of lyceum builders is known as the International Lyceum Association. It has a membership of about eight hundred. A lyceum course in a community consists of a series of lectures, musicals, and other entertainments, all in- tended to be educational, elevating and inspiring. Every loyal lyceumite, whether lecturer, entertainer or musician, enters the field not alone to make a livelihood, but also with the thought of accomplishing constructive work throughout the territory he visits. A local organization or group of citizens backs the course financially, makes the selection of talent, arranges for THE AGENCIES 68 1 the hall, and sells the tickets. The talent is purchased through a booking bureau. There are about twenty of these bureaus in the United States, and each has a force of booking representatives who travel throughout the territory in which the bureau operates. The courses range in price from $200 to $6,000. Comparatively few run more than $1,000. The number of attractions on a course ranges from five to twelve, divided among the fall, winter, and spring months. The recent inauguration of several big central lyceum courses of fifteen to twenty attractions each, in cities of 50,000 to 150,000 population, represents an important development in connection with this great American forum. For several decades the stronghold of the lyceum has been in rural centres, towns of all sizes, and cities under 25,000 population. When held in larger cities, they have usually been confined to neighborhoods or church parishes and not run on an extensive scale. One of the hew city courses is now being inaugurated in Springfield, the capital of Illinois. Others are at Elgin, Rockford, and Peoria in the same State. The Rockford course was inaugurated a year ago, and although held in a building seating nearly 2,000, the reserve-seat sale alone taxed the building's capacity and hundreds were turned away. Such courses are able to bring to the people of a city, at a cost of f i for an entire season, including perhaps twenty attractions, such world-famous musicians as Mme. Schu- mann-Heink, David Bispham, and others, to say nothing of lectures by men of national and international note. An additional charge of 10 to 15 cents a night is made for reserving seats, which brings the total cost of each entertainment up to but 15 to 20 cents. Under other than lyceum auspices, tickets to many of the same at- tractions would sell for $1 to $2 each. A chief difference comes in the fact that local auspices seldom run lyceum courses for profit. In rural communities, also, course tickets seldom sell for more than a dollar, and often this price includes a re- 682 THE RURAL COMMUNITY served seat throughout. The number of attractions dur- ing a season is less and the talent not so widely known, but the same cosmopolitan spirit prevails. It is a place where all classes meet. Its happy combination of instruc- tion and entertainment appeals to people in every walk of life. Concrete Examples of the Lyceum's Influence Wayne, Ohio, is a rural centre with one store, two church buildings, a town hall, a school, and a blacksmith-shop. Four years ago a small lyceum course was inaugurated in the town hall under the auspices of the school. Within a year the attendance from all the surrounding country packed the building to its capacity. The need of a more commodious and artistic hall began to be apparent. Never before had the town been of such usefulness and impor- tance. Before another lyceum season opened, the build- ing was overhauled and beautified, until to-day it is regarded as one of the best halls in Ohio in a rural centre of its size. In a letter from a member of the Wayne Lyceum committee, in addition to due mention of the town hall, he says : Social relations have improved, the community idea has been perfected, church attendance increased, a flourishing grange organized, and our high school raised to a school of the first grade. All this is largely due to the lecture course and the quality of its entertainers who have given us a larger conception of life. Richland Centre, Wis., is in the centre of a small county devoted to the dairying industry. It has a population of about 3,000, nearly all native Americans. The place of a lyceum course in the community has long been recognized by Richland Centre, and it is supported in a most credit- able manner. One day, however, the movement seemed destined to die for want of a place in which to hold the lectures and entertainments. Fire had destroyed one local theatre, and an opera-house in the second story of another build- THE AGENCIES 683 ing was turned into a department store. But for Rich- land Centre to be without a course seemed incredible. At this juncture the Commercial Club came to the rescue. The club secured an option on a valuable corner. Then the City Council purchased it. An election was called to decide on issuing bonds to build a new city audi- torium. The bond issue won. To-day Richland Centre has a splendid fireproof build- ing with a seating capacity of i ,000, with fine lighting and ventilating systems and splendid acoustics. It cost about $45,000 and is a model in both the practical and artistic sense. It is managed by a committee of three citizens who have full control over the city's amusements. The lyceum course has the use of the building free, having to pay only for the heating, lighting, and janitor service. In one rural community last spring a lecturer talked on the value of flowers about the home, and asked each one present to start at least one flower-bed this season. The actual results were marvellous. When John E. Gunckel, founder of the National News- boys' Association, lectures in a lyceum course, he usually arrives in time to address the public schools also. Before he leaves town the following day, he often organized a branch of his great work in the community. A Quaker farming centre of 150 inhabitants in Iowa runs a lyceum course costing $800. "Don't you run be- hind on so large a course?" was asked the committee. "Yes, but we do not mind that," they replied, "for even though we do run behind $150 annually, if it starts one boy or girl to thinking, we have our money back." Edward Amherst Ott, one of the best-known lecturers upon the lyceum platform to-day, and for two years presi- dent of the International Lyceum Association, owes his start as a public speaker to the fact that the little town of Hartford, Ohio, maintained a course when he was a boy. It was here he received his first inspiration to do public work. Then in turn, as a result of Mr. Ott's lyceum lectures on marriage reform to-day, actual legislation is being enacted. In one state the legislator who introduced 684 THE RURAL COMMUNITY the bill for reform in marriage legislation said that the impetus to do so came from hearing Mr. Ott's lecture. The long existence of the lyceum movement in many communities also bespeaks its value. For example, Evans- ville, Wis., has had a lyceum course ever since 1882, and the course grows stronger and better with every year. Granville, 111., began its course forty years ago. Howell, Mich., has had a course for twenty-four years. No can- vassing is done whatever for tickets, but within three days from the time announced for them to be placed on sale the entire seating capacity of the house is sold. In East Liverpool, Ohio, the pastors of the churches have successfully inaugurated a free lyceum course. The expenses of the course are apportioned among the member- ship of the churches, some setting aside the amount from the treasury and some taking individual subscriptions. In many places the cause of church federation is being greatly furthered by the lyceum. In many others the standard of music has been raised. The constructive nature of the gospel of the lyceum lecturer is indicated by the following typical subjects which are being discussed on the lyceum and Chautauqua plat- form: "The Solution of Rural Life Problems," "Community Life in a Democracy," "International Peace," "Shall We Punish or Reform Criminals ? " "American Ideals," " Chris- tian Citizenship," "On the Trail of the Immigrant," "The New Moral Awakening," "The Public Health Our Great- est National Asset," "Community Building," "Com- munity Housekeeping," "The Splendors of the Bible," "The People and the Public Schools," "The Secret of Democracy," "Reform in Legal Procedure," "Wage- earning Women," "The Teachings of Emerson." Incidents might be cited where libraries have been main- tained and churches and schools helped financially through the proceeds of a lyceum course, but it is not the real mis- sion of the lyceum to raise money or pay profits. Never- theless there is a commercial side to the lyceum in a com- munity. It is well stated by the Merchant's Trade Jour- THE AGENCIES 685 nal of Des Moines, la., in its comment on Chautauquas, when it says: It is impossible to better a community intellectually and morally and not at the same time better it commercially. The man who is made to think more of himself, to appreciate his own individuality more, is bound to want to take better care of himself, to clothe himself better, to build a better house to live in, to ride in a better carriage or automobile, and as he does these things, he will also think more of his family, more of his children, more of his neighbors and his community, and when he does these things, he becomes worth more to himself, his family, his business, his community, and his country. 4. COMMUNITY NEEDS AND THE COMMUNITY INSTITUTE BY PAUL WALTON BLACK STATE COMMUNITY INSTITtTTE ORGANIZER FOR THE UNIVERSITY DIVISION, THE UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN (From The American City, T. and C. edition, May, 1915) In the last few years there has been an unprecedented awakening of communities and groups within the com- munities as to the need of directed movements for de- velopment. Heretofore growth and development have been left largely to chance. To the end that conscious stimulation and direction be given, various things have been tried — farmers' institutes have been of incalculable benefit; teachers' institutes have been held with profit; the social centre has been a step in the right direction. But there is something bigger than the farmers' institute, something bigger than the teachers' institute, something bigger than the social centre, and that is the community institute. The Community Must Act as a Unit The satisfaction of the needs of an isolated group is not sufficient to stimulate a well-rounded community development. The educational system of a community 686 THE RURAL COMMUNITY may be improved while the commercial conditions remain stationary or even go backward. The farmers may grow fine crops and improve their herds without finding in their town a suitable market. Something is wrong when one horse of a team is allowed to lunge forward while the other pulls back in the harness. The time is passing when the community will give its attention to the development of interests in one or two lines while conditions in others retard or depreciate the whole. It is recognized that the welfare of each individual and group is largely dependent on the welfare of the community. Well-rounded develop- ment may be secured only through direction by the com- munity. And the community should be so organized as to secure the active co-operation of the individuals and groups whose interests have hitherto been centred in them- selves. The community institute purposes to accomplish this. As it h£is been worked out in Wisconsin communities, under the direction of the University Extension Division, the institute usually consists of a three-day programme with morning, afternoon, and evening sessions. The aim of the whole programme is to create a community spirit which will insure the desired co-operation, and which will result in continuous improvement of conditions involving the public welfare. As a first step the institute attempts to stimulate the community to act as a unit in the solu- tion of one of its most pressing problems. By securing this united action the bonds for future co-operation are cemented, and one after another conditions needing at- tention may be improved. Ultimately symmetrical de- velopment will be brought about. Studying a Community's Problems The subjects to be discussed in a programme are de- termined in two ways: first, through ascertaining the opinion of the community .leaders as to the relative im- portance of the problems; and second, through a com- munity survey conducted by representatives from the THE AGENCIES 687 University Extension. This study has four purposes: first, to determine what conditions, with the relative im- portance of each, need immediate attention on the part of the community; second, to discover what groups, agen- cies, and persons may be secured to co-operate; third, to serve as information for speakers on the programme so that they may better meet the needs in the situation; and, fourth, what is of great importance, it forms a basis for further community self-study looking toward development. After the study has been made and the results obtained, the next step is to work out the programme "plan." One community studied showed three problems needing im- mediate attention. The most important of these was sewage disposal. The condition was such that, with a fissured rock stratum immediately beneath the surface, the large percentage of families dependent upon surface wells were in constant danger from disease. The problem of second importance was school consolidation. Three school boards existed in the town, resulting in a waste in teaching force, school-buildings and equipment, as well as working an injustice to the rural people who paid tui- tion for their children when they attended the city schools while the city residents were exempt. The third problem was that of recreation. There was a dearth of leadership, lack of play space and equipment, as well as an existing public sentiment against making public provision for the physical and social development of the people. Carrying Out the Programme The programme was so arranged as to devote one day to each of these community needs. There were morning, afternoon, and evening sessions. At each evening meeting, one of these problems was taken up before a general au- dience of the community. The first evening was devoted to the discussion of sewage, and a member of the State Board of Health gave a talk on the relation of sewage dis- posal to health, with special reference to local conditions; following this, a sanitary engineer from the University 688 THE RURAL COMMUNITY told how the situation could be economically and ade- quately met. On the second evening two men discussed the school situation; the first, from the standpoint of the actual conditions, showing how the development of the school system had been left largely to chance, making consolidation necessary; the second, the law interpreter from the State Board of Exlucation gave the details of procedure necessary to accomplish this. On the third evening the value of play was presented in a striking manner, and after this a talk was given on possibilities in recreation for the community. Thus the three evening programmes were arranged. In order to secure the in- terest of every one in the community it was necessary to plan morning and afternoon sessions for men dealing with specific problems to individuals, classes, and groups. The same plan was carried out to interest each and every woman in the community. Special programmes were arranged which stimulated the children to interest them- selves in new fields. By giving some definite assistance to each individual and group, everyone comes to appreciate the relationship of his interest to the welfare of the com- munity and desires to co-operate in the solution of com- munity problems. The speakers on the programme are of the greatest im- portance to the success of any institute. Everything de- pends on having men of experience who not only know their own fields, but who can also discuss the particular subjects with which they have to deal from the point of view of community development. When such men can be found, it is still necessary to give them all of the avail- able information on local conditions and acquaint them with the programme plan. Everyone will then be able to develop his subject in a concrete way and at the same time show its relation to general community progress. Care is always exercised in Wisconsin to have present several who are thoroughly familiar with the idea of the institute. Thus, if an untried speaker fails to have the larger point of view, the success of the programme is not impaired. THE AGENCIES 689 Development of the Community Institute The community institute is a Wisconsin idea which arose three years ago after some deliberation on the needs of certain sections of the state. The first year two meet- ings were held. The idea met the needs so successfully that there was a demand in the second year for more of them than the University Extension Division could sup- ply, although seven were held. During the first two years the idea was more or less in the experimental stage; with the beginning of this, the third year, the avenues of ap- proach to the community problems have become fairly well established. Nine programmes have already been given and more are to follow, and it is anticipated that the demands will exceed the ability to meet them. This demand is due to the valuable results accomplished in each place where there has been an institute. The community institute movement has been taken up in other states and is meeting with much success. The University Extension Division in Indiana is planning nine for this year. Iowa has had them for two years. Washington and other states are considering taking up the work. Colorado, Minnesota, and other states have recently developed kindred movements, covering some- what narrower fields. The institute is adaptable to any community in any state, and, although it has been carried on under the direction of the state in its University Ex- tension, there is no reason why wide-awake communities may not plan their own institutes each year. Principles of Community Growth There are many things to consider in community de- velopment. If a town is to grow in activities and extend its borders of influence, it must develop each field of public service so well that not only the residents within the cor- porate limits feel that it is adequate to meet their needs, but it must also make the rural people contiguous, have 690 THE RURAL COMMUNITY the same feeling. To do this it is necessary for the bankers to know the needs of the people and foster the develop- ment of legitimate lines of work; it is necessary for the business man to study the wants of the community and supply them ; it is necessary for the churches, the schools, and all recreational and welfare activities to reach out beyond the corporate lines and make the town the real centre of life. By doing this the man outside the formal limits of the town comes to feel that he is a partner in the streets, in the banks, in the business houses, and has a proprietary right in them. The community institute de- velops this community spirit. In the small communities especially, the town depends on the surrounding country, and, in turn, the people in the country are dependent on the town for supplies and marketings as well as numerous other services. The prop- erty value would depreciate rapidly if the support of the one were taken from the other. When this community spirit is created, as it is in a community institute, such things as clean-up campaigns are most successful; unsan- itary housing conditions will be improved when they result in high mortality from tuberculosis. In one town the survey showed that an exceedingly high death-rate from tuberculosis was due to unsanitary conditions and a hous- ing problem. Steps were immediately taken to improve the situation. When a community is made attractive the people are proud of their surroundings; when the professional, com- mercial, industrial, and laboring classes co-operate in giv- ing the young people a chance in life, then the cities will cease to deplete the smaller communities of their virile leaders, and stronger communities will be developed. How THE Institute Helps Before the community institute came to the assistance of one town in Wisconsin there was no little co-operation on the part of the business men that the mail-order houses were getting a larger and larger share of the people's earn' THE AGENCIES 69 1 ings. This condition was due to lack of team-work on the one hand and ignorance of how to meet this competi- tion on the other. In the institute the question was taken up, emphasizing the importance of getting together on the problem as the first step and then laying plans to meet the competition in price, selection, service, and quality. To-day this town is meeting the situation squarely and successfully. It was soon found that every step possible must be taken to make it easy at any time of the year for the people outside of town to come in not only to market their produce, but to secure provisions and other neces- sities. Roads and bridges were improved, and the busi- ness men's organizations advertised that they would re- fund a part of the railroad fares of those who came from a distance to trade in the town. This resulted in a marked increase in local trade and all other activities centring in the town. One after another, illustrations might be given of how the community institute helps in community develop- ment. It arouses the co-operative spirit; through the reorganization of inactive business men's associations, or, in case of no such organization, the creation of one; through forming new cosmopolitan women's clubs or broadening the scope of the existing ones to meet larger needs; through annual com and grain exhibits for the farmers; or stock-shows and the organization of potato growers' associations; through helping or creating musical organizations of all kinds and encouraging community music; through introducing play and games and music in each class period; through public service provisions, such as providing adequate school-buildings, playgrounds, water and sewage systems, by £issisting in making public and private service efficient and economical; and in some cases through the organization of the whole community for action in development. The community institute does not hinder the develop- ment of private interests. What it does do is to secure due attention on the part of each individual and on the part of the community as a unit in whatever has to do 692 THE RURAL COMMUNITY with symmetrical growth. The community spirit, once inspired by a vision of the possibiHties of co-operative action, must be kept alive by frequent community meet- ings, such as banquets, lunches, plays, festivals, pageants, clean-up campaigns, and kindred activities that create confidence in the power of the masses to accomplish what- ever they undertake. II. RELIGIOUS 1. THE LARGER BENZONIA PARISH BY HARLOW S. MILLS (From The Church and Country Life. Published by Missionary Education movement of the United States and Canada, 1916, and edited by Paul A. Vogt) I suppose I am asked to speak to-night because I rep- resent a vigorous country church in the, as yet but par- tially developed, region of northern Michigan. We call it "The Larger Benzonia Parish," because of its recently extended territory. It is a kind of an "experiment station " where we are working out and demonstrating a method of country evangelism and rural betterment which promises to be successful, and which we hope may be profitably applied in many parts of the land. The conditions of the Benzonia field were specially favor- able for such an experiment. The community was settled by a high-minded and earnest-hearted company of people from northern Ohio more than half a century ago. The Pilgrims did not bring to the New England coast a truer motive or a purer purpose than they. It was their object to plant in the northern Michigan wilderness Christian institutions. They were willing to put into the enterprise their lives and their fortunes. They stamped the com- munity which they founded with the impress of their ideals, and that stamp has persisted. Like Abraham, their first work after entering the promised land was to build an altar to Jehovah, and like him and their New England THE AGENCIES 693 ancestors,- they built it on the highest elevation they could' find. One of the first things they did was to select a site for a church and school, and, standing under the tall beeches and maples, with hymn and prayer, to dedicate that high hilltop to the cause of Christian education. The church that they planted was the first in all the Grand Traverse region. It has now a membership of about three hundred in a village of seven hundred, and is the centre of the religious and social life, not only of the village and the immediate community, but also of the territory known as "The Larger Parish" — twelve miles long and ten miles wide. It has been the mother of churches, and now stands encircled by a number of younger organizations which are growing strong and sturdy under her cherishing in- fluence. For more than fifty years this church has had the cen- tral place in that community. The village life has clus- tered about it, and from it have gone forth those influences that have been most potent in moulding the character of the people, and in giving them their ideals. A fine body of Christian men and women have been trained up, sturdy and strong, with well-grounded principles and large ideas, and to them more than to anything else is due the work which has been done. They are splendid followers, they work well together, and are ready to co-operate in any sane movement to promote the kingdom of God. For fifteen years I worked away in this, my country parish. They were happy years of glad, harmonious work, and I was satisfied with my work. Though remote from the great centres of population and living in a small village with people of very modest means, I had never been visited by that restless feeling that spoils the peace and mars the work of so many ministers. There was a good under- standing between myself and my people. At the close of this period, however, I was called to pass through deep afiliction. My home was broken up with a sudden stroke. Into the dark valley of sorrow my people accompanied me as far as they were able to go, and the effectjwas to unite us with bonds that were very strong 694 THE RURAL COMMUNITY and tender. Every home in all the parish was mine. All the children belonged to me. There was a chair for me at every fireside, and a plate at every table. But as the years went by there came some tempting opportunities to engage in work elsewhere. I was not without my ambitions and aspirations. I wanted to fill out the full measure of my ability and do my best work; and when some opportunities came that made the little country parish seem by comparison rather small and meagre, I was not proof against them. I spent some weeks in considering the propositions from the city and the state, and finally decided I could not bring myself to sever my connection with those to whom I had been so long and closely related. The personal tie was too strong, and I decided to remain with my people. With the decision came a heart-searching. It marked a turning-point in my spiritual history. I was impressed with the thought that, if it was God's will that I should remain in my present work, it must be for a special pur- pose. Things could not be in the future as they had been in the past. If it was the Lord's will that I should remain in that country parish, there must be some work there which it was worth while for me to do; some work that in some degree, at least, would approach in importance the large opportunities offered by the city and the state. Was there anything to be done among those hills, and in those rapidly disappearing forests that could fire a man's ambitions and satisfy his high aspirations ? Just here the vision came. At first a whole township was revealed as a possible parish. Then the vision ex- panded until it took in another township and parts of three or four more. It became plain that almost half a county was tributary to the church, that five hundred families and twenty-five hundred people were waiting for its ministry. It dawned upon my mental vision that I was called upon to be the pastor of all these people, and that the Benzonia Church was responsible for them all; that they had a right to look to us for service and help, and that if we failed to give it we should be unfaithful THE AGENCIES 695 to our Master and recreant to our trust. Then I said: "Here is something worth doing. Here may be wrought out an experiment in country evangelization and rural betterment that may help to arrest the downward trend that has been so alarming in these days. It was for this that God kept me here. If I can make this vision a reality, I need not pine for a larger field. If I can help others to see the vision, and inspire them with enthusiasm to make it real in larger fields than mine, I shall never be sorry that I stayed by the stuff." The church had for many years been much interested in both home and foreign missions. In fact those who were well acquainted with the churches of the state have often said that in proportion to its resources, its gifts were larger than those of any other church. Not only did its members give money, but they gave their own sons and daughters to carry the Gospel to less-favored regions. Many of the young women of the church had gone to teach in home-mission schools, and there came a day when my favorite niece, brought up in my home as an active and useful member of the church, beloved by all, was con- secrated with solemn services in the little church on the hilltop to the foreign work, and was sent forth with the blessings of all the people to represent them among the awakening millions of China. As I was sitting in my study one day, pondering upon these things, the absurdity of the situation came over me all at once. "Here we are, gathering money to send our sons and daughters to the distant part of the earth, but we are doing absolutely nothing for scores of families al- most within sound of our church-bell. We are anxious to give the Gospel to the millions of other lands whom we have never seen, and never shall see; but we have not felt very much responsibility for those who are separated from us by only a few miles. There are many families and hundreds of people within five or six miles of our church that are practically without the Gospel as truly as are the Chinese or the South Sea Islanders. We have made no systematic effort to interest them in these things." Then 696 THE RURAL COMMUNITY I heard the Master say: "These ye ought to have done, and not to have left the other undone." And then came the vision of the Larger Parish. I saw the church reach- ing out and touching tenderly, but effectively, all the people in the surrounding country. I saw every family in that wide region tributary to the church. I saw the church laying systematic plans to carry the Gospel to all these outlying neighborhoods. I began to think of all those people as my parishioners as truly as were those who lived near the church and who were members of it. In my own mind I annexed all the surrounding country and began to make plans for the evangelization and helping of all the people who dwelt therein. So under the stimulus of foreign missions the vision came of the work that could be done and should be done nearer home. The next thing was to bring the vision to the earth and to make it a reality. How was it to be done ? The first thing was to make a survey of the field. I started out to visit all the families in this wide territory. I tramped over the whole parish. I lived with the peo- ple and was often absent from my home for two or three days at a time, until there was scarcely a home in all that region where I was a stranger. This was most delightful and satisfying work. There was a welcome everywhere, and almost without exception, the people seemed pleased to come in touch with the representative of the church. Such an opportunity to get up close to the people is worth a score of sermons. This visiting tour occupied many weeks ; in fact, a large part of the autumn months I spent in this way. I came to know the people as I had never known them before. My touch with them was warmer and closer. I came to think of them in a different way, and there was established between them and myself a bond of sympathy that did not exist before. My task with the church in bringing it to get my point of view, to see the vision as I saw it, and to co-operate with me in making it a reality, was not difficult. The people were ready for the larger work, at least they were ready to be made ready. THE AGENCIES 697 All they needed was light and leading. This I under- took to give. I told them my vision of the Larger Parish. I held it up before them continually, preaching it on the Sabbath, and talking about it in the prayer-meeting. From week to week I could see the kindling flame of enthusiasm in the congregation. The people began to see the reason- ableness of it. They began to feel some responsibility for it, some joy and hope, as the possibility of doing it dawned upon them. But how should we begin? How should we move out into this Larger Parish, and get hold of this greater work ? I began to hold one meeting each week in some distant schoolhouse, taking with me some of my men, for I con- sidered that the success of the work depended, not so much on what I said, as upon the attitude of the church toward it. The presence of the men with me in these services greatly increased the effectiveness of the effort. I was a preacher, and was simply on my job. They represented the church and proclaimed to the people in the outlying regions its attitude toward them. At first I had no definite thought of how the work would develop. I simply started out to do what I could for the people in that wide territory. The need of a helper began to press heavily upon me. The matter was brought be- fore the representatives of the state work. The super- intendent came and visited the field, and the result was such co-operation with the Home Missionary Society as enabled us to secure an assistant for our work. And as it developed, it was not long till another helper was needed, so that now the work is carried on by three men, each of them responsible for a certain portion of the territory. They work in most delightful harmony, and the fellow- ship which they have with one another is one of the best things about it. A fine example of what may be done in the way of de- nominational comity, when a really Christian spirit pre- vails, was shown on this field, and it did much to make the work of the Larger Parish possible. Two small Methodist churches within the territory were exchanged 698 THE RURAL COMMUNITY for two Congregational churches of a similar grade in an adjoining county. This was worked through by the rep- resentatives of the two denominations, and with the churches themselves without difficulty, leaving a free field for the Congregationalists in one county, and for the Meth- odists in the other. A commission was appointed of a Methodist and a Congregationalist from a distant town, who appraised the properties belonging to the various churches and reported the basis of exchange. The Meth- odist man thought the Congregationalists ought to pay $250 to boot. The Congregational man thought the Methodists ought to pay a like sum. So they traded even, and every one was satisfied. If some such exchange could be made in many neighborhoods, it would be a most happy arrangement, and one of the greatest hindrances to the progress of the kingdom of God would be removed. Having shown the plan in successful operation, I may speak of some methods used and some things done which show religious progress. This must be the crucial test of any church work. It must bring people into harmony with God and his truth. It must line them up on the side of Jesus Christ, or it cannot be said to be successful, how- ever many other desirable things it may accomplish. Spir- itual results cannot be tabulated, but a few things can be mentioned that show progress. The work has been fairly well organized throughout the whole parish, and is moving on steadily in definite directions. There are now eleven points where regular Sunday services are held in this territory, which comprises one whole township and parts of five others. These services are held in one church, eight chapels, and two schoolhouses. Other points are asking for service, but with our present force no more work can be undertaken. These preaching points are so arranged that no family, with the exception of a few who live in one remote corner of the parish, need go more than a mile and a half to find a place of worship. The aggregate attendance on these services will average not far from six hundred in a population of twenty-five THE AGENCIES 699 hundred, about one-fourth of the population of the parish being present with some degree of regularity. There are three small country churches affiliated with the village church at Benzonia in carrying on this work, with a com- bined membership of about four hundred. Ten Sunday- schools are maintained within the parish with six hundred in attendance. The clerical force is composed of the pas- tor and his two assistants, and each of them preaches three times on the Sabbath, so that there are nine preaching services. The three pastors usually get together on Mon- day and talk over the work, spending part of the day in the most delightful fellowship. They make frequent ex- changes, taking each other's work for a Sunday and thus giving the people a change, and themselves some variety of experience. In this way they promote acquaintance and fellowship throughout the whole parish. This is a most profitable combination. The older pastor helps the younger men with his wider experience, and the boys put new life and fresh spirit into the heart of the older man. If the amount of money which people are willing to give for religious purposes is an index of their interest in the Kingdom, one must conclude that there has been a very significant revival in that respect throughout the Larger Parish. More means for carrying on the work are now in sight than one would have supposed it possible to raise five years ago. The total salary of the pastor and his two assistants is two and a half times the pastor's salary alone before the wider work was undertaken. This, how- ever, is made possible only through the help of the Home Missionary Society. The contributions to home and for- eign missions have more than doubled in this period, and the number of contributors has increased twofold. More than twice as much money is raised on the field now than was the case before the wider work began, and it comes with just £is little effort. Nobody now objects to the work on financial ground. It has paid for itself in every way. Two or three times a year all the services in the out- stations are omitted, and all the people are invited to come 700 THE RURAL COMMUNITY together for a Sabbath service on the seminary campus at Benzonia. These are most enjoyable and profitable occasions. They assemble under the great beech and maple trees, a sermon is preached by some noted minister from abroad, there is a picnic dinner with time for sociabil- ity and fellowship, and then in the afternoon another service of a more varied character. These general services are well attended, and they tend to bind the whole parish together with a larger sense of community interest. Believing that the church should minister to the whole man and have something to say and something to do with his social as well as his spiritual nature, we have paid con- siderable attention to some things that have often been considered as lying outside of the sphere of religion. Realizing the tendency of country life to isolation and extreme individualism, and the danger of its becoming barren and monotonous, we have thought it important to provide for social and literary functions, and for whole- some recreation and healthful pleasures. It has been our effort to make all our out-stations social centres, and to encourage frequent meetings where the people might mingle in a free and friendly manner. They have responded heartily to these efforts and have appreciated very much the opportunities that have been afforded them in this direction. Neighborhood clubs have been organized in some of the out-stations whose function it is to provide for these social necessities. The name "Neighborhood Club" quite well defines their object. The work is carried on in three departments under the direction of three committees: (i) The Social Committee, whose business it is to arrange for picnics, parties, excursions, etc. ; (2) the Literary Com- mittee, which provides lectures, debates, and the like; and (3) the Team-work Committee, which leads out in any movement of a public or a charitable nature in which the people need to co-operate. The meetings of these clubs are well attended and they are a profitable source of improvement and recreation. Lecture courses are arranged, usually by home talent, THE AGENCIES 70 1 and upon subjects of local and practical interest. The pastor has done a good deal of work with the stereopticon, illustrating the story of a trip to Palestine and a cruise of the Mediterranean. These clubs soon develop talent and resources of various kinds which are quite sufficient, and they require but little help from the outside. Some attention hzis been paid to athletics. The young men have been organized into athletic clubs, and they have been headed up in an athletic league. They hold occasional field days, with sports and contests for the boys and girls. This, we find, is very profitable when we have some one who has the training and the other qualifications of a suitable director. One more way of working has also proved valuable and well worth while. Like most small villages, we have a weekly newspaper which finds its way into most of the homes of the parish. The pastor and the editor work to- gether in the effort to make it an organ of helpful power in the community life. For five years I have had a column, usually a column and a half, in this paper each week. It is my regular Monday forenoon job to write "The Pastor's Column." I put into it whatever I think will be useful to the people, bringing them many a message that would hardly come appropriately in the pulpit, and reaching in that way many whom I should not often come in touch with otherwise. The themes are various, but a few will serve as specimens: "How to Keep One's Religion and Make it Pay," "The Back Yard," "The Test of the Sum- mertime," "The Man You Happen to Meet," "Plan Your Work, and Work Your Plan," etc. Any local topic of general interest is taken up and discussed, and the activi- ties of the church and the social and literary doings in the various out-stations are kept before the people. I con- sider this one of my most valuable ways of working, and I find that the Pastor's Column is eagerly looked for and widely read. This suggests the question whether in the past the pastors of our churches have sufficiently appre- ciated the value of printer's ink as an adjunct in carrying on religious and community work. If the pastor can speak 702 THE RURAL COMMUNITY through the press as well as from the pulpit, he is doubling his influence. What do we find to be the result of the five years' work of the Larger Parish ? They have been the five most pros- perous years of the church's history of more than half a century. Two men have been added to the clerical force. The expenses of the church have been met, and the bills have been paid when due. The contributions for home and foreign missions have more than doubled. More mem- bers have been received than during any other similar period. There has been perfect harmony, and the people have been glad and happy in their common work. Ten places of worship have been established in the country around where regular services are held. The people in these neighborhoods attend their own services, and do not come to the central church, as many of them formerly did. The present arrangement does not tend to build up a large central congregation, but has the opposite ef- fect. Thirty former central members have become part of a newly formed church three miles away. There has been no great increase in the population, either of the vil- lage, or of the country around. But the congregation and Sunday-school of the central church were never so large as they have been during this period. It has been found impossible to accommodate all those who wish to worship in the church, or properly to care for those at- tending the Sunday-school. A larger building became an actual necessity, and in the summer of 1913 an addi- tion was made, increasing the seating capacity more than one-third and providing a number of rooms for Sunday- school and social purposes. The building has been painted, reshingled, and thoroughly renovated; everything about it is in good shape, and it has all been paid for. The con- gregations fill the larger building as well as they did before the addition was made. Can we doubt that the blessing of God will attend any church that sees the vision, and with faith and courage and sacrifice gives itself to the work of making it a reality ? I believe we are beginning to see the dawning of a better THE AGENCIES 703 day for rural regions; that the fountains of physical, moral, and religious strength which have seemed to be failing in these latter days are about to be "reopened," and that we may soon expect to see them flowing with new force and volume to refresh the earth. Perhaps there is no move- ment just at present that is more vitally related to the progress of the kingdom of God in the world. God grant that the fair and blessed vision may dawn upon every heart, that the village churches may see their opportunity, and that the work of rehabilitation may proceed at a rapid pace in the years that are just before us ! 2. AN EXPERIMENT IN COMMUNITY RELIGION BY CHARLES L. COLE (From The Survey, December 20, 1913) In the early settlement of a certain rural community were some families whose religious interests were largely negative. The influence of these large families has been manifest for a generation, working havoc in both church and community life. This condition of affairs also created a field inviting to a certain questionable type of organized life under the protective name of religion. Natural out- growths of such conditions were doubt, indifference, be- numbed conscience, and loose morals. There was little real community life. However, during these years a continuous line of loyal, optimistic preachers kept alive the faith of a group of citizens who braved ridicule and held doggedly to their task as they saw it. But in a territory approximately eleven miles square boasting of but one village, and that of fewer than seven hundred people, no less than twenty- four churches, representing eleven denominations, were built. And as is too often true, no small part of their energy was spent in sectarian contention resulting largely in a struggfe for individual church supremacy. The programme of four of these churches in the village was typical of nearly 704 tSE RURAL COMMUNITY all the twenty-four. By means fair or foul, by peace or contention, at any cost, to build numbers into the church membership for the church's sake was the object and end of so-called Christian labor. By a chain of somewhat unusual circumstances, after years of shameful history, the village field, and part of the rural territory containing two hundred and twenty families, has been left practically to three churches form- ing a charge under the care of one pastor. Left alone in this field, in a few months these churches felt the air clear and received a challenge for a new motive and more worthy objective. Three things at least it was seen must mark the progress of the church under such conditions. First, it must be a community church with sectarianism buried; second, it must present and practise the Gospel of Jesus Christ and really vitalize men, building them into a living brotherhood; third, this church must serve the community in progressive, vital community building as one institution among many others working toward a common end. Evangelism was accepted as the heart of the task but the evangelistic programme had for its fundamental ob- ject the making of community and world builders and not mainly to lengthen the church roll. The programme of community service began naturally with the young people. Their enthusiasm was directed by a few adults who had vision, and a social centre con- sisting of a reading-room, a library loaned by the state and a rest-room, was opened to the community. It was free to all, and much used. The only thing now preventing the churches, aid socie- ties, lodges, and community clubs from uniting in bearing the expenses of an adequate room for the young people's social life is the impossibility of securing the room. Cheap companies presenting vulgar vaudeville were frequenting the village often with demoralizing results. As a community service the young people were led to sub- stitute amateur amusement and play. The effect was almost immediate. Not only from the town hall but from THE AGENCIES 705 the moving-picture theatre as well nearly all question- able travelling troupes have disappeared. The adult leaders soon caught the enthusiasm and were asking what they could do. They were led to look upon the offered services of many of our state institutions as possible of being utilized as a genuine Christian service in community religion. Accordingly, free lectures began to be provided on subjects vital to life. Periodically there appeared able talent giving lectures on health, sanitation, tuberculosis, blindness, lectures to men by physicians, lectures on rural schools, scientific farming, community building, and lectures to young people. In the open country the two church communities united to form a Farmers' Club as an answer to the question, "How ought Christian men serve their community?" The programme of this club includes the subject of good roads, consolidation of country schools, social reforms, scientific farming, farm co-operation, providing adequate intellectual stimulus, social and recreational life, sanita- tion and making the home and country beautiful. It pur- poses to inspire the best boys and girls to remain on the farm and exalts agriculture as a vocation. Such a programme will occupy a generation, of course, but it appeals to men. The churches were opened for these lectures and social gatherings all of which are free to everybody. They are supported by all who care to volunteer to help in community building and even old- time church haters and scoffers are enlisted. A pipe-organ was desired for the village church. After three and one-half years of the social service programme, it was asked for from the community, for the community, to help minister to the finest and most sacred things of our common life. A few months of educational campaigning secured sufficient funds enthusiastically contributed by the whole community, and supplemented by a generous gift from a philanthropic friend. Reading-room and library plans are now under way whereby an adequate plant for the social centre is expected to be available within a year. Another result of a community programme is shown in 706 THE RURAL COMMUNITY the church's forgetting itself and giving its life for the common good. Methodists, Presbyterians, Baptists, Lutherans, Reformed, Evangelicals, Friends, Christian Adventists, United Brethren, and Church of God, all have united in active membership in the community church which holds its connection with one of these denominations. Instead of a church membership of two hundred and fifty contending sectarians without social prestige, there are now three hundred and sixty co-operating workers, a host of supporters, commanding respect from the community at large. Instead of several little Sunday-schools enrolling less than two hundred members there is now an enrol- ment of more than five hundred. Instead of two distinct Sunday-morning services of Sunday-school and preaching with the demoralizing conditions of children separated from parents, there is now but one combined service with all present. Nothing of value in the old order is lost. In- stead of the "pass the hat" method of providing funds, always inadequate, the church has adopted a community budget method, and no collection-baskets are passed at any service. 3. THE CHURCH LEADS THE WAY Harmony Co-operates in Religion, Business AND Pleasure BY JOHN E. PICKETT (From The Country Gentleman, August 3, 1918) Charles E. Patterson, seventy-three years old, laid for a fast one. When youth is serving, it behooves age to use strategy, so he waved feebly at the wide curves ; but when the pitcher tried to sneak a straight sizzler across the plate Grandpa Patterson swung with all his might, knocked the ball over the head of the remotest fielder and made a home run. The remarkable thing about this was not that a man who was then within three years of his grave should knock THE AGENaES ^0^ a home-run, but that the game was played in a country churchyard under the direction of the church, and that a lot of howling church members gave vent to their feel- ings in a healthful way that would have given a sour-faced Puritan apoplexy. When you understand the enthusiasm back of this game and understand further that the late Mr. Patterson was president of the church athletic asso- ciation, you are better prepared to understand why Har- mony Community, Nodaway County, Missouri, takes its Shorthorns and its Spotted Poland-Chinas and its school and its home problems and its laughs to church. Harmony Community sounds like one of those Utopian colonies where trusting ones take their faith in humanity and go to pool their efforts and get their eye-teeth cut. But it is not. It is a live, twentieth-century farm com- munity, extending five and one-half miles each way from the church and making the church its common centre. The minute you get into Harmony Community you know it by its better roads, well-trimmed hedges and improved farmhouses. Those who are in Harmony Community al- most invariably want to stay, and a great many who are outside of its boundaries would like to get in but cannot. That is how well it mixes religion and business. New Life with the New Pastor New life came to Harmony Community eight years ago with the Rev. C. R. Green, the new pastor. It just happened that the Community had a good church build- ing, provided in a time of religious fervor, which had been allowed to retrograde. There had been a part-time pastor supposed to be paid $300 a year — and lucky if he got it — a part-time congregation with a part-time sort of interest? In other words, the church was like thousands of country churches. Mr. Green welcomed the idea of giving his entire time to a farm community and becoming its leader. Accordingly, he and Mrs. Green moved into a little house near the church, bought some dairy cow§ 9.nd 708 THE RURAL COMMUNITY chickens, and Mr. Green literally took off his coat and became one of the Community. You can imagine there was a bit of talk the first time the new pastor borrowed the boys of the Community on Saturday afternoon and started them playing baseball instead of doing church work. But it was not long before he had made a lot of converts to the idea that the boy who played on Saturday afternoon worked harder the following week. Also, those boys who played with the pastor were at church the following morning without urg- ing, and that was something. With this sort of start a lot of new things came along gradually. The Government listened to Mr. Green's plea that Harmony Community needed expert advice relative to its highways, and sent a man to study the situation and make a report. He outlined the advantages of better roads, drew plans to show how to make the most of the dirt ones they had, and showed how to grade them twenty- six feet wide, how to crown them, and how to keep them dragged and as near waterproof as this kind of road can be made without a special binder or paving material. He went into considerable detail in his report relating to bridges and culverts, and convinced them that there was nothing cheap about the wooden and steel structures except the initial cost, and that this was soon wiped out by the constant expense of repair and upkeep. In addition to other disadvantages of the roads, as the Federal engineer found them, he pointed out the high hedges which kept the roads from drying. The pastor and the highway engineer did not neglect this argument as one means of bringing the hedges down to a more at- tractive form. ' With their new information and a new enthusiasm the farmers tackled the Ridge Road. This ran by the church. Perhaps it would be more truthful to say it crawled by. In contour it looked like a measuring-worm arched for a step. No telling how many members that hilly road had kept from church, for it was bad enough much of the time to keep a man from a turkey-shoot or something he THE AGENCIES 709 really wanted to attend. The task of improving this road looked monumental in prospect; but under guidance of the government man, and with the encouragement of a pastor who made a full hand at the work, its serried hills and muddy valleys flattened out in a broad tape of com- munication that is now all that a dirt road can be expected to be, and is a source of Community pride. "Did you come over the Ridge Road?" asks the farmer of the visitor. Being assured that you did he takes it for granted that you believe in Harmony Community. Other roads were attacked by the Harmonyites. It is like a taste of blood to a tiger — this community road-build- ing — and all the roads were made to lead to the church; and the high hedges came down and the roadsides were cleaned up to match the traffic surface. To-day there is not a wooden bridge or culvert in the Community, the Harmony booster will tell you; they are all concrete. "We had no more county-road money than our share; we did it by volunteer effort," the pastor explained. With better roads the church became the centre that the pastor anticipated. There are no families and 535 persons within the area — eleven miles square — which is known as Harmony Community. Of these residents 87^^ per cent belong to Harmony Church. It happens to be a Methodist church, but 60 per cent of its members are Baptists. That shows how thoroughly undenominational the church really is. "The thing of most interest to us is that seven-eighths of all our residents belong to a church," the pastor de- clared. "The average country church attracts only about 20 per cent of the renters and 40 per cent of the landowners to membership. Our 873^ per cent shows whether Har- mony Church really means anything in a religious way." His critics declare that Mr. Green has merely sugar- coated religion, and that the dose is practically all sweets. He never quarrels with them on that point. He makes religion the axis of all life in his Community, and it must be admitted that with most of the Community 710 THE RURAL COMMUNITY assembled at least twice a week there is an opportunity to take up a lot of things. "No enterprise should survive in this Community which cannot be brought to the church," he insists. So he brought Shorthorns to church. A farm Chautauqua was being held. The state and Government furnished institute lecturers for a programme at the church. Mr. Green conferred privately with the live-stock speaker and arranged with him to spring the plan. Why not go into breeding Shorthorns? Make it a Community affair, fill the farms with good Shorthorns, have Community bulls, and make it a centre where buyers could come to get a car-load or several car-loads at a time — all from farms within reach of the same railroad siding. Let the church make the enterprise a success as it has made other movements. The idea took hold. The Shorthorn Circle was formed. Only members of the church were allowed to join and all its meetings were scheduled at the church. Thus some of the most enthusiastic meetings held in that building have to do with feeding and breeding and blood lines. The circle was organized two years ago. Its members bought small starts of pure-bred stock and began in a modest way; but they are now getting to the point where some of them have a surplus to dispose of. There are fifty-three members, and they have been made more en- thusiastic by the fact that buyers from a wide range of country have wanted to buy Shorthorns from a church. So far the circle has made no attempt to buy bulls, but groups of members are co-operating in ownership of sires. The Community also has gone into Spotted Poland- Chinas. Practically every farm has some of them and they are proving a profitable addition to the Community business. Here is where the boys often step into owner- ship and farm interest. A white spot on the sleek side of a typey hog has become the practical sort of will-o'-the- wisp to glue a boy's interest to farm things. It is in the swine and cattle business that this Com- munity is beginning to see most results from co-operation. THE AGENCIES 711 The breeders of both are working to make the name "Har- mony" a sort of trade-mark of quality. This solves the problem of disposing of the surplus stock, for the buyer comes to this Community seeking the breeder, instead of the breeder having to search for the buyer; and when this visitor buys he knows that for all practical purposes he has a guaranty indorsed by the pastor and every church member. Naturally he is willing to pay a little more to get that assurance. Another thing which more active religion has brought to this Community is better and more modern homes. Imagine yourself in Harmony Church on Sunday morn- ing. The opening hymn has been sung, the prayer said, the collection taken and the pastor comes forward to preach. Instead of taking a formal text he steps out briskly, dressed as a prosperous farmer might be dressed, and announces bluntly that he wants to talk to them about their homes. And then in an earnest, forceful way he tells them plainly of some of the conditions in their Community; of how the men are working with the latest and most modern machinery; of the labor-saving devices that they pur- chase almost as fast as they are issued by the manufac- turers ; and he contrasts with this the lot of the farm woman who is working with equipment similar to that her mother and grandmother used. "I want to say to you men that, working with the modern equipment which you have, and accomplishing no more than some of you do, you actually have no cause to object to modern things for your wives on the grounds that they make no money." An Angry Man's New House Then he details to them some of the benefits of modern homes which are not to be measured by money, not for- getting the one of giving the children a pride in their home which may keep them on the farm when they grow up. One man in the neighborhood had a run-down place, where boxes and barrels and papers littered the yard; the 712 THE RURAL COMMUNITY house stood gaunt and unpainted where old implements leaned up in fence corners for a long last rest, and a gen- erally unkempt appearance offended the eye of the traveller. Mr. Green took a picture of this place and of one of the well-kept premises across the road and had them pub- lished by way of contrast. No names were given, but none were needed. Naturally the man whose dilapidated house was pictured was offended, but he built a new $6,000 home. A large number of farm women owe better home con- ditions to the pastor. Church pride, Community pride and home pride have been linked, and there are more than a dozen wholly modern farm homes in the Community and a general improvement that makes it stand out from any other section of the county. It is estimated by real-estate men that farm values in this Community have increased at least 33!/^ per cent faster than in any other part of Nodaway County. Prac- tically no land in it is for sale, and very little remains in the hands of non-resident owners. Most important, per- haps, is the fact that practically no one has moved from this Community since it learned to live and to laugh. "If our population keeps increasing, eventually some- one will have to leave," Mr. Green said; "but I am try- ing to encourage the idea of the eighty-acre farm. I am urging that the object is not merely to make a living but to live." In connection with that idea comes the next big problem for Harmony Community — a consolidated school. There are now six district-school buildings in the Community, and it is proposed to replace all of them with one grade and high-school structure in the centre of the consolidated district, and transport the children there in busses. The first fight for this lost by six votes, but the pastor believes it will win eventually. In the meantime, enough parents have become so in- terested in the matter of better schools as to establish a high school in the basement of the church, where four- teen boys and girls are being taught by a teacher paid by private subscription. THE AGENCIES 71 3 These fourteen farm boys and girls are not studying under a city-made curriculum, designed for city needs and teaching away from the farm and toward the city; they are learning something about the business of farm- ing and the interesting facts that correlate with it. One lesson may be given in the corn-field, studying the crop that produces most of the Community's wealth, and the next may be given gathered round a horse or a cow, ap- plying book knowledge to actual life. Most important of all, perhaps. Harmony Community has learned to play. It knows baseball and basket-ball and tennis. The women have their clubs and the men have associations for business and pleasure. There is a trap-shooting range from which the men and boys get a lot of pleasure, and occasionally the men forget how old they are, as Grandpa Patterson did in the famous game when he knocked the home-run. And then each year there is the Home-coming. Home-coming is just what it sounds — only bigger. Eight years ago, when this locality was just learning that it was a Community, it brought together 600 residents and former residents. Last fall 3,500 persons gathered for the programme and dinner. Five hundred motor- cars were parked and checked under the competent di- rection of some of the Community leaders, and not an accident marred the day. The Harmony orchestra fur- nished music, well-known men addressed the crowd, and the dinner required 450 feet of table for serving. If such a thing can be, the residents of this Community always acquire more pride in their church and their locality on that day. Perhaps these things will explain why the first flag erected in Nodaway County on the declaration of war against Germany was pulled up the staff at Harmony Church by a cheering crowd which derived some of its enthusiasm from the belief that it was first in this patriotic observance. Also, it will show why it was first in the county to engage in Red Cross work. Of course a great deal of credit for all the results which have been mentioned goes to the leader. Mr. Green is 714 THE RURAL COMMUNITY afire with his subject, and he spreads the conflagration round him. He took me to the train in his motor-car, and as he expounded his beliefs he pounded the steering- wheel with his right hand. I was glad it was a Harmony Community road, twenty-six feet from ditch to ditch, for he never ceased to step on the gasolene feed, and it seemed to me that he presumed a bit too much on the long, well-banked turns in the road. "But these things cost a lot," I said, thinking of the motor-car and the roads and the culverts and the modem homes. He replied: "There are enough Christians in every community properly to support a Christian institution, provided they are Christian enough." As to the other things, he explained that a farm com- munity was not different from other communities. To make money it must spend money. "There is more money in the banks to the credit of our church members than ever before," he said. "Their farms are worth more and their lives are worth more, for they have learned how to live them and get more out of them." III. RECREATIONAL 1. ORGANIZED RECREATION BY WARREN DUNBAR FOSTER DEPARTMENT EDITOR, THE YOUTH'S COMPANION, BOSTON, MASS. (From Proceedings National Education Association, vol. LIV, pp. 49-54) No better demonstration of my subject could have been arranged than the music we have just had. In any plan for organizing recreation, music must play an important part. Here we thousands have been singing together the common hymn of our common country. Singing together in the solemn joy of the singing has tended to weld our many thousands of individual minds into one great com- munity mind. That welding is the task of organized THE AGENCIES 715 recreation — to create the community mind. I am going to tell you how one town made this community state of mind its own, and by so doing, organized its recreation. Perhaps I should better say that, by organizing its recrea- tion, it made this state of mind its own. The two go hand in hand. The town — Homewood is a good name for it — had real community pride, not community bumptiousness. Home- wood said: "Homewood is a good town, but can make itself a much better town by organizing its recreational life." Homewood admitted without argument that all boys and girls — and their fathers and mothers — are en- titled to the joy of life. It admitted that having a whole- some good time is a social, not an individual matter. Homewood knew that it was under bond to humanity to see that every one of its children had that sort of care- fully planned play that would carry him victorious through the struggle of life. Homewood knew that the organization of recreation is a highly specialized profession. In it, competence must be supreme over incompetence. Homewood looks about for that one of its institutions that would lead in organiz- ing its recreation. Homewood realized that all the people and all their institutions had to be back of its attempt to organize its recreation. In its search for leadership, Homewood came upon the one institution that represents all the people, is paid for by all the people, the one in- stitution that has within it more trained leadership than all the others put together. So it was the Homewood schools that organized Homewood recreation. And nearly everywhere else it will be the school, the one all-embracing democratic institution, that will perform this task. Perhaps you teachers are tired of being told of new tasks that only you can carry. You will be told of more in the future than you have been told of in the past. Until the sunset of all time, it will be you teachers who will lead in the fight to socialize humanity. You cannot educate man unless you socialize him. Men and women who are not trained in soul and mind to labor together efficiently for 7l6 THE RURAL COMMUNITY the common good are not educated. You do not educate a lad until you give him the will and the means to devote himself to the well-being of the common run of plain folks. The educated man is the man who can do heartily and well for the joy of the doing. Organized recreation is the doing together of that which gives joy in the doing. It is primarily unselfish, co-opera- tive. Tom Sawyer helped Homewood get its working definition. Tom made the whitewashing of Aunt Polly's fence the most desirable thing in the eyes of his boy friends. The whitewashing was well done because the whitewashers took joy in the whitewashing, even to the strip for good measure along the ground. Homewood remembered that work is effective in so far as it takes on the great char- acteristic of play — ^joy in the doing. The Homewood schoolman began his task by taking account of stock. He found that the need was knowledge of what to do and how to do it. Homewood had most of the play machinery that it needed. Much of it was in wrong hands, in the hands of those who were using it for selfish, not community, ends. Then, knowing conditions, the Homewood school adopted a recreation platform for Homewood. Senator Depew has likened the platform of a political party to that of a car. "You do not stand upon it; you use it as a means of entrance." So Homewood used its recreation plat- form as a means of entrance into a thoroughly socialized community life. Homewood combined the parts of its recreational programme into a living organism that put Homewood life upon an efficient co-operative basis. I. The Community Centre. — Everything in organized recreation focuses at the community centre, the most vital factor in every recreation programme. Homewood fol- lowed L. J. Hanifan's definition: "The coming together of a group of people for social intercourse, intelligent stim- ulus, and constructive plans of common interest constitutes a community centre." A community centre is an idea, not a place. Homewood soon learned that it is not what you'do but THE AGENCIES 717 how you do it that brings success. Your centre must be the very embodiment of neighborliness. At the same time you must manage each activity with precision and skill. The centre will not manage itself. Its technicue is highly specialized. Homewood schoolmen mastered it because they open-mindedly set themselves to do so and hired the best professional help. The motion - picture, used for community service, brought Homewood people to the centres and there gave them something very much worth while. Homewood's motion-pictures competed successfully with commercial theatres, yet presented nothing which was not in har- mony with the dignity of the school and in furtherance of its broad educational purposes. Just plain folks dis- covered that the motion-picture takes everywhere to them, that it destroys for them the otherwise galling limitations of time, space and circumstance. It gives them not pic- tures but actual transcripts of life as it is and life as they want it to be. Do we wonder that over night the motion- picture has become a great teacher ? or perhaps the great teacher ? that we hail it as the greatest aid to education since the invention of printing ? In Homewood nothing was wrong with the motion-pic- ture. Something was decidedly wrong with the hands that had seized upon it. The Homewood school had left the motion-picture to the commercial amusement interests instead of putting it to work for educational and social ends. At last, however, the school made its alliance with the motion-picture. It had found that schools, women's clubs, and churches everywhere are presenting recreational motion-pictures for community service. In its own com- munity centres and schools Homewood is now using the best in drama, literature, science, and travel. Young folks and old come to be entertained — as is their right — and stay to be entertained and educated. Homewood finds that good motion-pictures cost money, but that its people are more than willing to pay for what they get. I cannot go into detail, for Dr. Johnson has given me a topic as limitless as the power of the motion-picture. 7l8 THE RURAL COMMUNITY The brief statement of what Boston, Springfield, and other cities have done and what you can do is told in a leaflet that you can secure free from Eva Whiting White, direc- tor, Department of Extended Use of Public Schools, School Committee, Boston. 2. Special-Day Festivals. — All Homewood comes to- gether to celebrate special-day festivals that promote good-fellowship, encourjige intelligent co-operation, de- velop local leadership, and relate constructively to the life of Homewood. The fall "get-together" occasion is a community fair, tied right into the life of the people. Homewood had al- ways said that the farming country round about was part of the town, but the farmers never believed this state- ment until this community fair was held. The fair makes the growing of good potatoes and the baking of excellent bread a matter of community interest and pride. The community fair gilds the common tasks of daily life. That gilding, you know, is recreation: the putting of joy into the doing. 3. Music. — Homewood uses music as the great welding and socializing force of its community life. Homewood realizes that music is the only art that is within the reach of the trained and untrained alike. Homewood makes community music accomplish as much for community solidarity as did the singing-school beloved of its grand- fathers. Homewood paid attention to the example of a near-by village, the leaders of which had tried again and again to form a successful co-operative onion-selling society. The farmers were unable to do business together. Then they organized a singing society. They sang together for the fun of singing together, not for the music they produced. They acquired the habit of doing things to- gether efficiently. A successful co-operative onion-selling organization was the inevitable result. 4. Clubs in Agriculture and Home Economics. — ^The Homewood boys' corn clubs teach the farmers of to-day and to-morrow how to grow more and better com. More THE AGENCIES 719 important, however, they teach the farmers of to-day and to-morrow how to do worth-while things together for the joy of doing, not for cash prizes. The canning clubs perform great service in conserving tomatoes that otherwise would go to waste. The greatest product they conserve, however, is the girlhood of to- day and the womanhood of to-morrow. In the districts about Homewood, the canning club made the first effec- tive attack upon the lonely monotony of rural feminine life. And making rural feminine life happy again is the first prerequisite to the solution of our greatest American problem — the rural problem. In Homewood, mothers' clubs, millinery clubs, cooking clubs, manual-training clubs, and half a dozen other kinds, put the spirit of co-operative fun into the teaching of utilitarian subjects. The girls invite their fathers and mothers and brothers and other girls' brothers to simple school feasts of their own preparing. The schoolhouses take the place of many a questionable resort as a meeting- place for the young men and women of Homewood. Their fathers and mothers, too, have learned that the school really belongs to the people after all. When the time comes for action upon the school budget, the city government is liberal in its appropriation. The politicians do not care about education, but the people do, because of Home- wood's organization of recreation. Indeed, Homewood's organized recreation is not very popular with the politicians because it has transferred title to Homewood from them to the plain folks. The parent Chautauqua Institution is an excellent ex- ample of the successful mixing of school work and recrea- tion, much to the added effectiveness of each. 5. Co-operation with Outside Agencies. — In Homewood, the Boy Scouts, Camp-fire Girls, Audubon Society, Knights of King Arthur, and half a dozen other organizations are useful. No one of them tries to answer the whole recrea- tional need of the community. Homewood makes each one much more useful, however, by binding it up into the whole community enterprise. 720 THE RURAL COMMUNITY 6. Drama and Folk Plays. — Homewood gives simple dramas really its own. Homewood knows that the drama has no substitute as the free and natural mode of expres- sion for the passions, longings, and ideals of the people. Careful and intelligent planning put drama and folk play actually at work in the daily life of Homewood. 7. Athletics and Playground. — I have told Homewood's story backward. Homewood began its organization of recreation with athletics and the playground, really the most unimportant part of its community enterprise. In Homewood, as everywhere else, many people thought that recreation is confined to the athletic field and play- ground. Homewood was wise, however, in proceeding from the definite, physically tangible playground to the much more important but less easily sensed recreational undertakings that I have outlined. In Homewood, no child has to walk more than a mile to reach a playground. In addition to regular physical training instruction in the schools, Homewood teaches every child games for playground and home use. Athletics are for all. The emphasis falls upon team-work, not upon individual com- petition. The corn-club boy near Homewood who raises more corn than his father has become a useful community in- stitution. Just as useful, however, is the working farmer of forty whose record in the pole vault at a county meet is better than that of his son. After Homewood had experimented briefly with volun- teer direction, it hired a professionally trained supervisor. At first Homewood worried about the cost, but it soon found that, although recreation costs money and a lot of it, recreational enterprises ultimately come very near paying their way. Money is not the important factor. The best steel equipment is expensive, but the apparatus for the first country playground in which I had a hand cost $7.40. Since that time, however, we have not been so needlessly reckless in spending money for country play- grounds. If you really want to know how to build a country play- THE AGENCIES 721 ground with brains instead of money, and if you want a copy of Homewood's recreation programme, write to either the United States Bureau of Education, Washington, or to the Extension Department of The Youth's Companion, Boston, Mass., for a copy of Neighborhood Play, published jointly by the United States Bureau of Education and The Youth's Companion. The booklet is theoretically out of print, but I have hidden a few thousand copies which will be available to you as long as the supply lasts. You may be interested to know, in passing, that more than half a hundred of America's leading authorities co- operated to formulate this simple recreation programme of Homewood. Before its publication, in The Youth's Com- panion, for April 8, 191 5, it was tried out in several typical communities. Later it was developed by the Recreation Committee of the Southern Conference for Education and Industry. I have been told of literally hundreds of communities that have adopted all or a part of this simple Homewood recreation programme. There is not any- thing new in it. It is merely a simple formulation of prin- ciples and methods that are obvious, or should be. Perhaps you have been saying, "Homewood has con- fused recreation and life." You are right. Homewood has confused recreation and life. That is why Homewood has made its recreational life efficient and its community life efficient. No more than education, is recreation a thing apart from life. Recreation is life itself, for without it life will not go on. There are thousands of Homewoods. This simple recrea- tion programme is transforming community life every- where. When you have this recreational programme, or a large part of it, read into the life of your community, you will have it started well on its way toward the millennium. Why? Because the efficient operation of these prin- ciples inevitably makes for the right state of mind — com- munity mind. Organized recreation is doing something together for the joy of doing. Organized recreation is that which puts zip, fire, force, spirit, llan, driving power, organization, co-operation, into the community. 722 THE RURAL COMMUNITY 2. THE COMMUNITY FAIR— A FACTOR IN RURAL EDUCATION BY S. G. RUBENOW ASSISTANT STATE CLUB AGENT, NORTH CAROLINA AGRICULTURAL EXTENSION SERVICE (From School and Society, July 28, 1917) No one questions any longer the fact that rural United States is making rapid progress along all lines. The "open country" of Roosevelt's Country Life Commission is throb- bing with an undercurrent of restlessness for action and development, that breaks out now and then in an up-to- date, consolidated rural school, in a strong Farmers' Or- ganization, in a Co-operative Association. The pulsations of rural progress are rebuilding the rural church upon a more permanent and a stronger foundation. Country and city are locking arms in a co-operative and joint cam- paign against influences that opiate. There are educa- tional campaigns for better health, better sanitation, finer roads, more adequate schooling, larger salaries for teachers, greater crop yields, more uniform systems of marketing, easier methods of obtaining credit, more satisfactory labor- saving devices for the home. The country must be, and is, up and doing. With a rapidity that can scarcely be chronicled in ac- tual time, rural United States is driving away ignorance, superstition, jealousy, selfish political dogmatism, petty neighborhood rivalry, prejudice and bias. In their places are coming the spirit of co-operation, the breadth of learn- ing and culture, the wisdom of experience and information, the broad-gauged feeling of tolerance, the desire to work for common good. As a working factor in bringing about this change, the Community Fair is playing a big part in Rural Education. While the Community Fair, as an educational institu- tion, is not typical of one section of the United States, any more than it is of another, yet it is probably not an THE AGENCIES 723 exaggeration to say that it thrives in the south more in- dustriously than it dogs elsewhere. The south lends cheer and hospitality to the educational programme of the Com- munity Fair. It adds a tone of social importance to the programme of instructive numbers. Because the south considers the Community Fair something more than a method of visual agricultural instruction, is one reason why Community Fairs flourish here. And then too, the south is making gigantic strides agriculturally, a phe- nomenal progress since the reconstruction days, and is gladly seizing every opportunity to promote all institu- tions and organizations which influence rural education. I studied some Community Fairs in North Carolina recently, and I am describing them because they are tangible exponents of the progressive and responsive at- titude of southern rural communities. The same era of progress is markedly noticeable in every southern state, where agricultural colleges are becoming the leading in- stitutions of learning, helpful in service and purpose, radiating knowledge through their extension departments, and using the Community Fair as a medium for dissemi- nating this information. There will come a time soon when every rural com- munity will have a Community Fair. Centred around the rural school, as the most public and democratic type of the community centre, featured distinctly by agricultural and live-stock products, supplemented attractively with school and community exhibits, furnishing a real and a local interest, the Community Fair is becoming one of the large educational factors of progressive rural develop- ment. Wherever Community Fairs are emphasized, will be found a representation of the various agencies, which are interested in agricultural development. The United States county farm demonstration agents assist in arranging the exhibits and in making out the premium lists. Special- ists from the extension services of the agricultural colleges and the state departments of agriculture participate in the programme. The states help financially by contribut- 724 THE RURAL COMMUNITY ing generously to the prize lists. The Home Demonstra- tion Agents of the Federal Department of Agriculture and the Rural School Supervisors from the State Depart- ment of Education show the local teachers how to arrange the products of the school, home, and kitchen in the most attractive way. The teachers themselves urge the boys and girls to pains- taking efifort in preparing school exhibits for the fairs. This is considered a part of the prescribed programme of school work. Members of the Boys' and Girls' Agri- cultural and Canning Clubs bring their products to the Community Fair; farmers and their wives vie with one another in a good-natured spirit of friendly rivalry, in showing the things they have grown and made. There are speeches and lectures, musical numbers and recita- tional features, discussions and conferences, and a com- posite view of the entire Community Fair, focussed into a single mental image, would be symbolical of Progress, Education, and Happiness. Shorn of the cheap and vulgar midway amusements which detract from the real purpose of fairs, educational and informative in their scope, bringing folks together in the best of community spirit and co-operation, the re- juvenation of the Community Fair brings back the old type of real agricultural fairs, with ploughing matches, auction sales of cattle, judging of live stock and farm products, farmers' meetings, boys' and girls' rallies, and those group meetings and discussions of things pertain- ing to farm life. There were many Community Fairs in North Carolina this fall; it was a delightful pleasure to visit them. At Moss Hill and Sharron, two farming neighborhoods in one of the state's best agricultural counties, I visited typical Community Fairs, that feasted the eye, delighted the heart, inspired the mind, and drove home the desire to describe. The weather was charming, a genial mix- ture of sunshine and bracing air. The schoolhouses were located on beautiful, natural sites, amidst upstanding towering pines, enshrouded in meshes of that most grace- THE AGENCIES 725 ful of lichens, the so-called Spanish Moss. They looked like the patriarchs of old. Out in the road and in the neigh- boring fields were clustered the wagons, buggies, and auto- mobiles. The school grounds were congested with folks. I did not anticipate so many at a Community Fair. Those who do not believe in the possibilities of rural co-operation should attend Community Fairs in North Carolina. The schoolhouses were dressed up in their very best. A temporary platform had been constructed in each case, draped with the Stars and Stripes, aesthetically beautified with ferns and mosses. There was even a player-piano, hauled out from the city, especially for the occasion. The chairs were grouped around for the presiding officers and the speakers. Temporary benches had been made for the day, arranged in an amphitheatre around the plat- form. Beyond the benches, out among the trees and in the fields, were the pens for the live stock and poultry. Overhead was the bluest of blue skies, with just a touch here and there of fleecy, shimmering, cumulous clouds. It was a perfect day ! For the morning session of the day, a pretty, dainty programme had been arranged for the children. They were dressed in their best. Teachers and parents were proud of the appearance they made. The boys had scoured their faces and hands, had brushed their clothes, black- ened their boots and plastered down their hair. The girls were in spotless white, with here and there a ribbon of outstanding hue. They marched in single file, then in pairs, keeping accurate time and rhythm while their teacher played the accompaniment. Then came the songs arid recitations, the vocal and instrumental solos, the clever little monologues and catchy sketches. While it is true that social and recreative features are very important phases of the Community Fair, and that one of the most fundamental purposes of the Community Fair is to bring country people together, yet the fair would lose its significance and its value if the programme did not contain something instructional and informative. This must be essentially so, because every institution in 726 THE RURAL COMMUNITY the country, tangible or abstract, concrete or intangible, including the Community Fair, depends for its existence and success upon the degree of material prosperity which the country enjoys. To have left out the agricultural addresses and discussions, from the programme which I am describing, would have made the day incomplete and lacking. Representatives from the Agricultural College and from the State Department of Agriculture had come to assist the county agent and the home demonstration agent with the programme. It was the most carefully attended series of lectures that I have ever heard. Surely, these country people in North Carolina give a living denial to the state- ment we see so often, that "co-operation among rural people is a never-to-be-attained myth, glorious in its con- ception, but impractical in its usage." For here were all of the folks of the community, interested in one another, rubbing shoulders, swapping experiences, moulding in- dividual thoughts and opinions into one concentrated, unified idea and working toward one goal, the ultimate development of the community in which they lived. My musings were rudely shattered by the ringing of the school-bell. The morning programme had been finished. It was dinner-time and the meal was ready. What a feast met my eye ! .Where are those who say that southern farmers are not diversifying? There was barbecued pig, fried sweet potatoes, fried chicken, com bread, hot biscuits that fairly melted in your mouth, piping-hot coflFee, home- canned preserves, and cakes of all sizes, tastes and descrip- tions. The assembly had broken up into small groups of four and five. Table-cloths were spread on the ground, baskets were unpacked, the old colored "uncles" went from one group to another, carrying the barbecued pig and the coffee, and we fell to the task. It is surprising how much companionship may be created through the medium of a good dinner. Keen appetites are first aroused and then satisfied. A geniality is pro- duced. Folks look upon one another with a more smiling degree of intimacy than they did before. Human colds THE AGENCIES 727 and frosts melt before the thawing approach of congenial conversation. Suspicions are thrust aside and forgotten in the atmosphere of appeased and satisfied physical hun- ger. Folks begin to discuss the things in which they are interested. And so it was here. As I went from group to group greeting friends and acquaintances, here and there, join- ing in the conversation for a moment or two, I could feel the rumblings of movements for consolidated schools, for better salaries for those deserving teachers, for more earnest consideration of and attention to the work of the county farm and home demonstration agents, for a better and more homogeneous support of the school, for a unified, co-operative agricultural community. How true is the old adage that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. We must first satisfy the physical wants and needs of our rural people; then we can look forward to and anticipate other changes which are equally vital and necessary. Dinner was over and they were preparing for the parade. One cannot think of a fair without a parade. The right kind of a parade is an educational factor. Parades and side-shows can be both entertaining and instructive. It goes without sajdng that they should always be elevating and decent. The one large, general objection to county and state fairs is that they do not really represent and carry out the fundamental purpose of fairs. They are entertaining and not instructive, and in a great many instances the form of entertainment is questionable. Com- munity Fairs are so much more commendable, just for that very reason, in that they present educational and valuable programmes, because of the clean type of enter- tainment with which they are associated, and because of the fact that their educational policies are clearly de- fined. And so, down the pike came the boys and girls, driving and leading their exhibits and floats. A prize had been offered for the most original and attractive float, and the boys and girls had placed an unusual amount of work 728 THE RURAL COMMUNITY and thought upon their individual parts of the exhibit. Members of the agricultural clubs, mounted on horses, with crimson sashes tied across their jackets, acted as marshals. A prouder set of leaders never came down the country road. Their steeds had been resurrected from the corn-fields and old pastures, but what difference did that make ? This was their parade, their fair, their day ! Pigs had been oiled and brushed until they fairly shone and glistened. Calves had been curried and cleaned up until they scarcely knew themselves. Colts pranced around and shied nervously, as they came down the road. Even the poultry knew that they were on exhibition accustomed as they are to being displayed. The educational value of an exhibit, to the exhibitor, I feel, largely lies in the amount of constructive thought and labor placed upon the making of it. To the spectator, the value of an exhibit is measured by the information it gives. The magnetic thing about exhibits at small Com- munity Fairs is that they are personal from all view-points. The exhibitor enjoys pardonable pride and egotism in showing the product he has grown, raised or made, to his personal friends, feeling in their intimate, responsive ad- miration, encouragement and stimulation for greater ef- fort. And in the same way, the spectator would rather, by far, see the exhibits his immediate friends and acquain- tances are showing, because of the easier and more intel- ligent criticism he can make, knowing the personal back- ground of it all. The parade this day was something more than a mere collection of personal exhibits. It was a large family, of many parts, in which every part was representative of some community institution, the whole being co-operatively welded together into one unit. It is not necessary to have an Aladdin's Lamp to produce a thoroughly enjoyable and worth-while Community Fair parade. A vivid imag- ination, an optimistic vision, farm wagons, live stock, farm produce, the products of the home and school, a bit of bunting here and there, a happy crowd of good, whole- some country folks, smiling participants, the local school THE AGENCIES 729 band — and you hear yourself saying in the old familiar way: "Here comes the parade." And then came the judging of the live stock and farm products, the products of the classroom and kitchen. This was the "school" phase of the fair. In a good many in- stances, the farmers and stockmen who were attending the fair, had come from long distances and at a personal sacrifice of time and work, especially to take in this part of the programme. Many had brought their stock and products with them, early in the day, entering them in the competition. During the day, every now and then, a handful of men would stroll off the edge of the school grounds, select an "easy sitting" log, bite off a huge«but apparently comfortable chew of North Carolina's best tobacco, and then argue about the good qualities of their respective stock and crops. I was too busy with my work in judging the live stock to note what the women were doing, but it is safe to assume that they were equally proud of the products they had entered. It was an easy matter, therefore, to arouse interest in the judging, especially when the scoring and placing of the stock and products were accompanied by reasons and explanations. I am of the definite opinion that in this phase of fair activities, which, after all, is the real, funda- mental basis for holding fairs, the Community Fair is far superior to the county or state type of organization. At the smaller fairs, the men and women actually obtain an opportunity of hearing concrete discussions, based per- sonally on the very stock and products that they them- selves have brought to the fair. It really combines the extension service short course with the most effective laboratory material that can be obtained, the farmers' and farmers' wives' own, personal products. Questions now come in a deluge from all sides. Usually the farmer is not a loquacious person. He is content with letting "the other fellow" do all of the talking. But when his animal is being criticized, or when his corn is being scored heavily, he wants to know the why and the where- fore. And the answer that he receives is correlated with 730 THE RURAL COMMUNITY the quality of his product in a way that makes this visual instruction the strongest feature of the Community Fair. He compares his colt with his neighbor's animal ; his neigh- bor's cow looks more "typey" than his; he failed to win first prize for the best ten ears of corn, because his sample lacked uniformity; his pig is not developed as a "six months" pig should be. And so all down the line, he gets a visual lesson of what constitutes good crops and desirable live stock. The image stays with him, because he has seen products that were superior to his. And when the judge attaches the blue ribbon and awards the certificate of merit, the owner just seems to grow somewhat taller; he straightens up, hems and haws a little, shifts the quid of tobacco in his cheek, walks over to the prize animal, slaps it caressingly, and then hides his feelings beneath the most seemingly non- chalant attitude in the world, while a thousand emotions surge within. The lectures and the judging are over. The boys and girls prepare for their athletic stunts. A ball game, potato and sack races, pig-calling contests, pony saddling and racing — how much these enjoyments mean to country boys and girls, isolated from social intercourse and lone- some for it, anxious to get together, wanting to play and speak with fellow creatures. That type of rural educa- tion which omits the social-element factor from its pro- gramme is a one-sided kind of an education. The day draws to a close. The school-teacher's fare- well speech falls unheard. Men and women and boys and girls are busy packing, hitching up and harnessing. The horses begin to paw in their anxiety for home and feed. The sun is rapidly settling down behind the western hills. The shadows come. There is a wild confusion of mixed sounds, of good-bys, of invitations to call, or promises to come. The dust begins to rise in the road. There is a waving of hands. Wagons, buggies, and automobiles go scurrying down the road. The Community Fair is over. What an educational blessing it has been to the folks of the countryside ! THE AGENCIES 731 3. THE PAGEANT OF THETFORD BY WILLIAM CHAUNCY LANGDON (From The Playground, December, 191 1) The drama of an agricultural town in Vermont, of its whole life, not only reproducing its history throughout the length of its 150 years, but prophesying its future de- velopment so specifically and convincingly as to be itself an inspiring potent force in that development — this is what the Pageant of Thetford aspired to be and what in truth it became. To the people of Thetford it seems quite the natural thing to do, to continue their Pageant Com- mittee as a permanent body to direct the general town development — introducing scientific methods of agriculture under the advisory guidance of the United States De- partment of Agriculture and of the Vermont Agricultural College, arranging for the wholesale co-operative pur- chase of their grain and fertilizer and later for the co-opera- tive marketing of their produce, overseeing the spread of the Boy Scouts and the Camp Fire Girls through the town, continuing the pageant orchestra and chorus, and arrang- ing from time to time for a union town service in which the people of all the six villages shall gather together for united worship. To their minds these are appropriate duties for a Pageant Committee. What is a pageant for but to unite a town and to keep it united and moving along the road of its best welfare ? The Pageant of Thetford is over; its three performances took place on August 12, 14 and 15, 191 1 ; it served its purpose as a lamp to light the way at the crossroads. But the real Pageant of Thet- ford is not over; it is there in the town, a spirit — invisible but radiant, substantial and abiding, sweeping forward on its way the whole life of the town. Pageant Possible in a Small Village Thetford is a Vermont town situated on the Connecticut River about half-way up the eastern boundary of the state. 732 THE RURAL COMMUNITY It has a population of 1,182 in an area of about 42 square miles. This is the lowest population the town has had since the first census was taken in 1791. Its history shows about the same course as most of our New England agri- cultural communities, reaching a height of prosperity in the period before the Civil War, and thereafter diminish- ing to a condition of rather serious depletion at the present time. The common fortune of the farming towns resulted in Thetford in a situation especially acute by reason of the fact that there the population was divided among six villages located at distances of from two to nine miles apart. Furthermore in the case of three of these villages, villages of other towns were nearer to them and had closer relations with them than some of the villages of their own town. In the absence of any strong interest common to the whole town, these diverse local interests of the villages had a disruptive effect so far as the community life of the town was concerned, and it would be quite a correct state- ment to say that Thetford was six villages, but hardly a town. Attempt to Show Solution of Rural Problem The situation from the pageant point of view was dif- ficult, especially as the idea was not merely to make the pageant the celebration of the 150th anniversary of the town but the dramatized inception for a movement for the development of all the resources of the town — agri- cultural, educational, social; in a word the dramatized inception of an attempt to solve the rural problem. There were those, in various parts of the state, who certainly would be considered competent to judge, who said that such a thing was impossible. The comment usually took one of two forms, either "I know Thetford well, and it can't be done," or, with a smile, "Well, if you can do it in Thetford, you can do it anjrwhere." To give names would be convincing but, in view of the successful out- come, not fair. For that matter quite a number of people in Thetford regarded the idea as impracticable. One of THE AGENCIES 733 the most intelligent, public-spirited men in the town op- posed it strongly and steadily for months; he appreciated the great harm it would do the community if they entered upon such an undertaking and failed. He was wise, and from the intelligent point of view right in his attitude. Intelligence, however, like fire, is a bad master. When a man finds himself in the last corner, when a town finds itself in the grip of the rural problem, there is only one thing to do until the mastery is regained, disregard in- telligence, shut eyes to facts and rely on determination. Frederic Ridgely Torrence has expressed this saving prin- ciple of conduct with victorious charm: When my desire has set itself Upon a thing and strives to win it, And Wisdom's methods will not gain, I use a little Folly in it. The people of Thetford followed Torrence's example and decided to do it anyway, whether it could be done or not. And they did it : the pageant was a success and the greater pageant is progressing splendidly. If they continue as they have gone thus far, they bid fair not only to breathe new life into their town but to make a valuable contribu- tion to the solution of the rural problem. Thetford Pageant an Agricultural Drama Thetford has always been an agricultural town. There- fore its pageant is an agricultural drama. When history comes down to the present it ceases to be called history and becomes public questions. The solution of all public questions, the answers, lie in the future. If the drama of a town follows the history down to the present, in order to be complete it must go on into the future and present the answers to the public questions of the present. Other- wise it will not be a whole drama; it will be lamentably unfinished; it would be much better to have confined the drama to the noble limitations of a purely historical 734 THE RURAL COMMUNITY pageant. But here in the present and the future lie the greatest civic value and the most thrilling dramatic oppor- tunity of the pageant. The pageant, like the novel, can be used for the study and vivid statement of questions of the day, and for working out their solution, for it is a type of drama that not merely pictures its subject-matter, the life of a town, but entering intimately into that life, may become a vital part of it and take on a creative relation to the future welfare and development of the community. The Master of the Pageant is like the architect of a public building, preliminary: he plans the building as an artist and so helps in the construction, but his function is passed by the time the building is turned over to the people to use as the shelter for the work of the coming years. It was in this way that the people of Thetford used their pageant for the study of their condition as a town and for their attack upon the problem that oppresses most of our agricultural communities. It is necessary clearly to under- stand this, or the significance of the Pageant of Thetford will be missed. It is impossible to draw the line between the drama and the town development and it always has been from the beginning. This was true — if I may speak personally for a moment — not only in my own work and in that of my assistant in the general management, Miss Edith Brownell, but also in the work of my other asso- ciates. It is impracticable to draw a line between their technical work for the drama and the social effect of their work in the life of the town. Mr. James T. Sleeper, since become Professor of Music at Beloit, wrote and arranged music for both orchestra and chorus which was beautiful, appropriate to its purpose in the pageant, and suited to the ability of the players and singers; but he did more than that in the revelation he made to the people of the town and to every one else as well of the music that a chorus and orchestra largely local could produce. The same thing is true in the work of Miss Virginia Tanner, who originated and trained the dances in the pageant, and herself danced in the three interludes, and who particularly in the Dance of.the Nature Spirits made for the town a work of art of THE AGENCIES 735 supreme beauty of color and of motion. Even more clear was it in the splendid publicity, Miss Brownell's own re- markable achievement, that brought overflowing audiences to the performances in spite of the remoteness of the town from large centres and in spite of a rather discouraging train-schedule. Except for these large and appreciative audiences the effectiveness of all the other work, artistic and industrial and social, would have been seriously im- paired. Indeed her value as an assistant in the general management, in which she did much for the social unity of the work, came from the fact that she appreciated that the pageant and the development of the town were one. And they were one. It was all one. The drama was simply in a sense the epitome, presented the concentrated sub- stance, of the whole movement. The History of the Town Vividly Set Forth It will be seen by an examination of the Book of the Words of the Pageant,^ that the structure of the pageant comprised five symbolic scenes and twelve realistic episodes. The five symbolic scenes were generalizations of the con- ditions in the town at different periods expressed in terms of dramatic symbolism. They were, however, quite as essential and advanced the plot quite as much as the realistic episodes. Indeed, taken by themselves, apart from the episodes, they will be found to constitute a his- tory in symbolism of the progress of the town. The twelve realistic episodes reproduced typical incidents from the actual occurrences of the past, or such as are characteristic of the present or will be of the future. They are not sepa- rate little pictures, unrelated to each other except as they come in the order of time, but twelve scenes comprising the four acts of one continuous play, bound together in the absence of any continuing individual characters by ' The Book of the Words of the Pageant of Thetford was published by the Pageant Committee. It can be obtained by addressing Miss Margaret Fletcher, Secretary of the Pageant Committee, Thetford, Vermont. The price is 25 cents. 736 THE RURAL COMMUNITY the recurrent generalizations of the symbolic scenes. These four groups are concerned respectively with: 1. The Making of the Town. 2. The Development of the Town. 3. The Depletion of the Town. 4. The Future of the Town. The Age of Homespun The second Interlude, The Age of Homespun, was typical of the rural sociability and economic independence of the time that was so aptly named by Horace Bushnell. In the middle of the grounds people young and old in the costumes of the middle of the 19th century danced the old contra-dances, while around the edge family groups engaged in the old home industries, quilting, spinning and weaving, making maple-sugar, threshing and winnow- ing. In the new industrial plans something of the same sort of home industries will be revived in the Thetford Kitchen, which is being organized by some of the women of Thet- ford co-operatively to turn to good account at home some of their spare time and some of the small farm products, making jams, jellies, cheese, and other articles for the market. War-Times Into the simple joyousness of the country folk, break- ing right into their dancing comes the Spirit of War. She is clad in red of a peculiarly virulent shade, and carries a bared sword. The music changes instantly from the rural fiddle tunes of the dancing to the brutal march in Tschaikowsky's Nut-cracker Suite. The Spirit of War is insolent, fierce, mocking, and cruel. She rages around among the people driving them hither and thither before her and away until she finally has the ground entirely to herself; then after one last hysterical moment of fury, she whirls away. At once the long roll on the drum begins and the survivors of the local post of the. Grand Army THE AGENCIES 737 march in with their battle-flag from one end of the grand stand and diagonally across to the foot of the hill where they take their stand and watch the episode of the Civil War which is thus performed as a tribute to them. At one performance, with the inspiration of the moment, the Spirit of War in her retreat stopped and turned at the entrance of the Grand Army and stood erect and mo- tionless, a red figure, far back half-way up the hill her sword-blade gleaming in the sunlight held at arm's length straight above her head, as the veterans filed across the stage in front of her to their place under the little elm. Away from the Farm The third group of episodes traced The Depletion of the Town, first the Civil War killing many of the town's best young men and bereaving many of its best women; yet bringing together all the townspeople in the one domi- nant interest of the whole community; then The Intro- duction of Machinery, sending away from the town many whole families of the small farmers; and last The Rural Problem, the low point of the pageant, cutting down into the heart of the family life and destroying its sweetness. The Civil Weir reproduced what the Civil War meant to Thetford, not what it was on the firing-line. A squad of new recruits leave for the front. A despatch is received and read by the minister reporting a rumor that a battle is rciging in southern Pennsylvania at a village called Gettysburg; the people hear it in utter appalling silence, wondering if their own husbands or sons may not that moment be lying dead or wounded on the rumored battle- field. There are new enlistments. A train comes in bring- ing home some of the wounded from a recent battle, and the town doctor is hurriedly summoned to care for them. Another despatch is received to the effect that the tide of the war has been turned by victory at Gettysburg, and the people go home to care for their wounded and to help the last recruits to get ready to go away to the south, for Vermont will do her part. With the close of the episode 738 THE RURAL COMMTJNITY the chorus sang Arthur Farwell's new Hymn to Liberty as the Grand Army followed the people of '63 from the grounds. The Introduction of Machinery The Introduction of Machinery showed the main cause of depletion, the drain of the smaller farmers from the country districts to the mill towns during the later 70's, the 8o's, and on into the 90's. A city friend is trying, though in vain, to persuade a small farmer of Thetford to give up the farm and go with him to work in the mills that are springing up plentifully down the river in Massachusetts and Connecticut. The small farmer, however, is quite content ; he makes a living partly by working his own little place, partly by wages working for his neighbor who has a large farm. The big farmer comes along proudly driving his new mower, with which he announces that he can do more work with less hands than ever before. It soon tran- spires that he will no longer need the small man's services. Thus deprived of half his income, he listens to the voice of necessity and decides to do the only thing he can do — sell his land to his richer neighbor and go with his city friend to make a new beginning of life in the mills down the river. It is hard, especially for the young wife and mother; there is no ill will on either side; it is simply an instance of the inevitable suffering that comes in the path of progress, "a case of the introduction of machinery in both places, in the country and in the town" affecting the current of population. The Vision of the Future for the New Generation of Farmers The Rural Problem stated what seems to be the most serious element in the agricultural situation at the present time, the bottom of the whole trouble. The understand- ing of the question on which this episode is based is that the rural problem has little or nothing to do with so-called "abandoned farms." There are none, or few if any; cer- THE AGENCIES 739 tainly few in Thetford at least. Owing to pioneer con- ditions the people of the country districts of New England during the century before the Civil War came to live in circumstances of economic independence, every house- hold relying on itself for all its needs, whether of food, of clothing, or of shelter. Since the Civil War the whole business life of the country has changed. No section of the country does or can live in economic independence; the whole nation lives in and by economic interdependence. But some of our agricultural communities are trying to live on in the way their fathers lived. They are strong men. They manage to make a living; but they can make no headway. Science and specialization are needed to enable them to get the best out of the soil ; business system is needed to fit their local industry into its place in the marketing and exchange currents of the country. They are intelligent men; they know facts when they see them in front of them. They know they cannot make head- way ; they know they are trying to swim against a current too powerful for them; and they get discouraged; they belittle their own value, and underestimate the dignity of their town. But the young are growing up; they scent the breath of life in the general atmosphere of the nation that comes to them through the magazines and the news- papers. They are ambitious and reckless; they want to do things. But the blight is on the home and on the home- town. From disbelieving in themselves and in their town, the parents have come to the fatal point of disbelieving in their own children ; and this cuts straight down through the heart of the family. It deprives the parents of their children; it deprives the children of their parents, when each needs the other most. The Cry of the Country Boy for a Chance TO Achieve So in the episode, with the neutral background of the haying, the father and the son dispute about the proper way to manage the farm until they get to mutual recrimi- 740 THE RURAL COMMUNITY nations, disrespectful on the son's part and unappreciative on the father's part. The mother comes, bringing a pail of water to the two men. Seeing the trouble she asks, "What are you two threshing out now?" Her disbelief in her boy shows itself in a tender distrust lest harm come to him if he should leave the home farm. The girl that he is keeping company with comes along. She is fond of him but does not really understand him. Petulantly fling- ing away from his father and mother, he comes back to her and pours out his troubles to her, rather losing control of himself as he impetuously but quite accurately sums up the situation : "They love me but they do not believe in me. I have a right for them to believe in me ! They do not believe in me because I am their son, because I am a Thetford boy. If I came from anywhere else — if I were any one else's son — I might have a chance — but — It is all wrong ! It takes the heart out of me. They ought to back me up — me, me I Then I could go and win ! Or stay and win, if it were a matter of staying ! (Lettie looks at him shocked at his outburst.) I know they love me; you need not look at me like that. I know it better than you do. I want some one to believe in me, if it's only one ! Let them hate me, but believe in me!" But when he appeals to her a moment later, her reply is merely to take his hands, look up affectionately into his face, and ask, "Why do you go?" He looks quietly down into her eyes a moment and simply says, "Because I must." He is alone. As far as the family is concerned, the father correctly states the situation in the last line of the episode as he drives off the hay-wagon, "Well, Mother, I reckon he's gone." Faith Is the Victory As the broken family depart, Thetford, a personifica- tion of the town, comes down through the elm gate. She is clad in her colors, green and blue, but they are so faded as to be almost brown. She stretches out her arms in com- THE AGENCIES 741 passion after them. In her distress for them she appeals in all directions for help, though with little hope, and then sinks in hopeless dejection prostrate on the ground. Then The Spirit of Pageantry appears, resplendent, mystic, radiant with hope and joy, instinct with dignity. She is the spirit that puts joy into all work. For a moment she stands between the two elm-trees. As soon as she sees Thetford lying on the ground, she goes to her and raises her up, showing her sympathy with her, as woman with woman. Then she turns and points her to the south where is seen a vision of America on a white horse, the shield of the United States on her arm and the American flag in her hand. As Thetford gazes in wonder at her, America raises the flag as a sign of recognition to Thetford. Thet- ford turns back to the Spirit of Pageantry; she has van- ished. She turns to gaze again at the vision of America; she also is gone. She stands rapt in amazement; then obeying an intimation of the Spirit of Pageantry she reaches down to the ground and draws forth from the soil a sword, the Sword of Power. She holds it forth straight over her head, self-reliant, strong, her face radiant with confidence in the future, her arms upraised to the heavens, as orchestra and voices render a chorus which begins : Toward the future cast thine eyes; Sunshine floods the heavenly dome ! O'er each roof the Eagle flies: In the Nation lives the Home ! Knowledge Makes Faith Reasonable The generalization which is the basis of this third inter- lude was justified by the strong interest that was taken early in the spring in what the town was undertaking to do by a number of the scientists of the United States De- partment of Agriculture, notably by Prof. Milton Whit- ney, Chief of the Bureau of Soils, Mr. H. J. Wilder of the same bureau, and Mr. Lawrence G. Dodge of the Bureau of Farm Management. By direction of Dr. Whitney, 742 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Mr. Wilder spent two weeks in the town, advising the farmers individually as to the soil conditions and crop adaptability of the farms on the spot. Justified by the attention given and the practical use of this assistance the United States Department of Agriculture and also the Vermont Agricultural College have continued their help in the form of advisory guidance. So that already the town has had the benefit of the best scientific advice in the country on questions of soils, farm management, pasturage, and forestry. Further under the supervision of the Vermont Commissioner of Agriculture a cow-test association has been formed to enable the dairy farmers to know which of their cows are profitable and thus to increase the real vaJue of their herds. Mention has al- ready been made of the contemplated assistance of the Vermont Agricultural College in arranging laboratory facilities for the agricultural courses of the academy on the neighboring farms, to the advantage both of the stu- dents and of the farmers. The Future Directly following the third interlude came the episodes foreshadowing the Future of the Town — The New Agri- culture, The New Education, and The New Life, showing the material basis for the future prosperity, the develop- ment of the town's future men and women, and the free sociability of a united community. The date is supposed to be 191 5. It was advantageous to the idea and tech- nically quite practicable to blend these three episodes into one and also to merge it with the Finale. Here in these episodes of the future lay the purpose of the pageant, and indeed the raison d'etre of all pageantry. How can the town in its drama reach ahead and seize encourage- ment and suggestion for the solution of its special difficult problem ? How can it get a vision of its victory ? THE AGENCIES 743 The New Agriculture The New Agriculture was a town fair. It was a real fair. On account of the early date exhibits of crops were omitted, but live stock and machinery were exhibited. The dialogue all through was spoken by two characters, one the Master of the Grange, and the other a Western farmer who has come back to Vermont for Old Home Week; the part of the Master of the Grange was taken by the real Master of the Grange, and that of the Western farmer by a farmer who had gone away from the town and had later returned, as at the close of the episodes he says he is going to do. The town fair was the result of a conversation in which it was gradually brought out how much high-grade stock there really was in the town al- though the people of the town as a whole were not at all aware of it. So as the Jersey and Ayrshire and Holstein cattle and the Morgan horses are brought in and put on exhibition the Master of the Grange points out their merits and the two comment on Western versus Vermont farming. Then, with the introduction from the Master of the Grange, "There's our best crop — our boys and girls," in come the Camp Fire Girls and Boy Scouts of the town, coming to the fair, in which of course they are as keenly interested as their elders and in which they have their part. The Westerner qualifyingly comments that they have Boy Scouts and Camp Fire Girls everywhere, to which however the Master of the Grange retorts: "Yes, but with us it is town policy. It is a develop- ment of our resources equalled by nothing else. Not only it makes them men and women from head to foot, but it keeps them young." So under the simple outdoor conditions that develop resourcefulness, the girls build a fire and cook food and dance some of the simple wholesome folk-dances that our new Americans have brought us from other lands, the boys rescue and resuscitate a boy that was found drown- 744 THE RURAL COMMUNITY ing in the river, while the girls warm a blanket for him and feed him; and then the boys run an exciting hurdle- race while the girls look on and cheer. Playing Together — The New Life Turning now more toward the general social conditions of The New Life, the Master of the Grange suggests the answer to the episode of The Rural Problem: "There's John Atkins; he does not understand his boy any more than a hen does ducks, and he knows he doesn't. But he says he is going to back him up in anything he undertakes, anyway. They play together, and always have ; that is the secret of it. Playing together goes deeper than understanding even. Nothing like play to get people together." Then as the suppositious noon hour has arrived the Master of the Grange announces that it is time for the picnic lunch in which on Town Fair Day the whole town joins, young and old, or as it was put in the conversation in which the episode originated: "Have a one-day fair somewhere convenient in the middle of the town; everybody bring the best they've got for comparison, and see what we've accomplished during the year. Then at noon have a basket picnic; every one bring their lunch and have it all together. It ought to come a little while before State Fair." He also speaks in the episode of the occasional union town service, "with our own ministers, as good as there are anywhere, and they know us a heap better." So also in the episode, true to the future, all the people get to- gether for lunch and sing The Thetford Song: Come, with a cheer, good neighbors, come ! From every Thetford village ! Leave your troubles ! Leave the plough ! Leave the hill-side tillage ! All the town is gathering, As townsmen, all together, With purpose one, to stand and sing In bright or stormy weather ! THE AGENCIES 745 The Master of the Grange asks the westerner to join them. "More than that, I guess, Charlie," he replies, "I think I had better come home." Then the people of all the episodes begin to pour in from the two entrances on either side of the grandstand, forming a large semicircle around the nearer grounds and singing: Hail ! The forest days of old ! They who fought and won ! Wary, strong, enduring, bold ! Still they lead us on ! At the same time from the pine woods appears Thet- ford, coming down to the elm gate. She is beautifully and richly robed in blue and green. On her left arm she carries her Pageant Shield, with the golden rising sun in the upper part and the mountains, the river and the inter- vale in the lower; in her right hand she carries the Sword of Power. Standing in the elm gate, she raises her sword above her head. In response to her signal come all the Spirits of the Mountains, of the River and of the Inter- vale. She points to the shorter vista, where Vermont is seen coming, riding a Morgan horse, clad in green and carrying her State shield and flag. As the people sing: Hail ! Vermont ! Green Mountain State ! Bravely hast thou won ! Ride, superb ! Despite all fate Ever leading on ! Vermont rides down to the elm gate and then up around to the top of the hill, where she raises her flag as a signal. Far down the long vista is seen America, on a white horse, clad in the traditional garb of Liberty, all in white, carry- ing the shield of the United States and the American flag flying in the wind. She is coming at a full gallop, escorted by the States of Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, and New York. Instantly as America sweeps down the hill and stops before the as- sembled pageant, and raises the flag, the orchestra and chorus burst forth in The Star Spangled Banner. Then 746 THE RURAL COMMUNITY America, with Vermont and the other States ride around and take position on top of the Httle hill. There Thet- ford also takes her place at the bridle-rein of America, as the whole pageant from the first settler to the broken family of The Rural Problem and to the Boy Scouts and Camp Fire Girls of the future pass in review before them and march away, one massive column, into the distance. 4. THE LITTLE COUNTRY THEATRE BY ALFRED G. ARVOLD AGRICULTURAL COLLEGE, NORTH DAKOTA The Little Country Theatre became an actual reality when an old dingy chapel on the second floor of the Ad- ministration Building at The North Dakota Agricultural College, located at Fargo, North Dakota, was remodelled into what is now known as The Little Country Theatre. In appearance it is most interesting. It is a large play- house put under a reducing, glass. It is just the size of an average country town hall. It has a seating capacity of two hundred. The stage is thirty feet in width, twenty feet in depth, and has a proscenium opening of ten feet in height and fifteen feet in width. There are no boxes and no balconies. The decorations are plain and simple. The color scheme is green and gold, the gold predominat- ing. Three beams finished in golden oak cross the mansard ceiling, the beams projecting down several feet on each side wall, and from them frosted light bowls and globes are suspended by brass log chains, the indirect lighting giving a soft and subdued tone to the whole theatre. The eight large windows are hung with green draperies. The curtain is a tree shade velour. The birch stained seats are broad and not crowded together. There is a place for a moving-picture machine. The scenery is simple and painted in plain colors. Anybody in a country town can make a set like it. The doors are wooden doors; the win- dows have real glass in them. Simplicity is the key-note THE AGENCIES 747 of the theatre. It is an example of what can be done with hundreds of village halls, unused portions of schoolhouses, and the basements of country churches in communities. One of the unique features in connection with The Little Country Theatre is the Coffee Tower. It is just to the right of the lower end of the stage. It, too, is plain and simple. Its function is purely social. After a play or pro- gramme has been presented, the friends of the Thespians are cordially invited to the Coffee Tower and served with cakes and coffee. Everything possible is done to encourage and cement the bonds of friendship. The object of The Little Country Theatre is to produce such plays and exercises as can be easily staged in a coun- try school, the basement of a country church, in the sitting- room of a farm home, in the village or town hall, or any place where people assemble for social betterment. Its principal function is to stimulate an interest for good clean drama and original entertainment among the people living in the open country and villages, in order to help them find themselves, and that they may become better satis- fied with their surroundings. In other words, its real pur- pose is to use the drama, and all that goes with the drama, as a sociological force in getting people together and ac- quainted with each other. Instead of making the drama a luxury of the classes, its aim is to make it an instrument for the enlightenment and enjoyment of the masses. In a country town, nothing attracts so much attention, proves so popular, pleases so many, or causes so much comment as a home-talent play. It is doubtful in my mind whether Sir Horace Plunkett ever appreciated the significance of the statement he once made when he said that the simplest piece of amateur acting or singing done in the village hall by one of the villagers would create more enthusiasm among his friends and neighbors than could be excited by the most consummate performance of a professional in a great theatre where no one in the audience knew or cared for the performer. Nothing interests people in each other so much as habitually working together. A home-talent play not only affords such an opportunity 748 THE RURAL COMMUNITY but it also unconsciously introduces a friendly feeling in a neighborhood. It is something everybody wants to make a success, regardless of the local jealousies or differ- ences of opinion. Scarcely a year old, the work of The Little Country Theatre has already justified its existence. It has pro- duced many plays and other forms of entertainment. All the people who have participated in them seem to have caught the spirit. One group of young people from various sections of the State, representing five different nationali- ties, Scotch, Irish, English, Norwegian, and Swedish, suc- cessfully staged The Fatal Message, a one-act comedy by John Kendrick Bangs. Another cast of characters from the country presented Cherry Tree Farm, an English comedy, in a most acceptable manner. In order to de- pict Russian life one of the dramatic clubs in the institu- tion gave A Russian Honeymoon. An illustration to demonstrate that a home-talent play is a dynamic force in helping people find themselves was afforded in the pre- sentation of The Country Life Minstrels, by the Agricul- tural Club, an organization of young men coming entirely from the country districts. The story reads like a romance. The club decided to give a minstrel show. At the first rehearsal nobody possessed any talent, except one young man. He could clog. At the second rehearsal a tenor and a mandolin player were discovered. At the third, several good voices were found, a quartet, and a twelve- piece band were organized. When the play was presented, twenty-eight different young men furnished a variety of acts equalling those of many a professional company. They all did something and entered into the entertain- ment with a splendid spirit. Last fall ten young ladies from the country districts of the State of North Dakota presented eight one-act plays. Each one of these young ladies acted also as a director of a play. They not only selected the amateur play which they presented, but they promoted the play and trained the cast of characters as well. One of the plays, entitled American Beauties, was staged in a most creditable manner. The young lady THE AGENCIES 749 who trained it is a product of the company. Every detail was carried out effectively. The other plays likewise were cleverly acted. Two original plays, For the Cause and The New Liberator, both written by young men in attend- ance at the institution, were staged. Perhaps the most interesting incident that has occurred in connection with the work of The Little Country Theatre was the staging of a tableau entitled, A Farm Home Scene in Iceland Thirty Years Ago, by twenty young men and women of Icelandic descent, whose homes are in the country districts of North Dakota. The tableau was very effective. The scene rep- resented an interior sitting-room of an Icelandic home. The walls were whitewashed. In the rear of the room was a fireplace. The old grandfather was seated in an armchair near the fireplace reading a story in the Icelandic language. About the room were several young ladies dressed in Icelandic costumes, busily engaged in spin- ning yam and knitting, a favorite pastime of an Icelandic home. On a chair at the right was a young man with a violin, playing selections from an Icelandic composer. Through the small windows rays of light, representing the Midnight Sun and the Northern Lights, were thrown. Every detail of the Icelandic home was carried out, even to the serving of coffee with lumps of sugar. Just before the curtain fell, twenty young men, all Icelanders, joined in singing the national Icelandic song, which has the same tune as America. The effect of this tableau was tremen- dous. It incited other students of foreign descent who were in attendance at the institution to present tableaux and scenes depicting the national life of their fathers and mothers. In others words. The Little Country Theatre served as a sociological force in bringing out the different forms of social recreation of the national life of the for- eign elements who reside in the State of North Dakota. Four other young people presented Sam Average, a short play by that well-known dramatist, Percy MacKaye, which was very well done. Numerous other incidents might be cited to show the actual work which is really being accomplished in The Little Country Theatre. 750 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Preceding the plays, the folk-dances of different na- tions are given. In all the plays presented the young men and women who take an active part are required to do their own "make-up" work and costuming. If a sitting- room scene is to be arranged on the stage, the young ladies in the cast arrange it. The young men always set the scenery, attend to the lighting effects, raise and lower the curtain and look after the properties. In fact, every- thing possible is done to give them sufficient training in the production of the plays so that when they go back into their home communities they will possess ample in- formation to know how to get up a home-talent play and do everything that goes with it. The influence of The Little Country Theatre in the State as well as in the nation has been far-reaching. Scarcely a day passes but that somebody writes asking for information in regard to it. To-day, for example, there are a dozen requests on my desk for copies of plays as well as inquiries on how to stage plays. These requests usually tell something interesting about the social condition in the community. In North Dakota at present between fifteen hundred and two thousand people are participating in home-talent plays, due primarily to the influence of The Little Country Theatre. The requests come from every section of the State. The people seem to have caught the spirit of The Little Country Theatre idea. They realize that something fundamental must be done to satisfy their intense hunger for social recreation. During the last year one thousand five hundred and ninety-two pieces of play matter have been loaned to individuals, literary societies, civic clubs and organizations. Of the different requests received from hundreds of people one is especially worthy of mention here. A country school-teacher in the northern part of the State sent for several copies of plays and play catalogues. None of the plays suited her. She decided to give an original play. The Comedy, written by one of her friends. She wanted to carry The Little Country Theatre idea out in the community. When asked for a description of the staging of the original production, she THE AGENCIES 751 sent me the following letter, which is indicative of what people really can do in the country to find themselves. I shall quote only a part of the letter: "When I wrote you about 'The Comedy,' I do not know what idea I gave you of it; perhaps not a very true one, so I am sending you a copy. The little German song is one I learned from a Victrola record, so the music may not be correct, but with a little originality can be. used. This little play has the quality of making the people expect something ex- traordinary, but when performed the parts are funny but still not funny enough to produce 'a roar.' They are re- membered and spoken of long afterward. Now, around here we often hear parts spoken of. I enjoyed the train- ing of the young people and they were quite successful. I have found that every place I go people in the country enjoy the school programmes very much and speak of them often. We wanted to take some pictures but could not. The weather was so cloudy before and afterward that we could not take any, but may this Sunday after- noon. I wish I knew just what to write about or just what you wish to know. I like our arrangement of lights. We only had lanterns. A dressing-room was curtained off and the rest of the space clear. We hung four lanterns in a row, one below the other and had one standing on the floor at the side opposite from the dressing-room, and then one on the floor and one held by the man who pulled the curtain on the other side. This gave splendid light. There was no light near the audience except at the or- gan." The spirit of The Little Country Theatre is contagious. An alert and aggressive young man from the northern part of the State who witnessed several productions in the theatre last winter was instrumental in staging a home- talent play in the empty hay-loft of a large barn last sum- mer. The stage was made of old barn floor planks. The draw curtain was made of white cloth. Ten barn lanterns, hung on a piece of fence wire, furnished the border lights. Branches of trees were used for a background on the stage. Planks resting on old boxes and saw horses were used for 752 THE RURAL COMMUNITY seats. A Victrola machine served as an orchestra. About a hundred and fifty people were in attendance at the play and were more than satisfied with it. The proceeds were given to a country baseball club. A physician who recently settled in a small community in the Philippine Islands is actively engaged during his spare moments in working out The Little Country Theatre idea. Several residents of Porto Rico are doing likewise. Scores of country dis- tricts in the East and West, North and South, have inquired into its feasibility and many are carrying out the plan. Just recently the village of Amenia, North Dakota, opened up The Amenia Little Country Theatre. It is located on the second floor up over a country store and has a seating capacity of about one hundred and seventy- five. The stage is small. Screens covered with brown burlap are used for scenery. The curtain is a draw cur- tain. It was my good fortune to be present at the open- ing of this institution and witness the production of an excellent three-act comedy. Standing room was at a pre- mium. The histrionic talent displayed by the community Thespians was remarkable. Everybody enjoyed the af- fair. About a month ago several young men and women from diflferent sections of the State staged an original one-act play called The Prairie Wolf. It was written by a young man named John Lange. They did practically all their own rehearsing. The play was produced in The Little Country Theatre and was a tremendous success. Twenty different communities have already asked for permission to present it. The action in the play was superb. To supply an ever-increasing demand for suggestions on plays and pageants is a huge task, though the work is interesting. While the work of The Little Country Theatre is still in its infancy it has infinite possibilities. If it can inspire people in the country districts and small communities who are dissatisfied with their surroundings, who are lonely and have little ambition in life, to do the bigger things in life — to get along with each other in order that they may THE AGENCIES 753 find themselves — it will have performed a service which will be invaluable to mankind. It is not until the country people themselves can be taught to appreciate their sur- roundings and to realize that there are tongues in trees, books in running brooks, sermons in stones and good in everything that we will have a healthy civilization in America. God's gardens are in the country. The country people are the sinews of society. The drama is a medium through which America is com- ing to express its highest form of democracy. It must be considered more in a sociological sense, however, than in a literary and an art sense. When it can be used as an instrument to get people to interpret themselves in order that they may build up a bigger and better community life, it will then have performed a real service to society. When the people who live in the small community and the country awaken to the infinite possibilities which lie hidden in themselves through the impulse of a vitalized drama they will be less eager to move to centres of popula- tion. The question of unemployment will no longer puzzle the cities. The moral tone of the country will be improved and loneliness will cease to be a cause of insanity. The monotony of their existence will change them into a newer and broader life. Then the lure of the city will be a thing of the past. To help people find themselves and their true expression in a community is the great idea back of The Little Country Theatre. It will serve as a sociological experiment station. Every day its vision grows bigger. In years to come, if the idea is thoroughly carried out, there will be more contented farm communities in the State of North Dakota because the people will have found their true expression in the community. As a dynamic force in spreading the gospel of social recreation among people who reside in this and other States its worth can never be computed. The social life which will eventually be built up around the community will be one character- istic of the inhabitants of that community. It can be nothing else. 754 THE RURAL COMMUNITY 5. PLAY DAYS FOR COUNTRY SCHOOLS BY MYRON T. SCtTODER (From The Outlook, August 28, 1909) In June, 1905, the following letter was sent out broad- cast through the neighborhood about New Paltz, in Ulster County, New York: Dear sir or madam : Please take notice: An athletic field-day and play pic- nic, for the country schools of Ulster County, will be held on the Normal School Grounds at New Paltz, on Saturday, June 2d. This will be a pleasant and fitting culmination of the Conferences held during the past year, and we want it to be an ideal gala day for young and for old, a regular folk- meet for our schools. Here's the same old invitation: — Come and bring your LUNCH. If you are a teacher, try to get some of your pupils to take part in the games and contests. The accompanying circular will show you what those are to be. Can't you furnish a team of ten boys and girls to play Prisoner's Base or some of the Re- lay games ? Or even a team of five good runners ? Or, indeed, even one if you cannot do better ! But if none of the boys or girls want to compete in the con- tests, BRING them anyway TO SEE THE SPORTS. Make a regular picnic day of it. We go to Sunday-school picnics and other kinds of picnics ; why not have a grand country-school pic- nic FOR the children OF THIS COMMISSIONER'S DISTRICT ? If you are a parent or a friend of our schools, come if you can, and see the children at their sports. It will do your old heart GOOD. And if, as you watch the children, you catch the fever of their enthusiasm and find yourself thinking of the way you USED TO do IT, there will be plenty of opportunity for you to pitch in and do some stunts on your own account ! And how the children would enjoy it ! As a matter of fact, this is to be a play day for everybody. For young and for old, play is one of the most important concerns of life, and no one should be too old to enjoy it. See what has been said about this by well-known men: "Man is wholly MAN ONLY WHEN HE plays." (SchiUer.) "The mea- sure of the value of work is the amount of play there is in it, and, conversely, the measure of the value of play is the amount of work there is in it." (Briton.) "Play is the purest and most THE AGENCIES 755 SPIRITUAL ACTIVITY of mankind. It holds the source of ALL THAT IS GOOD." (Froebel.) "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." Let us play! And play they did, all day long and with all their might. They came one thousand strong the first year, but the next year there were three thousand, and the year follow- ing four thousand, and last June there would have been a still larger attendance had the weather been favorable, but even with a rainy morning and a cloudy, disappoint- ing day two thousand braved the elements and made the old Normal grounds echo again with their merrymaking. The purpose of this article is to give some slight ac- count of this New Paltz play festival, which was carried out by the Athletic League for Country Children, organ- ized under the auspices of the State Normal School at New Paltz, and to speak of the possible influence which a cultivation of the athletic and play life of country chil- dren may have in promoting contentment and social ef- ficiency, and perhaps in lessening in some degree the drift cityward. Country life must be made more attractive or our rural districts will lose population to a point that threatens national disaster. No nation can long continue to exist unless its rural population is numerous, vigorous, con- tented, patriotic, and righteous. As every one knows, our country districts have long been suffering depletion. Even now, multitudes of the better class of people are busy exchanging their country homes for homes in the city. Of course, a part of this exodus is entirely normal, and is caused by economic conditions, such, for instance, as the application of machinery to agri- culture. It has been said that "work once requiring four- teen men is now done by four men, and in such a situation there is nothing for the ten men to do but to go to the city." Granting these figures, a migration of ten men out of four- teen is, of course, tremendous, but under the circumstances it cannot be helped, and perhaps need not be considered as abnormal or specially alarming. But when more than 756 THE RURAL COMMUNITY ten out of fourteen leave their rural homes, and when there is nothing in the world that all fourteen want so much as to get away from the country and into the city, then the situation becomes indeed menacing. And this is what is actually happening in many sections of the country. Country life is found by many to be in- tolerably isolated, monotonous, and hard. It is this which is accelerating the normal movement almost to the point of panic. Multitudes, especially of the young, are rest- less and want to get into a wider, richer life. Mr. Roose- velt put it mildly when he said; "There is discontent in the country, and in places discouragement." But instead of allowing these conditions to continue, it is gratifying to see that the intelligence of the Nation is addressing itself vigorously to the problem of checking this fatal draft on the Nation's vitality, of promoting con- tentment among rural dwellers, and of making country life not only bearable but positively attractive. Many elements enter into the problem of securing a wider and better rural life. These have been admirably summed up for us in the report of Mr. Roosevelt's Coun- try Life Commission issued last winter. To those who love country life and who are deeply interested in its prob- lems it is encouraging to note that, as an aid to improving conditions, the telephone, the trolley, and the rural free delivery are operating favorably. The rural church and school are beginning to feel a new life. Economic con- ditions are also improving, and farm lands and crops are more valuable than ever before. Although apparently unconscious of the fact, the farmers are probably the most comfortable and prosperous class in the country to-day. They are organizing everywhere, their most noted organi- zation, the Grange, having more than a million members. A rural literature is rapidly developing, teeming with ex- cellent books and magnificently edited periodicals. Most astonishing are the varied agencies which have begun to operate for the social uplift. The future is full of hope. It is not the purpose of this article, however, to dwell on these phases of the subject, but merely to enter one THE AGENCIES 757 small department of the great field and speak of the pos- sible influence which a cultivation of the athletic and play life of the country children may have in promoting con- tentment and social efficiency, and perhaps lessening in some degree the drift cityward. Every one has observed how the play spirit is sweeping over this country. The quest of recreation is not only legitimate, it is as essential as food, shelter, and religion. Mr. Joseph Lee, of Boston, father of the playground move- ment in this country, says: "The thing that most needs to be understood about play is, that it is not a luxury, but a necessity; it is not simply something that a child likes to have, it is something that he must have if he is to grow up. It is more than an essential part of his educa- tion ; it is an essential part of the law of his growth, of the process by which he becomes a man at all." This is as true for the country child as for the city child. The play movement is being wonderfully organized, and nothing is plainer than that the people of this country are at heart in sympathy with play, and that with proper enlightenment and leadership they will undertake seriously to provide adequate play facilities for their children. Be- sides this, we are beginning to catch the wider significance of play and to recognize that the playground is a social institution, just as much so as are the home, the church, and the school. The cities in particular are catching this idea; nearly two hundred having made definite provision for the play- ground, while many others are awakening to the importance of the movement. And in country places also the same spirit is making itself felt, though not to the extent that prevails in the city, for country people as a rule have but little sympathy for organized play. In country places playgrounds will have to come, if they come at all, through the generosity of some individual or club, or on the initia- tive of some organization like a powerful school, an in- stitutional church, or the County Work Department of the Young Men's Christian Association. And they ac- tually are coming. 758 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Splendid illustrations of such benefactions in the coun- try may already be noted. Thus, at Far Hills, New Jersey, a rural community of perhaps two hundred individuals, Mr. Grant B. Schley, of New York, has maintained for several years, entirely at his own expense, a beautiful and well-equipped athletic field. Sometimes as many as two or three thousand people gather from miles around to enjoy the organized athletic sports on these grounds and to find fresh interest and new inspiration in life. Again, at Livingston Manor, a quiet community near New Brunswick, New Jersey, Mr. Watson Whittlesey has one of the completest playground equipments to be found anywhere in this country, which he places freely at the disposal of the people of that section, his equipment being in the interest of pure play rather than of athletics, as in Mr. Schley's grounds at Far Hills. But both styles of playground produce the same social effects; that is, they introduce fine community spirit, awaken civic con- sciousness and co-operation, and make for whole-souled companionship instead of individualism and isolation. It is a wise philanthropy indeed which induces such men to provide thus liberally for the enjoyment of their neigh- bors, and if their example were followed in thousands of rural communities throughout the land by men of wealth, the gain to the nation through the ever-increasing num- ber of cheerful, contented, industrious, patriotic citizens would be far greater than if mines of fabulous wealth were uncovered, or all the commerce of the world were brought under our flag. But another significant manifestation of the play spirit is shown in the great Play Picnics or Festivals, which are becoming so popular. Festivals on a large scale for coun- try children seem to have had their inception at New Paltz, New York, where the great Folk-Meet, mentioned at the beginning of this article, had its inception, and now promises to become a permanent institution. The origin was as follows: Under the auspices of the State Normal School at New Paltz a number of Country School Conferences had been held here and there at irregular intervals to dis- THE AGENCIES 759 CUSS informally with the people of the neighborhood per- tinent educational questions dealing with such subjects as manual training, domestic science, and elementary agriculture as applied to country schools. In these dis- cussions it was natural that the athletic and play interests of the children should receive some attention, and soon an Athletic League for Country Children was organized and modelled somewhat after the well-known Public Schools Athletic League of New York City. The promoters of this League decided finally to assemble the clans in a great festival like the famous festal days of the long ago where old and young of the countryside gathered to pass the day in pleasant recreation and social intercourse. To this end the letter, which I have reprinted in its entirety to show how the propaganda of inspiration and instruction was carried on, was sent out. The grounds for these Folk-Meets or Play Festivals at New Paltz are portioned off into several play areas. In one place there are courts for prisoner's base, captain's ball, bean-bag toss, basket-ball throw, and so on ; another area is set aside for baseball or playground ball; still an- other is devoted to giant strides, playground slides, merry- go-rounds, and swings; nets are also stretched for volley ball and badminton, pits are dug for jumping, courses marked for running and racing, a range laid out for archery, and many an interesting game or contrivance for testing skill or otherwise affording amusement is at hand here and there to attract little groups of children, who wander about all day long in perfect delight from one fascinating occupation to another. These arrangements call for much planning and work, but there is much more to be done. Thus provision has to be made for checking the lunches and other packages of the thousands of guests, and, of course, this has to be done expeditiously and accurately; toilet accommoda- tions must be carefully thought out, and so must the care of the crowd in case a thunder-storm comes up; a number of tents must be set up for the "concessionaires" who want to sell ice-cream, frankfurters, sandwiches, and soft drinks. 76o THE RURAL COMMUNITY Then the problem of "watering" the little animals; each child will surely want to drink from five to ten times during the day, so some way must be contrived for dis- pensing water rapidly. Think of having to furnish twenty thousand drinks in one day ! A convenient New Paltz device is to solder a number of tin funnels at eighteen- inch intervals into a long iron gas-pipe and attach the contrivance to the water main or to some other adequate source of supply. The water fills the funnels and con- stantly overflows, thus providing sanitary drinking foun- tains at small expense yet easily sufficient for the needs of the day. One of the most important features of the occasion is the Day Nursery, consisting of one or more roomy tents, furnished with cots, kindergarten tables and play ma- terials, a sand pile just outside the door, and appropriate eatables which may well include sterilized milk in bottles for the infants. Here mothers may check their babies free of charge, leaving them all day in competent care, while they themselves spend the hours in joyous freedom. When there is a Day Nursery at hand, there are no peevish babies crying and fretting because they are hungry, hot, and tired, and no worn-out mothers wishing they had never come. It is well worth while to stand at a place of vantage and watch these thousands assemble from every direc- tion intent upon play, some by train, many on foot and horseback, and hundreds by wagon, caravans of which wind their way from neighboring villages and farms. Some- times an entire district school comes to town on a hay wagon, with flags and banners flying and with its school cheer in frequent evidence. Just think for a moment what this means to that school. It shows that co-operation, fellow feeling, school spirit, community loyalty, and kin- dred virtues have been born into their lives, and that per- haps for the first time in their experience the social forces of country life have become centripetal and attractive instead of centrifugal and expulsive. Following the head of New Paltz, Play Festivals for THE AGENCIES 76 1 country people have been held in a number of places, and it is certain that this idea will spread over the entire coun- try, for it has already cropped out in such widely different sections as Texas, Washington, Wisconsin, North Caro- lina, and Vermont. But of the several agencies which are interesting themselves in behalf of adequate and super- vised play for country children, the work of none is so thorough and comprehensive as that which is being done by the County Work Secretaries of the Young Men's Chris- tian Associations. These men have rendered invaluable aid at New Paltz and elsewhere; indeed, they seem to be indispensable to the movement, for it is difficult to see how a Play Festival on a large scale can be carried on in the country without them. It should be emphasized that a Play Festival is not just for fun; it is not merely to while away leisure time; it is not a mere picnic. The latter has its value and is not to be decried, but it usually grows out of no special purpose other than to have a pleasing outing, and it exer- cises no permanent influence. The Play Festival, on the other hand, like the ancient festivals and feast days which are made familiar to us through the Bible, is of purposeful intent and has an important mission to perform. Of course, it consists largely of play, and one of its chief ends is the providing of amusement. But preparation for this day of pleasure represents months of effort on the part of hun- dreds or thousands of childi-en and adults, and a great many by-products have resulted which are of priceless value. Take the schools, for instance — that is, those that are under the leadership of a good teacher. In getting ready to play their part in the events of the day the pupils be- come more closely organized, work of all kinds has been better done, school spirit has been developed, and physical health has been promoted by participation in games and athletics. The school has become socialized. Then, too, at the Festival the children may measure their accom- plishments with those of children from other schools, and find out just what are their strong and weak points. 762 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Then take the effect on individual lives. Acquaintances formed on these occasions may be followed up by profit- able correspondence and by exchanging visits, and thus lead to the establishment of lifelong friendships. The names of those who excel in one sport or another become household words throughout the county. How this stim- ulates self-respect and ambition ! The real leaders in each community become known, be they boys or girls, men or women, and these may be brought together thereafter for organized effort in worthy enterprises for the common good. And all the time the isolation of country life is being lessened. Again, how easily may new and desirable features be introduced into a school or a community by these Fes- tivals, and what an opportunity they afford for getting children to do the old things in the spirit of a new com- prehension and from a broader point of view. For in- stance, if Play Festivals become a permanent institution in a county and it is known that there will always be com- petitive athletics and games, then running and jumping, prisoner's base, relay races, and so on will become per- manent features in the physical lives of the children who are within the radius of the Festival's influence. If on such days there are events which may be participated in only by Boys' Clubs, then Boys' Clubs can thereafter be easily organized and maintained with incalculable bene- fit throughout the year. If there is to be a competitive exhibit of home-made bread and cake in one of the booths on the Festival grounds, then will it be easy to get the girls to give careful attention to the art of baking. If an exhibit of photographs, programmes, and printed matter showing the operation of Men's Clubs, Women's Clubs, Bible Study Circles, or literary societies should be made, with an intelligent person at hand to answer questions and give explanations, then will such organizations be likely to make their appearance in one community after another throughout the county. If there is to be an ex- hibit of school work in one of the tents, then all through the year the children will give more attention to the three THE AGENCIES 763 R's, while sewing, gardening, bench-work, carving, bas- ketry, and art will find a deservedly prominent place in an increasing number of schools and homes. Perhaps it is not too much to say that through a series of properly conceived and well-conducted Festivals the civic and institutional life of an entire county or district, and the lives of many individuals of all ages, may be per- manently quickened and inspired, the play movement thus making surely for greater contentment, cleaner morals, and more intense patriotism and righteousness on the farm lands and in the village populations of our country. Such, indeed, are the socializing effects of organized and supervised plays. 6. RURAL RECREATION THROUGH THE CHURCH ' BY REV. SILAS E. PERSONS, D.D. (From The Playground, March, 1913) Fun and the Church ! Is not this a pair that is unevenly yoked together ? What could be farther apart than a Cal- vinistic church and a good time ? The New England Puri- tans who whipped the cider barrel for working on Sunday never saw it in this fashion. You say that religion was then a serious business. I admit it was serious, but too serious to be "business." Noble as was the church of our fathers, its mind and its conscience both of them pitched to a high key, it none the less failed to minister to the whole man, and no such church, clinging however reverently to the traditions of the past, is grappling with the real and living problems of to-day. It is a part of the holy mission of the church to provide wholesome recreation for its youth. To give a background of reality to this address I am going to deal largely in concrete illustrations of what one ' Address given at the Sixth Annual Meeting of the Playground and Recrea- tion Association of America, June 6, 1912. 764 THE RtJRAL COMMUNITY church is really doing, rather than speculate philosophic- ally on what the church ought to do, even though in doing so I run the risk of being personal. Sunday in the Country Ours is a church in a village of two thousand people in central New York. The church has been falsely ac- cused of being aristocratic. True, it is dignified with a hundred or more years of honorable and self-satisfying existence, and has some wealth. In many ways it might be an ideal saints' rest. Possibly it has been such, but four summers ago, after I had been there seventeen years, we decided that we had a mission to the open country. We now conduct preaching services on Sunday afternoons and evenings in three neighborhoods from two and a half to five miles from town, and have Sunday-schools in four neighborhoods. What did we find in these rural districts in the way of recreation, and what use did we make of existing customs in regard to play ? The day of recreation was Sunday, as in the true sense of the word re-creation it should be. But there are recrea- tions and recreations. The country folk do not as a rule work in the fields on Sunday. They loiter, they idle the day, engaging in that friendly and not very sinful gossip which we call visiting. But leaning on a fence and talking for an hour with a neighbor about stock and crops, prices, and help, comes far short of satisfying the yearnings of a country boy. Unclasp the yoke of toil and these sons of the farm seek recreation. They remember the Sabbath day is to play rather than to pray, and are quite willing to go with the multitude to keep holiday, especially when no one about them is keeping holy day. Rural Barn Dance The winter recreation is the dance and the card party. I have never preached against either of them, and I do not intend to. But I have used both of them for the glory THE AGENCIES 765 of God. It was on this wise. At one of my school dis- tricts I was especially anxious to get the people together before the summer work opened and organize the Sunday- school. It happened that there was to be a barn dance in the neighborhood at just that time. It was my oppor- tunity and I took it. It was a big affair. Everybody was there, old and young, perhaps one hundred and fifty people. I got a committee, representative of every clique and in- terest, and we made out our slate. At about 1.30 o'clock the master of ceremonies, who, by the way, was our candi- date for superintendent, a university fellow, a good Chris- tian worker, and, of course, popular with the young people, or he would not have been at the head of affairs on this occasion, called the company to order. The fiddlers laid down their bows and I had the floor. There in the loft of the horse barn I put before them the outline of our sum- mer's work. We chose officers, teachers, committees to provide flowers, organist, captain of baseball team, every- thing. The result ? Next Sunday I had fifty-nine people crowding the little schoolhouse, where I might have had nineteen or twenty-nine. Because on Tuesday I had taken the people where I found them, they found me when I preached on Sunday. That is, we have pursued the policy of using whatever form of recreation seemed to be indige- nous to the soil and making it serve the higher interests of the community. A Novel Card Party I made a like use of a card party. One Saturday night last winter Mrs. Persons and I were invited to a birthday party five miles out in the country. It was zero weather, yet seventy people attended the gathering. Their only amusement for the evening was visiting and playing cards. But this was not all. After the banquet the good mother of the house said to me, "I want this crowd to sing this hymn; it will do them good." See what a hymn she se- lected: "I'll go where you want me to go, dear Lord, I'll be what you want me to be." Then another hymn and 766 THE RURAL COMMUNITY a talk by the minister. But the singing of those hymns had taken such a hold upon the people and the tide of religious sentiment ran so high, that even a story seemed out of place. I hesitated to use two or three pleasantries that I had brought in my vest pocket. After another hymn the religious interest was so intense that there was no fitting way but for me to close that card party with prayer and the benediction. This was not religion dragged into a social function. It was unplanned, spontaneous, natural, born of an inspiration, but it shows what use a church may make of a social function in the rural districts. I venture the judgment that that card party closing as it did, was worth more to the kingdom of God on earth, and in heaven, than the service held eleven hours later in the village church. These are the forms of recreation that we found indigenous to the soul, and this the use we made of them. Rural Bible Class Playing Pool Now, what contributions are we making to the recrea- tional life of village and country ? In the Sunday-school this winter we had difficulty in getting a teacher who could hold a class of boys of fourteen years. Several tried it and failed. For what is so unaccountable as a boy, espe- cially during the last years of his boyhood, just before he shoots up and broadens out into young manhood ? But that class of youth saved is the richest asset of your church. I gave up my class of twenty girls just to teach that class of seven boys. At the close of the first lesson I asked them whom they wanted for teacher. "You." "I will teach you on three conditions. The first is that you come to the manse and play pool with me Thursday night from 6.30 to 8.30. The second is that you bring your Bibles and have Bible-study class till nine o'clock, and the third is that you cease waiting for one another at the chapel door, but come in and take your places in the class like men." No difficulty with that class ! Now on Thursday evenings I did not teach those boys any new tricks. They THE AGENCIES 767 all knew how to play pool, and all but one of them had learned at places where they had no business to go. Either we will take the lead as churches and Young Men's Chris- tian Associations and furnish such recreation as this genera- tion elect as their amusement, or the saloons and gambling halls will do this work for us. Redemptive Sportsmanship I have never suspected that it is my appointed task as a minister to dictate to the present generation of young people as to the kind of harmless recreation they should enjoy. The fashion changeth, but play is play, and the place and company being proper, there is little choice in the kinds of recreation. Rolling wooden balls on the lawn and calling it croquet, and rolling ivory balls on a table and calling it billiards or pool, are both of themselves equally innocent amusements. And such sports have ethical value, are worth something in the building of char- acter. I like to teach a boy to have the four indispensable virtues of good sportsmanship: nerve, skill, courtesy, and fairness. That training ought to help him to play fair in the bigger games of life, in the market, in the arena of politics, in the parliaments of men, never flinching, never losing temper or unbridling tongue, never playing false to competitor, to state, to God. The discipline of high-toned, manly sport constitutes one of the educations of life. It is a means of grace and helps to save the soul from flabbiness, from meanness, from dishonesty. It is worth while to teach a boy to have the nerve to be a good loser, to take defeat manfully, and to win next time if he can. A part of the church's relation to recreation is a teaching that involves ' the cultivation of manly sports- manship which is educational, character building, re- demptive. Here is an example. Each of the five churches of our village this past winter formed a team for a tournament in bowling. The local paper offered a beautiful banner as a prize to the winning team. Excitement ran high. 768 THE RURAL COMMUNITY There was a tendency toward "rooting." In the heat of the battle the five men of our team met and agreed that whatever the result and whatever others might do, theirs was to be a courteous, manly play, giving every player a chance to do his best and then beating him if they could. The banner is in the room of our Baraca Class and it is worth a good deal more to those forty young men because it was won with honor. The church serves the young people when it develops in them the spirit of high-toned, courteous sportsmanship. The Science of Forgetting But there is another class of recreation of far higher order than any of these, for which the church in every country community should stand. Our word "recreation" is a larger word than the word "play." And there are other occupations besides physical exercise that re-create us. Whatever interests us intensely, absorbingly, has in it elements of recreation. One reason why games are so valuable as recreation is that they so engage our attention that for the moment we forget ourselves and all our cark- ing cares. In the mystic river of Lethe in whose waters toil and hunger and pain are buried in oblivion, the mind takes a bath and comes up refreshed. For an hour we have practised the blessed science of forgetting, and be- hold we are new creatures. Now, this mental bath with its refreshing stimulations, may be taken in several streams aside from the river of play. Whatever engages us ab- sorbingly, if not pursued too long at a time, re-creates us. I had a friend, a college professor, who coming home weary from his classes in history and political economy, used to take up his Homer as a mental rest, conversed with the Greek heroes, noting the niceties and flexibilities of the Greek tongue, and the simplicity of the ancient Greek life, so different from the complexities of our civilization, helped to unharness his nerves, relax the tension of his mental muscles and give him refreshment and diversion. THE AGENQES 769 Turning Drudgery into a Wrestling Match In our church enterprises we have kept in mind this larger conception, and have not run altogether to play. One of our recreation schemes is the awakening of enthu- siastic interest in farming itself. When the boy's mind is open to the beauties of nature, alert to her processes of growth, quick to study the farm scientifically, to experi- ment with nature, and work out the problems on the farm as he would work out puzzles in a contest at a social gather- ing, his mind is renewed every morning and fresh every eve- ning. His physical and mental resources are recreated in the very process of work itself. One day a friend of James Gordon Bennett stepped into the office of the New York Herald and found the editor, as he always found him, plunged knee-deep in the enterprise of editing a great daily paper, that mechanical and intellectual marvel of the present day. He said to Mr. Bennett, "Bennett, how do you endure this everlasting drudgery?" "Drudgery? this is not drudgery. I am having a bully time, the time of my life, this is fun." When you convert work into play, make it a tussle with nature, a wrestling match with God's out-of-door forces, in which by his intelligence, his in- genuity, the farmer's boy is going to win, there will be as little sense of drudgery in running a farm as in editing the New York Herald. The president of our local bank who has four farms which he is running scientifically says that it takes more brains to run a farm than to run a bank. And though he is an intensely hard working man, he gets a lot of recreation out of his experiments in agriculture. In fact he is so infatuated with it, that his wife has pur- chased a farm, and is getting fun working at the same puzzle. One does not need to own a bank and run four farms in order to find a zest and new enthusiasm in thus working in great nature's laboratory. Working along these lines, trying, together with preach- ing the gospel, to broaden the view and quicken the in- 770 THE RURAL COMMUNITY terest of farmers and at the same time drive dull care away, we have used the following means. Church Banquets and Field-Days In the first place we had a banquet in the church and invited every man properly included in our larger parish. Ninety-nine came. It was a great occasion, handsome in its appointments^ rich in its addresses, racy in its wit, joyous in its songs, happy in its friendships — too good not to be repeated. This was a good start toward some- thing permanent. We followed it with men's meetings, not many of them, but a few, three or four a winter, and pledged ourselves never to have a poor meeting, never an ordinary one, always a big one, full of good things, brimming over with richness, and we have never failed. We always have two addresses, one on a religious, the other on a secular subject. With music and entertain- ment it was a full programme, and the night was far spent when the boys had sung their last song. From seventy to two hundred people had enjoyed a feast of good things. They had had education and religion and laughter and fellowship and song and story. The whole nature had been fed. The next step was toward an out-of-door field-day, a kind of revival of the old Olympic games and festivities, the gathering of the village and countryside, irrespective of church affiliation, for a day of outdoor sports, picnic, shooting match, baseball games, running matches and educational features. Three hundred people came to this exhibit. The rain kept two hundred away. Yet, despite the showers, we had a big day. Two Cornell men talked to us in the barn when it rained, and the boys had their contest between showers. This occurred last summer, and it leads to another thing, a country fair. This will be a duplicate of the field-day, plus a competitive exhibit of produce. From this fair we shall exclude every side-show, every money-making scheme, every vendor of knicknacks, as we did from the THE AGENCIES 77 1 field-day. There will be generous rivalry in sport and produce, a ploughing match, a feast, a lecture on agri- culture and rewards for excellence. All this is under the church. The result ? It not only creates a congenial atmosphere in which the minister may do his work, it goes a long way toward breaking the monotony which used to curse the farm and drive its sons to the city. It creates enthusiasm for agricultural pursuits, interests men and women and children in the intellectual side of the work they are doing, gives neighbors a topic to talk about, and insures that for one day in mid-summer the whole countryside shall forget their cares, ignore their work, disdain even their duties as they unharness their youthful spirits and out in God's fields have a merrymaking, a day of diversion and fellowship, of fun and laughter. You know the brightest boys and girls used to flee from the farm be- cause their minds and souls were starving there. There was little in farm or neighborhood to ignite their enthu- siasms, to give them zest or zeal — little for the mind to study, little for the soul to love — no variety, no fascina- tions, no scientific experimentation, few relaxations, al- most no absorbing and joyous interests. It is the mission of the rural and village church to make life in the rural districts worth living, rich in mental and spiritual stimu- lations. These are the church's higher and larger duties toward recreation. Winter No Longer Tedious But the winter, the tedious winter on the farm ! its nights so long and cold and dark, so different from the light and airy gayeties, the theatregoings, the concerts, the lectures, the dances of the city ! What shall we do with them, how shall we at once banish their tediousness, fill them with joy or make them contribute to the mental and spiritual worth of boy and girl, of father and mother ? Two things at least we are doing. One is to have entertainments in the village that will bring many people from the country 772 THE RURAL COMMUNITY to their attractions. At my home about a month ago we formed an entertainment committee of twenty-five prominent men, irrespective of church preferences. These men became responsible for a. course of entertainments of high order, costing about $500 for the winter. We will pay for these by selling season tickets. This, I take it, is a very ordinary enterprise for villages to undertake. But we are not to stop here. We have arranged to have a course of lectures, chiefly by college professors, on scien- tific and social and literary subjects — the lectures to be free to everybody and supported by free-will offerings and contributions. By these means we expect to make the winter in this isolated town intensely interesting, edu- cationally and recreationally, to people of both village and country. In a less ambitious way and more particularly for the rural district, I have formed a Bible Study and Recrea- tion Club. It meets in winter-time from house to house and is the social event of the season. I cannot speak of our bird study, of the prizes we are offering at the fair for the best bird houses, nor of the Boy Scouts organized in our chapel a month ago. But I want to tell you of two educational features of church work, two kinds of preaching, that are recreational in their in- direct results. "No Pennies on the Farm" The first is teaching the old doctrine that the laborer is worthy of his hire, and that this doctrine applies to wife and daughter and son as well as to the farmer himself. All work and no play may or may not make Jack a dull boy, but it makes him hate farming. And there is another thing that makes Jack hate farming. That is all work and no pay. Emerson's "iron labor" is good doctrine to preach, but to make iron labor congenial it must needs be accompanied by results to the worker. Leonardo da Vinci, eager, cheerful, enthusiastic, would go to his work at daybreak and never come down from the scaffold till taE AGENCIES 773 darkness drove him hence, but the achievements were all gloriously his. Rubens, both famous and wealthy, filled the palaces of Europe with his brilliant colors, work- ing like a horse, but he is the man who said, "Everything I touch turns to gold." Is there not a high and sustain- ing recreation in the sure hope that when you have wrought from sunlight to dark the summer through you will get some of the substantial results of your labor? Money not only makes the mare go, it oils the wheels of industry and makes its machinery hum with song and gladness. A poor family from the South took up their residence for the winter across the street from the manse. It is cur- rently reported that to keep warm the children slept in the cellar. Clothing was meagre, food coarse. But Fritz, a lively boy of five years, quite ingratiated himself into the favor of the neighbors by his imperturbable cheer and the willingness with which he ran errands. The upshot was that Fritz gathered to himself many a penny and now and then a nickel. He was not quite a capitalist, for he never used his wealth for the creation of more wealth, but he had the solid sense of being an owner of property. When springtime came, the family migrated into the open country and began the laudable business of agri- culture. Fritz pulled off shoes and stockings and got near to mother earth. By and by he came to the village and made an informal call at the manse. Fritz had no self- consciousness and so no embarrassment. As he stood there on the threshold of the front door, unabashed, hat- less, shoeless, tanned, unwashed, yet communicative and interesting, he showed himself to be a young philosopher and made this keen observation on country life. "They don't have no pennies out on the farm." Is not this one of the secrets of the sense of drudgery, of the lack of zeal and the want of contentment on the part of many of the farmers' sons and daughters? "They don't have no pennies out on the farm." The farm usually has many workers, but only one pocketbook. The children and their mother share the work, but seldom share also the proceeds. So we preach with all earnestness that they must have 774 THE RURAL COMMtJNITY pennies on the farm, not only as a right to the farmer's wife and boy and girl, but also because the rewards of toil gladden the toiler, renew his energies, putting stamina into his nerves and a song on his lips. Working and getting no reward is like playing a game and losing every time. That disheartens, . wilts, makes one morally indifferent. But the winner is ready for another tussle. Let the farm- er's family win as well as work, and they will all be re- created and equipped for another day of strenuous battle. Religion Is Recreational I want to say to you also that preaching the Gospel, the glad tidings from God, and hearing it proclaimed, is itself a recreation. It, too, breaks the dead monotony of rural life. Just to wash up and put on your best clothes and meet your neighbors in friendly converse, to sing hymns of the church, and have your conscience stirred and your religious hopes awakened, and your spiritual vision lead on into the Infinite and the Eternal, and your sense of God and his goodness made real to you — this too, creates again, and upbuilds, and gives joy, and helps in 'the struggle, and makes life richer and more worth living. Religion is recreational. At the same time by all these means you are creating a love of the country, a contentment to live in it, an in- telligent joy in its inimitable fascinations and divine won- ders, all of which are akin to worship. When you have done all this and established conditions that recreate the whole man, his soul no less than his muscles, you have enriched life on the farm, made it independent of outside stimulations, and by building up and calling forth its own resources, you have made it capable of creating its own recreations. THE AGENCIES 775 7. BUILDING A BARN WHILE YOU WAIT BY H. WINSLOW FEGLEY (From Rural Manhood, 1915, originally published in Fruit Grower and Farmer of St. Joseph, Missouri) Building a bam while you wait is a very familiar sight in eastern Pennsylvania. Here barn-raising frolics occur every few weeks among the happy Pennsylvania Germans. They set aside particular days for these frolics during the year, according to the season and work they have on hand. These farmers, known throughout the nation as among the most conservative eigriculturalists, are true optimists. They bring cheer and good-will into their work. They love to turn a busy day's work into sport. They have their apple-cooking parties, their husking- bees, their stone matches, and parties to clear unculti- vated land. The women folks have their quilting parties, rag parties, and sliced apple-cutting events. But, of all these, the most eventful occurrence of the year is an old-fashioned bam raising. The bam may be the type used fifty years ago, known as the Swiss model or bank barn, or one of the newer types, so much advertised in the agricultural press throughout the country. As a rule, when a Pennsylvania German farmer builds a bam, he does not give the job to a contractor, as his city brother does when he builds a business block or a mansion. He employs his own carpenter, usually a neigh- bor, at so much per day. The plans will be furnished by the carpenter, who need not have any extra drawings if the bam is of the Swiss type, for these are almost all built after set plans, the only variation being the size. How- ever, of late, quite a number of barns have been built in Pennsylvania according to plans furnished by some of the model bam architects, and equipped with stalls and other appliances which they manufacture. Nevertheless, the carpenter understands how to conduct such a barn- raising party, regardless of the type of barn built. 776 THE RURAL COMMUNITY The carpenter is boss over the neighbor men who help in the bam raising, while the farmer is usually the archi- tect and chief supervisor. He helps to make the plans, whether previously outlined or not. He sees that every stone, every piece of timber, even the nails and the shingles are on hand. Pennsylvania Germans are very sociable people. They believe in helping each other. So barn-raising parties are quite common. A score of neighbors will come with picks and shovels, and help dig the trenches for the founda- tion for the lOO-foot long structure. This is hardly done before invitations are sent to each farmer in the neigh- borhood, telling him that there will be a stone frolic at the farmer's place. All the neighbors will come and bring their teams and heavy wagons. They will haul a hun- dred or more loads of stone in one afternoon. A Satur- day afternoon is usually selected for this task, and the "host," the builder of the barn, will supply refreshments for his neighbors, giving them cider, apple-jack or lemonade to drink, and a good, hearty supper after the task is done. The following Monday morning all neigh- bors who have learned the stone-mason's trade will be on hand, to construct the walls for the barn. Twenty-five years ago, Pennsylvania Germans built their bams more substantially than nowadays. The gable ends were built of stone to the very roof. To-day, when the barn is of the Swiss pattern, the ends are only con- structed of stone or brick to the first floor, and the rest of the structure is framework entirely. A week or two after the walls of the new barn have been laid, the farmer again sends out invitations. The same group of men with their teams begin to haul logs; either to a near-by field, where the carpenters can trim the logs with the broad-ax and adz, or to a near-by sawmill, where they are sawed into required size. A few weeks will inter- vene before the next happy occasion comes along. Dur- ing this time the carpenters will get the purlins in shape, make the beams, insert the sockets, and drill the holes to insert the wooden pegs to hold the structure together. THE AGENCIES 777 The pegs are either split and bevelled down with a hatchet, or else a particularized piece of timber is knocked through a round pegging machine, which turns out the finished peg at the other end. By the time all this is done, there is an acre or two near the barn site completely bedecked with timbers; and the farmer is now ready for the biggest event in the history of his farm. Such occasions often prove the silver lining to a dark cloud. Many of the bams thus erected replace good barns that were destroyed by fire caused by light- ning. The farmer sends his hired man away on horse- back with orders to call at every neighbor's farm within a radius of three or four miles and extend a hearty in- vitation to them to be present on a certain day at six o'clock in the morning, to stay for the whole day and participate in the barn-raising frolic. Nothing short of sickness or death in the immediate family will keep the neighbors away, and the refusal on the part of any neighbor to par- ticipate in such an event, will be considered as a snub and an apology will be demanded. While bam raisings are considered frolicsome events, the work is rather dangerous and none too easy. To erect the timbers of a lOO-foot Swiss or one of the "James" type, 115 by 109 or more feet in dimensions, such as are usually found in the thriving farming districts of Pennsyl- vania, is indeed no easy task. Everybody is busy. The farmer has not forgotten to supply a keg of cider, a tub of lemonade, and sometimes even some apple-jack or other strong beverage, or a jug of good, old-fashioned wine. The women folks have filled the larder to overflowing. It is six o'clock in the morning when the cry goes forth in the Pennsylvania German language, " Krick der helm," which means in plain English, "Get the poles." The poles are picked up by willing hands and the men walk to the fields of timber, where a dozen or more of these poles are placed under a fifty- foot beam, and twenty or thirty men carry the first piece of lumber to the site for the new bam. The carpenter boss goes ahead, like a general marching 778 THE RURAL COMMUNITY his army to victory, feeling proud that not a single neigh- bor of his "host" is missing. The marching of the brawny farmers is kept up for an hour, and the woodwork for the first floor is in place. Others get busy carrying planks and boards, and a temporary floor is laid, so the men will have room to erect the heaviest parts of the structure. The work of erecting the first "bent" or the end frame- work of the bam, is undertaken very carefully. First, the upright joists are laid upon the temporary floor; then the crosswise sections are fitted into the sockets and the pins tightly driven. The first great task is now at hand. You hear the boss carpenter yell, "Up, up, up!" and as many as can get hold, grab the entire framework. The boss keeps on yelling, "Up, up, up !" till, with outstretched arms, these half hundred stand on tiptoe, their brawny muscles stretched to the very limit. Suddenly there is heard a crash, and a "hurrah" comes forward from every mouth. The five or six joists have slipped into as many sockets of the beam lying on the foundation wall. There is a click of hammers, and the pine pegs are readily driven into place. A loo-foot Swiss-type bam requires half a dozen such operations; and the newer-type bams even more of them, though the timber may not be so heavy for the improved bams as for the Swiss ones. The " centre " bents of the Swiss bams are even heavier than the outside ones. On them are the ladders, made of heavy timbers, on which the farmers climb to the story above, known in their own vernacular as "the overden." As soon as all the sides are erected the longer and heavier beams have to be placed along the length of the structure. Some of the farmers are in mid-air, one hand holding to the timbers already in place and the other pulling with all its might at a rope. Others below are pushing. With suffi- cient help, 50-foot beams are thus easily put into position. The work goes on until the sun stands overhead; with only now and then a minute or two of rest, to tap the cider keg or taste the yellow-colored lemonade. Now comes the call for dinner. A barn raising on a Pennsylvania farm without a dinner would be like a camp-meeting with- THE AGENCIES 779 out a preacher and the shouters. When one wants to judge the art of cookery at its best on a Pennsylvania German farm, he must drop around at such a time. Here is every- thing the good housewife and her neighbors can think of. All the wives of the nearest neighbors, usually about a score in number, are on hand to prepare this great meal. It even surpzisses the Christmas or wedding dinners. All previous week the preparation has been in progress. The men cannot do anything for the next hour but eat and drink. The centrepiece of this great "set-out" is turkey, beefsteak, ham or veal roasts. Then you find such things as sausage, tripe, liverwurst, and ponhaus. What's that ? Why, that is one of those famous German dishes, known to others as scrapple. No housewife knows better how to prepare this than those who speak the Ger- man language. The language, understand, has nothing to do with it, but the recipe they use is their own, and they have been guarding it pretty closely all these many years. Of course, you will find the mince pie, the pumpkin custards, and cheese cakes, the doughnuts, and a score of other appetizing things, that even overwhelm a dys- peptic when he happens to get too close to such a royal feast of "ye barn-raising day." After a good smoke from their corn-cob and clay pipes, the carpenters put in the remainder of the afternoon in completing the framework of the bam. The hardest task is still to be accomplished. Two long pieces of timber upon which the rafters must rest, have to be raised along each side of the structure, and firmly fitted together. The farmer terms this piece as " der dach stool " (the roof stool), and upon this the entire roof will rest. It is the hardest task of the entire job, and the farmers work like sailor boys until it is in place. It is the longest and heaviest piece of timber in the entire structure; and before it is in place, every one is in perspiration. The day is a lucky one, if there is not a little accident of some kind, such as a pinched finger or a crushed toe, but the accidents have to become quite serious before the farmers will pay much attention to them. 78o THE RURAL COMMUNITY Outside of the carpenters themselves, there is no cost for the work of erecting the timbers of a barn for a Pennsyl- vania German farmer. Every neighbor helps willingly, as well as bringing along his farm-hand. His wife and daughter also come to do their share in the farmhouse kitchen. When one of these Swiss barns was lately raised in Pennsylvania, the carpenter boss said: "This bam re- quired 27,000 feet of lumber for framing the timbers, 6,000 feet of weather-boarding, 5,500 feet of sheeting, 5,200 feet of planking, 600 feet of boards for the corn cribs, 485 pegs, 5,000 feet of flooring, 40 squares of shingles, 4,500 pounds of nails, 3 gross of bolts and minor supplies too numerous to mention." Another carpenter who superintended the erection of one of the "James" barns, said that the structure con- tained 100,000 feet of lumber, 40,000 feet of boards, and 60,000 shingles. This bam is 65 feet high at the comb of the roof. On either side of the bam ridge are two gigantic silos, 37 feet tall and 18 feet in diameter, built of Oregon fir. No cyclone can destroy the silos unless the bam goes too. Over the horse stable there is a mow holding 50 tons of hay, while on either side of the main floor are other mows, each holding 125 tons, and at one end of this com- modious barn, that cost $15,000 to build, is another mow holding 100 tons more. In all, there is a floor space of 10,000 feet. Before the first forkful of hay was pitched into one of these mows, 1,000 couples from eastern Pennsylvania enjoyed a barn dance, the like of which never took place before in the Keystone State. This bam has the "James" equipment, with seventy- two jacks of metal and twelve box stalls for the horses. The bam can shelter 150 head of dairy cattle. The acorn system of drinking bowls is used, thus affording water for every animal whenever the animal pushes its nose against a button in the bottom of the bowl. This barn can care for all the crops of a 215-acre farm and afford comfortable room for all the cattle and horses. THE AGENCIES 78 1 It required several days to erect the timbers, but the farmers did it willingly for George L. Jones, president of the Farm Bureau of Chester County, Pennsylvania. The Swiss barn referred to is the bam of Charles Shirk, a pro- gressive Berks County farmer, who is one of the poor-farm directors of the county, and who helps to superintend a 500-acre farm that belongs to the taxpayers. 8. THE "MOVIES" AS A RURAL COMMUNITY ORGANIZER IN NORTH CAROLINA BY COLONEL FRED A. OLDS, SECRETARY, NORTH CAROLINA HISTORICAL COMMISSION (From The American City, Town and County Edition, November, 1918) North Carolina has devised a successful method of reach- ing communities, no matter how remote they may be from any centre. It has established and is operating the State and County Motion-Picture Service, and its "movies," which are the greatest and best of all story-tellers, take wonderful messages to the rural folk. The State Superintendent of Public Instruction is Dr. James Yadkin Joyner, and upon his recommendation the Legislature early in 191 7 appropriated $25,000 as the State's one-third of the expense of this particular line of work, which had been tried out in a small but practical way. No time was lost in taking advantage of the opportunity, and Salemburg, in Sampson County, which in 1913 had established, under the direction of the United States and the State of North Carolina, the first "model community" in this country, covering an area of 25 square miles, made the first application for aid from this fund. The Legislature, in the 191 7 Act referred to, provided for entertainments, varying in number and plsm, based upon what are known as units; each unit consisting of a complete moving-picture outfit carried in a specially constructed Ford car, a part of the equipment being a dynamo, operated by a Delco outfit. An operator goes 782 THE RURAL COMMUNITY with each car, and there is, of course, a director. All the films are bought direct, as the leasing system had been tried and abandoned early. Under the plan, a county which desires the service for a whole year pays about $2,000, or half that sum for six months; a grouping of counties can be arranged, these groupings reducing the cost. All contracts and agree- ments are made by the State Department of Public In- struction, in compliance with the Act of the Legislature, which is designed "to improve the social and educational conditions of rural communities" by a series of enter- tainments consisting of moving pictures, chosen for their educational and entertaining value. In any given county there are ten community centres, which are selected so as to cover the various sections. Each of these centres bears its proper part of the cost, paying this part to the County Board of Education. It is de- lightful to see the zest with which the people have taken hold of the plan ever since the service was put on early last year. In every community which agrees to be formed, the pictures are put on twice a month at each centre. Each programme consists of six reels, and after the picture show ends, a community meeting is always held. The vast advantage in having these community meetings is evi- dent, for people who have heretofore stayed at home turn out to see the pictures. Every, ^ency by which the United States, the State and the county desire to present subjects to the people has the greatest sort of opportunity. The County Superintendent of Education, the Home Demon- stration Agent, the County Health Officer, or any other constructive force, has the same opportunity of present- ing matters to an audience ready-to-hand. The motion-picture director is an essential element of this great movement, and upon him it really depends. At the community meetings he speaks freely and gives valuable information, but none of it of a technical nature, for his instructions are in technical matters always to refer THE AGENCIES 783 his hearers to authoritative sources of technical informa- tion. Right here is the great secret of the success of this movement, for the director is simply an expert organizer who musters all the human forces of a community and gets out of these an effective machine, a united construc- tive force for the nation, the State and the county, as well as the local zone. The director goes further, for he organizes what may be termed the human side of community fairs, which have become so important in this State that 256 were planned for 1918 in the hundred counties. He goes further still, for it is part of his business to look after picnics, debating meetings, and various other social features, and he gives to plays and games his particular attention. Take the case of Sampson County. As soon as this fund was made available, ten communities, well grouped, guaranteed the County Board of Education $225 each, to pay for the service. Each community was allowed to raise this money as it thought best. In every case a uniform charge of ten cents for each entertainment was made, and there was immediate financial success, for money enough was often taken in at one meeting to pay the cost for that community. Some counties have secured the service for the year round. Only a few years ago it was the favored few who lived in cities and towns who saw good moving-pictures, but now anywhere a Ford can travel the movies are taken to the people. The reader will begin to see what a promoter this motion- picture service is, coming along with the automobile, good roads, rural free delivery and better farming, for it preaches a gospel which strikes right in. The great idea is whole- some and regular recreation for a community, furnished through pictures of a high type, shown by real men. Out of these exhibits and their proper direction, and the com- munity meetings which are tied in, a fine community spirit has developed, and the isolation which has been a curse in so many rural districts has been removed. 784 THE RURAL COMMUNITY W. C. Crosby, of the State Department of Public In- struction, who has charge of this work in North Carolina, recently said to the writer: We have in mind now another great thing — the correction of the immense amount of physical unfitness which the war draft has revealed in country boys of military age. So in every com- munity where we are working, a special day, named "Physical Fitness Day," will be observed before the year ends, under the direction of our men. On that day the standard tests for physical efficiency will be applied to the boys and girls of the community, and the results of the tests will go into a permanent record, in the country archives and in our office. Those who fail to pass the tests will be reported to their parents and teachers, and the best method suggested for over- coming the deficiencies. Those who pass the tests will be given certificates of efficiency, signed by the supervisor of recreation and a State official. Thus we are going to stimulate our coun- try boys and girls to care for and develop their bodies as a really patriotic service. We have had no guidance in this work from any other State; we are absolute pioneers. It is our great desire that what we are doing shall not be known simply as moving-picture work, though really that of itself would justify both cost and effort. The pictures are simply something concrete around which we gather all the features of a larger community work and service. Our field outfit is so complete that I can go into the Sahara Desert with a gallon of gasolene and give a show. We have all our films made by the Atlas Educational Film Company, of Chicago. Manitoba and some Western States are planning to take up the plan. The pictures can be shown in the handsome brick school- house or the simple wooden one, and the equipment has long extension cords, which can be led through a door or a window into any building; or the pictures can be put on outdoors. The Superintendent of Education of Hoke County, says, thousands of people see the pictures, "their only chance," and the clean films exert a tremendous in- fluence on the rural folk. "The service," he says, "has linked up our county on public questions and has done more than any other thing to arouse our people to their duty to win the war." THE AGENCIES 785 IV. ENVIRONMENTAL CO-OPERATION AMONG THE MORMONS » BY HAMILTON GARDNER (From The Quarterly Journal of Economics, May, 1917) When the Mormons entered Utah in 1847, they found themselves in what they regarded as virtually a desert. Sage-brush, interspersed with bunch-grass, covered the hills and valleys, leaving only a green fringe of willows, wild rose-bushes, and cottonwood-trees along the few small creeks. Scattered tribes of Piutes — destitute nomads — were the only inhabitants. True, the mountain scenery impressed its rugged grandeur on the pioneers, but that did not relieve the desolation of the land itself. It cannot better be described than in the words of Captain Howard Stansbury, of the United States Army, who surveyed the Great Salt Lake Valley in 1849. One of the most unpleasant characteristics of the whole coun- try ... is the entire absence of trees from the landscape. The weary traveller plods along, day after day, and week after week, his eye resting upon naught but interminable plains, bald and naked hills, or bold and rugged mountains: the shady grove, the babbling brook, the dense and solemn forest, are things un- known here; and should he by chance light upon some solitary Cottonwood, or pitch his tent among some stunted willows, the opportunity is hailed with joy, as that of unusual good fortune.^ To reclaim this cheerless region, the pioneers diverted the water of the mountain streams to the parched ground, thereby being the first among Anglo-Saxon people to prac- tise irrigation, which has later proved to be the very eco- nomic salvation of the arid West.' Gradually, but not • The writer wishes to express his sincere appreciation for the kindness of Mr. John Graham Brooks, who made numerous helpful suggestions concern- ing this article. • Captain Howard Stansbury, U. S. A., Exploration and Survey of the Valley of Great Salt Lake. Printed by order of the United States Senate, 1852, p. 129. ' Charles Hillman Brough, Irrigation in Utah, Johns Hopkins University, Studies in Historical and Political Science, Baltimore, 1898, pp. 1-3. 786 THE RURAL COMMUNITY without tremendous difficulties and hardships, the work of reclamation was extended and an increasing area of arable land acquired. Where formerly existed only a barren waste, now flourished thriving cities and towns; in place of the sage brush grew waving crops and verdant orchards. Nothing could be more eloquent of the industry and perseverance of the pioneers of Utah than the manner in which travellers, from 1850 to the present time, in de- scribing their impressions of the State, have used the Biblical phrase, "made the desert blossom as the rose." What were the economic forces which brought about this transformation — the methods used, the underlying social causes ? Too little consideration has been accorded these questions. True, the Mormon religion has had ample attention. But in all the voluminous mass of labored ex- planation, partisan propaganda, sincere criticism, zealous defense, confessed antagonism, and dishonest villification which constitute the literature of that subject, the meagre- ness of scholarly effort to understand the economic life of the founders of Utah is astonishing. "Is it not worth while," asks Professor Ely, in one of the initial ventures into this field, "to pass over the religious controversies con- nected with Mormonism and their outcome and examine into the achievements and manner of life of the Mormons, so far as these things relate to economic and social matters?"' Within the limits thus laid out, one phase of such activities of the people of Utah stands out as more important and significant than the others — namely, their practice of co-operation. Not only did co-operation enter vitally into the economic life of the first settlers, but it has had a most far-reaching effect on their subsequent commercial and industrial affairs. With the nature of the Mormon system of co-operation, its characteristics, effects, and present status, this article purposes to deal. The co-operation practised among the Mormons is found to be of three kinds, each distinct from the other, but each •"Economic Aspects of Mormonism," Harper's Magatine, April, 1903, vol. CVI, p. 667. THE AGENCIES 787 a logical development of the preceding type. They are: first, a period of informal but nevertheless highly effective and efficient co-operation, extending from 1847 to 1868; second, the formation and growth of co-operative stores from 1868 to approximately 1890; and third, the develop- ment of a system of co-operative industrial enterprises, beginning in 1890 and continuing until the present time. I If the term co-operative colonization appears at first glance to be a misnomer, it nevertheless accurately ex- presses the means by which the early settlement of Utah was effected. A brief survey of the Mormons' policy in colonizing the territory is necessary in order fully to realize the truth of this. The first great fundamental fact from which all study of the period must proceed is that the Mormons were in Utah to build a home. The settlers of neighboring States were drawn west by prospects of mineral wealth or to engage in trapping or stock raising; but the Mormons made their memorable trek across the plains in search of a permanent abode where they could remain without further molestation.* Hence their scheme of colonization was one of home building. The towns and villages in Utah, therefore, were not established in- advertently or by individual initiative. On the contrary, they were the result of very definite plans. When the first settlement was made on the shore of the Great Salt Lake, parties were immediately despatched into the neighboring valleys to discover other sites avail- able for colonies. If a place was approved, a group was ' " In California, in Colorado, iu Nevada, in Idaho, and in Montana, min- ing, rather than agriculture, was the motive which induced the original settle- ment by Americans, and irrigation grew up only aa an adjunct to the mining camp. In Wyoming, stock raising was the first pursuit, in Washington and Oregon the fiiBt settlements were made along the humid coast. But in Utah the motive was home building and the pursuit was agriculture for its own sake." — ^William E. Smythe, The Conquest of Arid America, New York, 1905, pp. 5i-5a- 788 THE RURAL COMMUNITY detached from the old settlement, which migrated bodily to the new location. Having reached the designated spot, the members did not then separate, but built their log houses together, often in the shape of a fort. Thus in- stead of isolated individual farms, as in the Middle West, there grew up a system of compact village communities. The cause was twofold. "When the settlers first occupied the land, it was necessary for them to remain in communi- ties sufficiently large to repel Indian attacks and it was a policy of the church to encourage the building of com- pact towns rather than detached ranches, thereby enabling the people to meet more often socially — an antidote for nostalgia and a great assistance in maintaining interest in the church." ^ The effect of such a system was a more sensitive community consciousness, greater cultural ac- tivity, and an easier adaptability to follow leadership in a common enterprise. The leadership was ready to hand in the ecclesiastical officers, and the peculiar physiograph- ical and climatic conditions of the new country soon demonstrated that common and united effort was essen- tial if the people wished to survive. In the very nature of things this first common effort had to be agricultural. The immediate need was to pro- vide a food-supply. The pioneers had brought only a meagre store of provisions with them, because of their hasty enforced departure from Illinois. The hazardous journey of three months across a thousand miles of prairie precluded any reliance upon the East for sustenance, nor did the Mormons, remembering their recent experiences, wish to be thus dependent. They must feed themselves or starve. Accordingly, Brigham Young advised his co- religionists to attach themselves at once to the land and raise their own food. He exhorted them strictly not to attempt at first any mining enterprises, for he realized that as conditions then existed such pursuits would sepa- rate and demoralize the people, thereby endangering the identity and permanence and even the temporary exist- ' R. S. Baker, "The Vitality of Morraonism," Century MagcaAne, June, 1904, p. 171. THE AGENCIES 789 ence of Mormon colonization.^ As a colonizer, facing a strictly practical question, he perceived what has since been so plainly evident to the sociologist and the historian — that the stability of character of any people goes with foothold on the soil. The vital need of crops being so acute, the problem was reduced to one of production. And the new conditions made that an issue of such magnitude as to stagger a people less determined than the Mormons or a leader less resource- ful than Brigham Young. Accustomed to the methods of farming used in the Mississippi Valley, they found here a mean £mnual rainfall of ten to twenty inches only. A new system of agriculture had to be devised; that system was irrigation. It is fairly certain that Brigham Young knew nothing of irrigation before reaching Utah. Whether he acquired a knowledge of it from the Indians, or indi- rectly from the Mexican Spaniards, or otherwise, is im- material. The thing of importance is that it proved pre- cisely the method to solve the problem which confronted the pioneers. After the first experiment with irrigation proved suc- cessful in Salt Lake City in 1847, all the settlements made it the basis of their farming. When a colony had been located, the very first measure was the construction of the canals and ditches to carry the water from the moun- tain streams to the fields. In many instances it had to be brought a considerable distance, and only the simplest hand tools were available. The individual could not ex- pect to cope with such a formidable task successfully. Only by the. concerted effort of the whole community could the farmers secure the water needed to irrigate their crops. So "a destitute people, having no resources save the genius of their leader and the labor of their own hands, resolved > The Mormon people as a whole followed this advice undeviatingly. Obe- dient to orders, they paid no attention for many years to the vast mineral wealth lying in the mountains at their doors, but contented themselves with assuring their future by agriculture. It remained for subsequent non-Mormon settlers to open up the rich Utah mines. Later, however, Mormons entered the mining field and to-day among their number are many of the leading min- ing men in the State. 790 THE RURAL COMMUNITY to associate and organize their efforts to bring the water on, as the people of Holland were compelled to co-operate to keep the water out." ^ Thus the Mormons began the practice of that great system of co-operation which has since proved to be their economic salvation. Acting as a unit, the whole colony built the irrigation system. First, the dams to store the water in an artificial reservoir, or the headgate to divert it, were constructed; next, the canal itself was dug; and finally, the ditches and subditches leading to the individual fields were made.^ If the work Wcis unduly extensive or difficult, all assisted in each of these separate phases, but usually some division of labor was possible. Generally the bishop of the town, who was the ecclesiastical executive officer and chief spir- itual adviser, acted also as supervisor of this important practical part of colonizing. He it was who assigned the men to their various tasks and exercised a general over- sight as to the entire operations. That such a method succeeded was due in no small part to the remarkable efficiency of the Mormon church organization' with its ingrained habit of implicit obedience to authority. Of the effects of this influence Professor Ely, says: "In- dividualism was out of the question, and in Mormonism ' Charles Hillman Brough, Irrigation in Utah, pp. 12-13. ' The greatness of this appears from the following description of irrigation by Brough: "The methods of irrigation pursued by these conquerors of the desert, unaided by capital or previous experience, were almost identical with those in vogue at the present day. Canals were run from the canyon out upon the more level ground of the valleys and there subdivided into branch canals,- and these again divided into laterals leading to every farm so long as there was water to be distributed. Each farmer had canals leading from the main one to every field, and generally along the whole length of the upper side of each field. Each field had little furrows a foot or more apart and parallel with each other, running either lengthwise or crosswise or diagonally across as the slope of the land required. Into these furrows the water was turned, one or more at a time, as the quantity permitted, until it flowed nearly to the other end, when it was turned into the next furrow, and so on until all were watered." — Irrigation in Utah, pp. 9-10. ' "So far as I can judge from what I have seen, the organization of the Mor- mons is the most nearly perfect piece of social mechanism with which I have ever, in any way, come in contact, excepting alone the German army." — R. T. Ely, "Economic Aspects of Mormonism," Harper's Magafine, April, 1903, p. 668. THE AGENCIES 791 we find precisely the cohesive strength of religion needed at that juncture to secure economic success." ^ It was no uncommon thing, at an early day in Utah history, to hear the bishop in the Sunday services order a certain number of men and teams to report for work on the canal during the ensuing week. For the invariable answer to this summons economic necessity was perhaps respon- sible as well as religious training. In such a way the canals were provided. It need hardly be said that the pioneers performed this labor without pay. Their method of procedure was not concerned with capital or wages. By the very exigencies of the situation there could be neither. The only capital they possessed consisted of their own united strength and of this they contributed in approximately equal shares. Each man could therefore justly anticipate a fair propor- tion of the only remuneration possible to hope for — namely, the use of the water from the completed irrigation sys- tem. When the water was finally secured, the question of its distribution was settled without difficulty by the applica- tion of simple co-operative principles. Each man was allowed the use of the water in such quantity and for such a length of time as was proportionate to the labor he had performed in the construction of the canal. In calculating this the use of his horses or oxen was counted in, if he had any. The right to continue utilizing the proportion of water assigned was dependent upon whether the individual, with his own hand, could make what is now legally termed a "beneficial use of it." If not, he must give up the un- used surplus to others who needed it, the amount of com- pensation being based on the labor of the first in the orig- inal building. Similarly, when a man moved from the particular irrigation system, he disposed of his water-right to those staying. At first the irrigators looked rather to the use of the water than to any vested interest in it ; but when finally they secured legal title to it, as "shares of water" (computed either according to "second feet" or » Ibid., p. 669. 792 THE RURAL COMMtJNITY to the quantity needed to irrigate an acre), the previous relative distribution remained absolutely unchanged. The general result was a practically equal division of water rights. Several causes combined to bring this about. In the first place, as has already been suggested, the co-operators all did substantially the same amount of work in the same time, because, by reason of their uni- versal poverty, no one was equipped to more than the man at his side. Again, they dreaded a monopoly of the water, for it was clear that their ability to farm depended upon each individual possessing the right to utilize it. Finally Brigham Young had inaugurated a system of land- ownership which tended toward an equitable result in the ownerships of the water. Under his plan each man was to receive a tract of land no larger than he could farm by the most intensive cultivation. Accordingly, when Salt Lake City had been laid out into squares, or "blocks," of equal size (the same plan was subsequently followed elsewhere) , each containing ten acres, the settlers received their land on this basis. In the centre of the town a few blocks were divided into lots of one and a quarter acres, these to be owned by merchants and professional men with little or no time for any form of agriculture except gardening, although at first such classes constituted a neg- ligible part of the social body. Adjoining the centre blocks was a tier in which the lots were of five acres, and formed the homes of artisans, mechanics, and laboring men, who, by devoting odd moments from their regular occupations to the cultivation of their land, could materially supple- ment their income. On the outside, in the "Big Field," lay the real farms. Varying in extent from ten to thirty acres, they were allotted to the owner according to the number and working capacity of his family. Those who received the larger land holdings were expected to work a proportionately longer time on the canals. The out- come was not only an equitable division of the realty, but also an assurance that every one, either by vocation or avocation, should till the soil. And since, in the begin- ning, the church authority was supreme, the plan was THE AGENCIES 793 rigidly carried out. Combined with the dread of water monopoly and the general equality of laboring capacity, it tended inevitably toward an equal distribution of irri- gation rights. But did the plan of distribution reach the end its sponsors anticipated? Did it actually work out fairly, as any co-operative scheme should? What the people themselves thought of it is best shown from the fact that they have since utilized practically no other plan. Only the co-operative method has ever been popular in Utah. In the neighboring States foreign capital has often been induced to construct irrigation plants with a view solely to selling the water to the farmers. Newell comments on the failure of such enterprises in Utah as follows: "There are very few large structures built by capital ob- tained outside the State and so far as can be ascertained, all investments of this character have been financially unsuccessful." ' Universal acceptance of co-operation would not long have continued if the people had not re- mained convinced of its inherent fairness as well as its practicability. If defects existed, capable of being ex- ploited by the more shrewd to their advantage and the subsequent detriment of others, none of the co-operators perceived them. "If the Mormon leaders," says Smythe, "had desired to organize their industrial life in a way to make large private fortunes for themselves, no single item in the list of Utah's resources would have offered a better chance for speculation than the water-supply. It was perfectly feasible under the law for private individuals or companies to appropriate these waters, construct canals, sell water rights, and collect annual rent. By adopting this method, which widely prevails in otherWesternStates, they could have laid every field, orchard, and garden — every individual and family — under tribute to them and their descendants forever."'' Yet not a single instance of such injustice has ever been pointed out. Indeed the very satisfaction of the people with their system, together ' Newell, Irrigation in the United States, p. 355. • Conquest of Arid America, p. 59. 794 THE RURAL COMMUNITY with the advice of the church to avoid lawsuits and its practice of arbitrating disputes among its members, led to the rather curious result that the fundamental prin- ciples of irrigation law were formulated in California; although irrigation was not applied in that State until 1849, two years later than among the Mormons. Of the practicability of the Utah plan the results furnish the most satisfactory test. Beginning with no capital whatever, inexperienced in the new kind of agriculture, entirely out of communication with the rest of the world, the pioneers in an incredibly short time had constructed irrigation systems the extent and value of which dispel all doubts as to the feasibility of the co-operative method. The following statistics Bancroft gives for a period of three years before the first railroad reached Utah and eighteen years after the arrival of the first settlers: "In 1865, 277 [canals] had already been constructed at a cost, including dams, of $1,766,939, with a total length of 1,043 miles, irrigating 153,949 acres, and there were others in progress at this date the cost of which was estimated at $877,730." * Finally it can be stated that the Mormons at the present time continue to utilize in a large measure the identical means of securing irrigation water as at first. Long-con- tinued use and impracticability seldom go together. While the acquisition of water furnished the principal reason for associated endeavor in the colonization of Utah, it was by no means the only one. In exactly the same manner the logs from the canyons and the sundried adobes were obtained with which to build the houses. Similarly, the community constructed the usual palisade for protec- tion against the Indians. Last, but most important, co- operation made it possible to put up at once, as was uni- versally the case, the town meeting-house, which served alike for religious worship, civil government, amusement centre, and schoolhouse. It is perhaps open to controversy whether the first Mor- mon system conforms with the usual technical require- ments of a co-operative society. Certainly there existed * Bancroft, History of Utah, San Francisco, 1890, p. 722. THE AGENCtES 795 no formal associative body as such. The colonists acted, not in pursuance of a definite code of rules and regulations previously drawn up, but because, with their nature and ideals and under their environment, their course was the natural and logical one to follow. But what the initial ef- fort at co-operation lacked in formality, it made up, as has been shown, in inherent strength, adaptability, and efficiency. Determined as much by economic need as by any conscious planning, a practical rather than a theoretical scheme, it nevertheless served its purpose effectively and completely. Its object was to support a people and furnish them a home; it succeeded in at- taining that object. Despite its informality, this first type of Mormon co-operation approached more nearly to co-operative ideals than either of the stages which fol- lowed. It is fairly within reason and the facts of the case to conclude that it possesses the attributes which Holyoke set out as essential to true co-operation — namely, it "com- mences in persuasion, it proceeds by consent, it accom- plishes its ends by common efforts, it incurs mutual risks, intending that all its members shall mutually and pro- portionally share the benefits secured." * V. DIRECTIVE 1. TRAINING FOR RURAL LEADERSHIP BY JOHN M. GILLETTE, PH.D. PROFESSOR OF SOCIOLOGY, UNrVERSITY OF NORTH DAKOTA (From The Annals, September, 1916) The question of leadership in rural life has assumed much importance during the course of the discussion that has taken place and the investigations which have been made relative to country-life problems during the past few years. Quite in agreement with the findings in other fields of human effort the importance of the personal factor ' History of Cooperation in England, vol. I, p. 3. 796 THE RURAL COMMUNITY has emerged as the problems of rural communities have become better understood. The traditional tendency, to elevate the personal factor above all other elements in the situation, first asserts itself when new social problems arise and men turn their attention toward discovering solutions; it is asserted that it is inconsequential to change the form of organization, since if individuals are right all will be well. The radical reaction from this view consists in the stressing of organization; the attitude being as- sumed that if the perfect form of organization can be found and adopted the social utopia will have been realized. But eventually the intelligent conclusion is reached that since society is an assembly of organizations which human beings use to realize their interests, neither the human nor the structural factors can be disregarded but that a greater perfection of institutions is a necessary attain- ment for the realization of more perfect men. To generalize, it may be asserted that the attitude of the rural population concerning its own problems has run the course of these three stages. The first attitude was the passive one of taking dogmatic teaching for granted and allowing things to drift. When the rural problem arose in its full significance, almost the entire emphasis was placed on organization, so that reorganization became the shibboleth, and the economic factor received almost exclusive consideration. But with the passage of time the farmers have become wiser and, imbued with a larger degree of humanistic sentiment, they are now discussing what sort of institutions will turn out the best men and women. And it is very significant that the perception has gradually arisen that a rural leadership is an indis- pensable means to the attainment of permanent improve- ment. The Meaning of Leadership The significance of leadership cannot very well be ob- served until a somewhat definite meaning is attached to the term. The necessary implication of the word may be brought into perspective by the use of particular cases. A dirty urchin and an aristocratic lady alike exercise the THE AGENCIES 797 function of leadership in respect to a dog through the in- strumentality of a chain, in which cases physical superiority and necessitous instincts play the chief r6le. Superficially, the gayly attired drum-major marching at the head of a band is the epitome of the leader, for does not the band go where he leads and does it not respond to his spectacular gyrations? Yet the cynical doubtless would assert that he exercises less influence over the band than on the minds of the spectators and that his chief asset resides in his gay uniform and spectacular movements. Then there is the body of troops who under its commander goes through the manual of arms, and performs all sorts of field ma- noeuvres, filing right and left, marching and countermarch- ing. Surely the commander is the genuine leader. But so far, he is only a drill-master and the responses which his troops make are purely formal and mechanical, not due to individual initiative and foresight, but to the will of a superior officer clothed with absolute authority. Thus by a process of exclusion and assent we arrive at the point where it is seen that leadership must be in- vested with certain characteristics and qualifications which enable it to exercise particular functions relative to free but susceptible human beings. I shall express in a few words what I consider the prime requisites of a productive rural leadership, namely, the power of initiative, organiz- ing ability, sympathy with human aims, trained intel- ligence, and vision or outlook. That these qualifications must be present in the individual who assumes the func- tion of leadership, at least to a measurable degree, and that their absence in a working form from all of the in- habitants of any given community precludes the possibil- ity of the manifesting of any resident leadership in that particular community are statements which probably will prove acceptable to all. The Function of the Leader In order that the place and function of the leader in the rural community may be intellectually visualized it may be well to depict and exposit the sociological view 798 THE RURAL COMMUNITY of the rdle of the exceptional man in relation to society and the community. The well balanced sociological view puts the capable individual into the relationship with the concept of social progress, not making him exclusively responsible for it, as does the "great man" theory of Carlyle, not investing him with exclusive power to bring about changes in society; but constituting him a very essential factor in the realization of movements and trans- formations which advance collective interests. Within the scope of this limited conception, then, that part of prog- ress which is due to direct human intervention is brought about by the few human beings who constitute the in- novating class. By reason of their inborn capacity and developed ability they constitute an exceptional class. Out of this class arise the inventors, discoverers, creators, of all kinds of new ideas whether social or "material." Without this class of innovators the structure of society would remain relatively fixed and the readjustments which are essential to secure a greater measure of satisfaction would not take place. In striking contrast with this small class the great mass of human beings living in any particular society are re- garded as static relative to society. Were the affairs of society to be left with them exclusively, they would for- ever remain as they are and have been, except for the per- turbations set up by means of other agencies. Instead of having innovating, creating minds, these people are endowed with imitating minds. They are able to follow example, to fashion after models already produced, but not to initiate, in the sense of projecting the new. As a consequence the preponderating majority of people are followers only. In seeking to apply this conception, which, I think will be agreed, essentially depicts the historic situation, it at first thought might be concluded that if a community possessed no rare individuals of the first class it could not hope to make progress, unless happily it could borrow innovators. This makes necessary a closer inspection of the second, the imitating class, to discover if the case is that extreme, and fortunately there are signs sufficient THE AGENCIES 799 to renew our shrinking optimism. Since democracy is so largely constituted of common people it is a satisfaction to learn that there is no such thing as a "dead level" in it which is inevitable. Recalling the statement which was previously made regarding the qualifications a leader must have — initiative, oi^anizing ability, sympathy, trained intelligence, out- look — it is apparent that an imitative mind may possess all of these attributes, and as a consequence it may prove serviceable as a community leader. It does not follow that a talented person could not perform a greater work, or that an effort should not be made to retain and develop all the latent talent possible in rural districts. When it is recalled that most of the businesses are operated by the imitative class and that the great majority of govern- mental agents have merely imitative minds, it becomes apparent that the non-creative mind may have sufficient intelligence to appreciate what has been worked out by others elsewhere and to see the advisability of taking steps to appropriate the plan on the part of its own community. This is also vision, and organizing ability; for apprecia- tion of what has been done is vision, and the power to appropriate is organizing ability, or the ability to rein- state organizations. Beyond this there must be a reservoir of energy that speeds the work, and a sympathy with life which makes the undertaking seem desirable. All of this assumes, of course, that somewhere there must be leaders of the creative kind, otherwise there would be no plans to borrow. And because of this we are able to see the reason why the democracy of community life is not forced to remain on a dead level. Given the crea- tive power somewhere resident in society, and given the sympathetic, intelligent, initiating, imitative mind resi- dent in all communities, and the power of the community, whether urban or rural, to lift itself to a higher level is provided for. As in the arena of national society the crea- tive minds are passing down their ideas and plans to the masses of people, and the life of the whole people is there- by enabled to approximate the higher ideals of the talented class, so in rural communities the co-operative democracy 800 THE RURAL COMMUNITY may be heightened and improved by developing a resident leadership capable of appropriating the efficient plans of others. Potential Leadership in the Open Country It is a common saying that the country lacks leader- ship and no doubt it is true. But the same statement could be made successfully relative to the city, although it seems to have less force there. There are to be found in our cosmopolitan centres, and in lesser places also, wide areas, in some cases great aggregations of nationalities and submerged neighborhoods, where perhaps the most conspicuous deficiency is that of a competent and loyal leadership. When the objection is made that the interests of the cities as cities are well looked after, that the ablest men in the nation are deeply interested in the direction of municipal business, it is sufficient to ask: Then why these waste places, these neglected warrens of headless populations in such centres? The existence of slums and of congested backward populations impeaches the pre- tended leadership in municipalities, and finds it guilty of lacking a fundamental recognition that the welfare of all alike is the interest of the city and of falling far short of just and humanitarian reconstruction. It is possible, even likely, that, as compared with cities, there is an equal or greater amount of potential leader- ship in the country. The best indications point to the existence of an equal abundance of potential ability in all classes of normal people, and the conditions of life in rural districts are in favor of the country, since both advantageous conditions of health and the absence of a large percentage of the backward classes are decidedly in its favor. ^ Regarding the amount of talent possessed by society generally, and therefore by country districts, we have 'See the writer's Constructive Rural Sociology, second edition, chap. VII, on "The Advantages and Disadvantages of Farm Life," and his forthcoming study entitled A Study in Social Dynamics, table I, where the rate of natural increase for rural and urban communities are computed for the first time. THE AGENCIES 80I somewhat divergent estimates. In his studies of the amount of genius in England, Galton concluded that its ratio in the population is about i in 4,000. Lester F. Ward, on the other hand, as a result of his analysis of European studies, estimated that there must be i person in every 500 who is possessed of potential ability.^ By potential ability, Ward meant the undeveloped inborn talent resi- dent in populations, the greater portion of which never manifests itself by means of creative work. In his estima- tion, therefore, historic genius is but a fraction of the potential supply, while with Galton it constitutes the entire supply. Applications of the Binet test to school children with a view to discovering the proportion of exceptional chil- dren gives support to Ward's position. According to the reports from such investigations, unusual children num- ber from I to 3 in each 100 of the school children tested, which for the population would be nearly i to 500. Both Ward's estimate and the latter are based on the conclusion of both sexes, while Galton's obtained for men exclusively. According to the more liberal estimates, therefore, in rural neighborhoods having a few hundred inhabitants each, we might expect to find a number of individuals, who, if developed, would possess innovating ability. The problem, then, is one of training this talent so as to secure a due proportion of it for rural service. As to the imitative class, since it contains the larger number of people, and since we may conclude that at least the higher-grade members possess qualifications which would enable them to initiate, organize and direct com- munity enterprises, we are warranted in concluding that the country contains an ample quota of such potential leadership.' But as in the case of the potentially talented, the problem is one of arousing, educating and keeping these persons for duty in rural communities. Up to the present time the country appears to have 'See "The Conservation of Talent through Utilization," The Scientific Monthly, vol. I, 151-165, where the writer gives a more extended presentation of the data of these two writers. 802 THE RURAL COMMUNITY given the nation most of its great leaders in certain lines of life. The greatest military, political and industrial figures were, at least, country bom. Potentially, their ability originated in the country. In its matured state it bore the impress of urban manufacture. That its ulti- mate origin was rural may or may not reflect special credit on the country. For one thing, that origin is what would be expected when the rural population was numerically several times as great as the urban. Again, the great de- pository of indigenous inhabitants from whom leadership might be expected to emerge has been the country. On the other hand, it is asserted, without demonstrable cer- tainty, in my opinion, that the matured country mind is "more original, more versatile, more accurate, more philosophical, more practical, more persevering, than the urban mind." ^ It must be admitted that the country is an advantageous place to rear children because of the very conspicuous absence of soliciting and demoralizing influences and the presence of the habits of work and dis- cipline practically every farm child is compelled to acquire. The Migration of Rural Leaders to the City The country is unfortunate in suffering a large loss of potential ability of both the creative and imitative kind. During the decade 1900-1910 rural districts saw an exodus to the cities of about 3,500,000 persons, a number which amounted to about 30 per cent of the total urban growth of the decade.* This would mean an annual loss to the country of about 350,000 souls, enough to make a city of approximately the size of Kansas City. On the one side we have the pull of the city, on the other the repulsion of the country. The city attracts and fascinates what a recent writer terms the "urban-minded" individuals,' 'Scudder, The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, March, 1912, p. 177. » Gillette, Constructive Rural Sociology, 2d edition, chap. V, p. 86; Gillette and Davies, Publications, American Statistical Association, XIV, 649. • "Psychic Causes of Rural Migration," Ernest R. Groves, American Jour- nal of Sociology, XXI, 622-7. THE AGENCIES 803 and the country being distasteful to them or seeming to offer fewer advantages, acts as a repellent factor. One reply to a questionnaire, sent to students of the University of North Dakota, seeking to ascertain what those from rural districts thought of the country, a reply from a city youth who had lived in the country for a number of years, stated: "If God will forgive me I will never go back to the country." This, however, is not representative but symptomatic, but that there is a deep-seated preference for city life is evidenced by the fact that such great num- bers of retired farmers move to neighboring towns. Many of the ablest men and women are drawn away from farm life to the city through the instrumentality of the higher institutions of learning. An investigation I made a few years ago showed that few graduates of any such schools who originally came from the country return there to live. Normal schools, state universities and state agricultural colleges almost uniformly returned evidence that their graduates of the indicated class were settling in cities almost exclusively.' Only the agricultural col- leges associated with universities made much headway toward the return of such graduates to rural regions. The Need for Rural Leadership The country possesses a genuine need of a qualified leadership for many kinds of undertakings. Representing as it does nearly one-half of the national population and nearly one-fourth of the nation's wealth, the agricultural class is the most important single industrial and social class in the United States. Because no class is as com- pletely and loyally represented by members of another class as by those of its own, farm populations should have more trained agriculturists in Congress, and they should have a more competent agricultural representation in state legislatures than they now have. As Fiske has said there are seventy times more farmers than lawyers in the ' Quarterly Journal University, North Dakota, I, 67-79; and American Jour- nal of Sociology, XVI, 645-67- 804 THE RURAL COMMUNITY nation, but the latter are far more influential in legislative matters.' Agriculture demands leaders, having economic insight and statesmanship qualities, rightly to organize and regulate institutions to carry on marketing of produce and the extension of a fair system of rural credit in behalf of farmers. For the improvement of agriculture it re- quires men living on farms who understand the best methods of production and who are able both to apply their knowledge and to stimulate others to imitate. In the work of betterment of home conditions and in ad- vancing institutions and agencies which shall help over- come rural isolation and realize a socialized country life there is an urgent call for men and women having special- ized training and leadership qualities. In so far as the country needs "redemption," if it is to be "redeemed," deliverance must come from the prophets of the rural people themselves, because, in the last resort, only a people is able to work out its own salvation. Training for Rural Leadership Hence we come to the problem of how to obtain a per- manent, resident leadership in and for rural communities. Up to the present time, for community purposes, the coun- try has depended on a transient leadership from the out- side in the shape of itinerant preachers and teachers, and for the purposes of production, on the occasional able farmer and the visiting expert. Due reflection over the situation leads us to think that such sources will never prove sufficient or efficient, and that what the country wants most is men and women who by their training are at one with farm life and whose influence is ever present because they live in the country and have their interests there. Several kinds of agencies may contribute toward sup- plying a leadership of the right kind. Our institutions of higher learning must devote more attention to training men and women for country service. Those which train ' Challenge of the Country, p. 121. THE AGENCIES 805 pastors, teachers and Y. M. C. A. workers should estab- lish courses of instruction, the content, spirit, and em- phasis of which will serve to specialize their students for constructive work in rural institutions. The nature of the rural community must be emphasized, its particular problems studied, and the agencies capable of supple- menting and improving agricultural life receive much consideration. When training-schools renounce the ab- surd notion that general training-courses qualify equally well for rural and urban services, a great step in advance will have been taken. Educating individuals specifically for rural service has the double advantage of qualifying them to carry on constructive undertakings and of re- taining them in that service because their qualifications tend to make them ineligible for urban positions. Much is being accomplished by the county agent and the co-operative demonstrator which the agricultural colleges have educated for country service. The various states are, especially, placing many county agents in the field, and they have proved themselves helpful in further- ing not only production but community undertakings of different kinds. Many states have county and city high schools which are giving instruction in agriculture and farm subjects, and the occasional state agricultural high school is a still more intensified approach to the desired goal. Summer chautauquas with their lectures and instruction on farm life and with their visiting groups of farm boys and girls; farmers' institutes; farmers' clubs, and asso- ciations of farmers' clubs, and kindred organizations are helpfully contributing to the establishment of a construc- tive point of view concerning farm life and its problems. However, the institution which is needed to reach the masses of country school children and to do most to create an abiding interest in rural affairs is one which is located in the rural neighborhood, which touches and ministers to the lives of the residents daily, and which, filled with an agrarian content and spirit, exercises an abiding, mould- ing influence on the young in the direction of rural under- takings and improvement. The consolidated rural school. 8o6 tfiE RURAL COMMtmiTY with communityized building and equipment, a corps of efficient teachers, a teacherage, experimental plot, graded and ruralized curriculum, and having high-school facilities as an organic part of the socialized course of instruction, possesses the greatest power of appeal because it is artic- ulated with actual farm life and because it is within reach of all. Such an institution should stimulate the talented class toward high achievements, tending to command the permanent interest of some members of that class in farm life, and develop the abler members of the imitative group up to the level of their greatest efficiency. It doubtless also would accomplish for the less able individuals all that any training agency could hope to do for them. 2. HOW ONE MAN SAVED A TOWN BY GEORGE HOLLEY GILBERT (From The Outlook, April l8, 1908} The town of X , well settled by immigrants from Connecticut and southwestern Massachusetts in 1761, was run down. Broad stretches of hillside and even some of the lowland, which once produced from fifteen to twenty- five bushels of wheat to the acre, were covered so thickly with prairie weed {Potentilla fruticosa) and steeple-top that even Angora goats could not find subsistence among it. Pastures which until the middle of last century had afforded the best of grazing, pastures clean and well fenced, were now given over to brush and thistles, to brakes and briers, and the few cattle that ranged through the thickets were ill-favored and lean-fleshed like the harbingers of famine in Pharaoh's dream. Some of the valley meadows where our fathers saw clover and timothy waist-high in June, and luxuriant fields of com in August, were "sicklied o'er" with a little faded wire-grass, rarely thick enough to furnish a screen for the nest of the bobolink and song- sparrow. Only the wide-spreading forests looked sound and vigorous, as one could easily believe they had appeared THE AGENCIES 807 to the first settlers. But the people of X made little use of the forests. Where the meadows and pastures were run out, the houses and bams were dilapidated, suggesting by their hingeless doors, their rotting sills and broken window- panes an abandonment of the struggle with time and the elements. Old houses were seldom repaired, new ones were never built unless for summer use by city people. The life of the town in general, prior to the career which we are about to sketch, was slowly receding. As X was a purely agricultural community, the exhaustion of the soil lowered the tone and vitality of the inhabitants socially and religiously, as a low fever saps the resources of the human system. The district school was indeed still in session, but with diminishing numbers and a marked decline in the efficiency of the teachers, due, no doubt, in part to the diminution of the school funds of the town. The church also was still open every Sunday, but the little, dispirited congrega- tion heard no voice calling them to possess the land. Half of the meeting-house sheds were filled with old wagons, lumber, and sawdust. The roll of the church contained names which even the most charitable person could not believe to be written in the book of life, and offenses against divine law which the Jews of old punished with stoning were allowed to flourish in the light of day, a constant menace to the morals of the rising generation. There had been a grange in the town for a few years, but it had gone to pieces, as everything else seemed to be doing as fast as possible. Things were not as bad in X by a good deal as they might have been, but the trend had long been in the wrong direction. The present vfas depressing, and no one saw better days ahead. Tba settlement plan for the regeneration of decadent towns, which was to be set forth attractively and forcibly in The Outlook in the year 1900, had not yet risen on the thought of men. Then something took place in the town of X , in the year 1888 — an event of the same mysterious sort as those that have been the starting-points of many forward 8o8 THE RURAL COMMUNITY movements in human history. A young man, born and brought up in the town and loving it well, who had been educated at the district school, at an academy in a neigh- boring town, and an agricultural college, formed a notable decision. He had come home to the old farm with his diploma and carrying in his pocket an offer of a position with good pay in the Bureau of Agriculture in Washing- ton. There was also the attraction of life at the National capital and of association with experts in all departments of agricultural science. But this was not all. His own brother was in Iowa on a large farm, and had written him glowing letters of the opportunities which awaited him beyond the Mississippi. The young man in question, whose identity we may not disclose but whom we will call, symbolically, Mr. Life, was not deaf to these calls. He would have done the natural thing had he gone to Washington, or, if he wished a more independent life, had gone to Iowa. His father advised him to go into the Government office; no one held out any inducement to lead him to remain at home. But he had been asking the question in himself. What should be my aim in life? And whenever he thought seriously on the question, it seemed clear that the aim should not be money, but manhood and service. The question of aim led on to the question. Where can I make most of myself and do most for my kind? Then there rose before his inner eye the vision of another town of X , a town in which the trend was upward, where farming paid, where homes were attractive, where social life was clean and generous, where school and church stood for more than they did at present or ever had in the past. What nobler ambition could he have than to realize this vision ? Would not this be as worthy a contribution to his native land as he could hope to make anywhere? The vision haunted him, and, believing that he could turn the tide of affairs in X , he decided to do it. This was twenty years ago, and twenty years are not a long time in the life of a town. But the tide was turned, and the vision of the young man has been in part realized- And this is how it has been done. THE AGENCIES 809 In ten years he rejuvenated the old farm. He knew that this was fundamental, that his vision of a higher town life rested on clear success in farming. Here he was con- fronted by three serious problems, which tested his Yankee wit as well as his experience and knowledge gained at the agricultural college. There was, first of all, the problem of help. The physical tasks awaiting him were too great for one man, however strong and full of hope. Otherwise his father would have accomplished those tasks, but as a matter of fact he was always "under the harrow." Fol- lowing the example of a lumberman whom he knew, Mr. Life went to New York, hired a young Swede, and brought him with his wife back to X . The old tenement which his father had used for storage had been thoroughly re- paired, freshly painted and papered, and provided with new furniture. This involved some expense, but he felt that it was good business policy as well as a Christian sort of thing to give the man who was to work with him an attractive and comfortable home. He had even had the forethought, while in New York, after he had found his man, to subscribe for a Swedish weekly for him ; and per- haps it is not too much to say that the spirit which prompted this little act for the stranger who was to farm with him up in X was itself, in good part, the solu- tion of the labor problem in his case. It was this spirit which led him at the end of a year to take the Swede into partnership with him, giving him besides his monthly wage a percentage of all produce that was marketed. After three years a second Swedish family, near rela- tives of the first, was secured, and the farm now afforded ample opportunity for all. To anticipate a little, it may be noticed here that the second man turned out to be an exceptionally successful gardener, and a piece of land which had yielded about thirty dollars a year in grass, a swampy place infested by moles, was brought by him in three sum- mers to yield — chiefly in' celery — just thirty fold as much revenue. Little more need be said of Mr. Life's relation to the problem of help. The immigrant and co-operation in a liberal spirit — this was the solution in his case. The second problem which the young man faced was 8lO THE RURAL COMMUNITY the restoration of the soil. Here his agricultural course and his constant contact, through books and papers, with the Government experiment stations and with progressive farmers — for there are progressive farmers even in rural New England — ^were of great value. Fully forty acres of his two hundred he proceeded at once to reforest, sowing sugar-maple seed over a large area that was most easily accessible, and a variety of coniferous and deciduous trees on the remaining acres, making a special experiment with the eucalyptus for railway-ties. These forty acres are now rapidly becoming a valuable asset, and promise in another twenty years to be worth several times as much as the entire farm when he took it. In regard to the better grade of land, that which was tolerably level and free from rocks, the chief point in Mr. Life's method, as he tells me, was concentration. Not concentration on one crop, for he has greatly increased the variety of products from his farm, but concentration on a small piece of land. Beginning with a few acres, he has now, in twenty years, brought from thirty to thirty- five acres of land up to a high state of fertility. He soon discovered that the soil was not so completely exhausted as had been thought. It was in part only " tired " of doing the same thing year after year, with no assistance except that of rain and sun. Intensive farming, such as is prac- tised in Saxony, for example, Mr. Life thinks best adapted, not only to his place in X , but to hundreds of farms throughout New England. Third and more delicate of the greater problems which had to be met by Mr. Life was how to market his produce. No one in X understood how to do this. Maple-syrup of excellent quality was sold in bulk for sixty or seventy cents a gallon, and then, having been heavily adulterated, was retailed in the cities for twice as much. Mr. Life did what all farmers in similar circumstances must learn to do, individually or co-operatively; he studied the markets, visited two or three of the nearest large cities, showed his produce in practical and attractive form, and sold direct to large houses. He learned in this way what was de- THE AGENCIES 8ll manded, in what form various articles were most salable, and where to sell. The amount saved in this manner, together with the saving on some of the larger purchases necessary for the home and farm, which he secured by buying in the city, was of itself sufficient to make a success of what would otherwise have been the old discouraging story. There was also a real satisfaction, not to be over- looked, in the consciousness of being able decently and profitably to complete the farmer's task. These three problems, though by no means the only ones which confronted Mr. Life, are enough to introduce into this brief chronicle. With their solution and ten years of enthusiastic work, the old farm was transformed and the material basis was secured for the realization of the higher part of his vision. He had made farming pay in X , pay not only in dollars and in the large increase in the value of property, but also in pleasure and in the sense of power that was geiined by triumphing over ad- verse conditions. His example gave light and hope to others in the neighborhood, and a half-dozen farms were soon beginning to rise with his own. In more than one case intelligent co-operation proved that where there had previously been hardly enough to feed and clothe one family there was now enough to feed and clothe two, and something left over. The idea of intensive farming also won its way, and, as the years have passed, it has created little oases in the midst of the general poverty of the fields. In regard to the marketing of produce, the neighbors of Mr. Life were glad to make use of his knowledge and ability, for not every farmer was qualified to follow his example; and the result was a co-operative sellers' league, through which Mr. Life, who has always been its president and has gladly given his services, has been able to raise the standard of excellence in a number of important products. But in the ten years given to saving the old farm Mr. Life did not lose sight of his original aim — manhood and service. Instead of fading into the light of common day, his vision of a higher type of town took on new definite- ness, and seemed more realizable and worth while than 8 12 THE RURAL COMMUNITY at first. As he succeeded in farming, and saw the new springtime, which was calling out a wealth on his own place undreamed of before, touching one and another of the neighboring farms, he began to wonder whether he could not carry on into the higher life of the town the prin- ciples by which he was solving the problems of the ma- terial life. He pondered the matter deeply. The little unpainted schoolhouse, half buried in a tangle of choke- cherry bushes, which he saw twenty times a day, often reminded him of it, and he could not fail to think upon it Sunday, when, with a few others, he went to the well- nigh deserted and altogether discouraged village church. Could he do for the school and the church anything like what he had done for his farm ? So he asked himself what he had really done for the farm, and found that he could state it very simply. He had put himself into it; he had made it pay; by making it pay he had awakened the desire in other farmers to put his ideas into practice, and they had begun to do it. He had not urged his neighbors to change their methods. He had not taken pains to distribute among them books and papers on agriculture or magazine articles on the decadent New England town. He had just shown them that farm- ing in X might be made to pay well. Thus far this had been his only gospel — not preached but simply in- carnated in his new-old farm. Not all heeded it, but some did, and the tide was turned. Could he apply this simple principle to the higher life of X ? This is what Mr. Life undertook in earnest about ten years ago. The district school, as it was near and drew its pupils from his immediate neighborhood, seemed the best field in which to begin. He knew he was not a trained educator, but he was on the ground, and the trained edu- cator was not, and, moreover, he knew the people. So, in the leisure which he was now able to get from farm work, he studied this new soil and began to put his life into it, as he had put it into his land ten years before. The voters of the district had confidence in him, for he had not only saved his farm, but he had done it in a generous, neigh- THE A'GENCIES 813 borly spirit. When, therefore, he said that the school ought to yield double or treble the returns which they were getting from it, and that he thought he saw how this could be done, they replied that if he would go ahead they would follow. The result — for we canndt follow the course of affairs in detail — was briefly this: At the end of five years they had had but two teachers, and hoped to keep the present one indefinitely ; they had their studies graded as in the Massachusetts grammar-schools; they had a library of between sixty and seventy volumes, in which the history of New England, the poets and essayists of New England, had a prominent place; and best of all, to judge from the interest which the children took in its varied occupations and aims, was the school farm of two acres fenced and given by Mr. Life for the use of the scholars. All work on it was directed by a committee of three, consisting of the teacher and of one boy and one girl elected annually by the school. Mr. Life, besides furnishing the children seed and friendly advice, offered to take all the produce of the school farm at its market value. He made a suggestion, which has become a tradi- tion at the school, that the children should have one-half of all that they could produce, and that they should give the other half to the beautifying of the schoolhouse. Two facts remain to be noticed in this connection. As the school entered on its sixth year, the children of two neighboring districts, seeing what was going on, asked if they might not come to this school. The outcome was that the nearer of the two districts was merged in Mr. Life's, and the school funds were correspondingly increased. The children were eager to go the longer distance for the sake of being in "Mr. Life's school." The other fact is this: In the ten years since the rebirth of the school, whose roll has never contained more than thirty names, seven have gone away for further education, while in the twenty- five years prior to that event only one pupil of the school had continued his studies. And besides this a consider- able number of the scholars have imbibed so much of Mr. Life's spirit in the school farm that, if they become farmers Sl4 tHE RURAL COMMUNITY or farmers' wives in X , it is almost certain that they will be of the progressive sort. It is no wonder, then, that Mr. Life sees in the metamorphosis of the district school of his neighborhood a partial fulfilment of his vision, not that he takes pleasure in turning a generous part of the increase of his farm into this hopeful channel. But in following Mr. Life's relation to the children of his neighborhood we have passed the beginning of his third effort for his native town. He had made his farm a gospel to the countryside ; he had made his district school a magnet which actually drew boys and girls from ad- joining districts; but for a long time he saw no way of applying his fundamental principle to the church. He felt that the church, or rather the religious nature of the membership, was in a condition similar to that of his poorest land, which he was now reforesting. But how reforest this spiritually waste soil ? How should he help to make the church in its way as attractive as his meadows or the school farm ? He was ready to give of his life, if he could see how to do it so as to secure adequate returns. It finally occurred to him, to use his own figure, that he might re- gard the minister as he did the piece of land which he chose at the first for intensive farming. So he quietly began to concentrate his energies at this point. He brought the minister again and again to his farm, showed him just how he made the farm pay, explained how the soil had been raised to a high state of fertility, how he utilized all waste, and how he disposed of his produce. At length, when he had baptized the minister in his own enthusiasm for farming, when he had broken the ban of hopelessness that had always seemed to rest on him, and had created in him an interest in something pro- gressive, he told him frankly of his aim in life — that his farm was intended as an evangelist, and invited him to become a silent partner and to receive, for three years at least, one-quarter of the farm's net earnings for use in his church work. This experience was to the minister like the appearance of the angel to Paul on the ship which was driving helplessly and hopelessly before the north- THE AGENCIES 815 east typhoon. He saw the analogy between an exhausted farm and an exhausted church, and argued that he ought to be able to secure as clear a transformation of his church as Mr. Life had made of the old meadows. The idea of intensive spiritual farming took hold of him. He began to try it on himself. Instead of getting next to nothing from two hundred acres — planted, so to speak, for sociology, evolution, political economy, theology ancient, theology modem, new and newest — he decided to concentrate on the simple religion of Jesus. And as he did so there was at once a new note in his preaching, a new spirit in his life, and, what had been un- known in the church of X for a generation, there were unmistakable signs of power. Here was something so new and strange that he hardly knew what to think of it — returns, dividends, income from his religion. Here was something, after all, that paid. Of course his work in the parish, with scarcely any pre- meditation on his part, became intensive like that which he had been doing in his own study. It is too soon to say much of results, even if I were at liberty to do so. Ex- hausted land can be renewed in three or four years; an exhausted church requires longer. But it is clear that a new day has dawned in the church of X . There are no more organizations for religious work. Indeed, it is quite likely that the arrival of life may render some of the existing organizations unnecessary. " 'Tis life whereof our nerves are scant. More life and fuller that we want." Intensive farming brought increase of life to the meadows in X , and is doing the same in the church. Twenty years are just passed, and the vision is coming to fulfilment. At three crucial points the tide has been turned.- This has been done from within, and every one who visits Mr. Life's farm or the district school, as I have done, will say that his work pays. Yes, and every one who has an ear for the Gospel, every one who recognizes the signs of spiritual power, will say that nothing that 8l6 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Mr. Life has done is really paying better than his private partnership with the village minister. In a few months our New England schools of agriculture will confer diplomas on about seventy-five young men. Of these a few may enter the employ of the Government, more will probably feel called to become teachers in the rapidly developing agricultural institutions of the coun- try ; but if half of the number, yea, if one-quarter or even one-tenth of the number, would dedicate themselves, in the spirit of Mr. Life, to the rejuvenation of rural New England, they would make this year forever memorable. If rural New England is to be saved for the descendants of the Pilgrims and the Puritans, if it is to furnish in com- ing years a high type of agricultural prosperity and an in- creasing number of homes in which leaders shall be trained who will be worthy of the New England succession, then something like the career of Mr. Life must enter into the history of many towns. 3. "JIM" CALDWELL, CO-OPERATOR BY FRANK PARKER STOCKBRIDGE (From The World's Work, March, 1913) Lakefield, Minn., is a co-operative town — probably the most completely co-operative community in the United States. The 1,200 inhabitants of this thriving Jackson County village represent about 250 families, and there is hardly a family in the village or in the rich farming country ad- jacent thereto that is not represented in one or another, or all, of the co-operative enterprises which have been developed in the last few years. There is a co-operative grain elevator, a co-operative creamery, a co-operative store, and even a co-operative national bank. The co- operative idea has spread even to the church — the Bap- tists and the Presbyterians have combined with the Methodists to form one vigorous and aggressive congrega- THE AGENCIES 817 tion instead of three weak and numerkally insignificant groups of worshippers. It might almost be said that the co-operative idea has reached the saloons. At least, since co-operation became the order of the day in Lakefield, one of the three saloons has gone out of business and the patronage of the second has fallen off seriously. This decrease in the number of saloons, however, illustrates only one phase of the co-operative idea — the principle that no town should support more retail establishments than are necessary to supply the wants of its inhabitants. So far there has been no attempt to sell shares in a co- operative saloon to the farmers of Jackson County. One man is responsible for converting Lakefield from a rather sleepy and backward rural village, with all the antagonisms and pulling at cross purposes among its in- habitants that are usually found in country towns, to a prosperous and progressive community — a town in which community of effort is now recognized, by all but a few individuals who see their pocketbooks threatened by the new order of things, as the solution of many of the biggest problems that confront the American people both in the rural districts and in the cities as well. That one man is Mr. James C. Caldwell. They call him "Jim" over all Jackson County. He is secretary of the Farmers' Elevator Company, secretary of the Co- operative Creamery Company, president of the Co- operative Store Company, president of the National Bank, easily the foremost citizen of his town and of his county, of pretty nearly all Southern Minnesota, and before he gets through he is going to be recognized as one of the foremost citizens of the entire Northwest. And he is plain Jim Caldwell to everybody. Jim is a farmer. He became a co-operator and a bank president and all the other things by accident. But the enthusiasm with which the people of Lakefield have thrust the burdens of leadership upon Jim Caldwell is a striking illustration of the eagerness of the American people for strong and intelligent men to point the way and to show them how to work together for the common good. 8l8 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Jim Caldwell's parents came from Scotland — that may account for many things, including his power of imagina- tion and his determination to see things through once he has started them. Bom on a Wisconsin farm, he taught a country school for eight years, bought a farm of his own near Madison, sold it a few years later and bought another near Lakefield, Minn., which he sold in 1903, realizing about the only considerable cash profit that the ordinary farmer ever makes — the profit from the increase in the value of his land. "It was my idea to go over to South Dakota, where land is cheaper," Jim Caldwell told me, "but first I thought I could make a little money buying and selling land in Jackson County, so I opened a real-estate office here in Lakefield. I guess it was because I had less to do and more time to do it in than any one else in town that I got interested in the co-operative idea. At any rate, it be- came very clear to me that unless the grain-growing far- mers got together and provided their own means of market- ing their products, they stood a good chance of never getting any profits from their crops. So we organized the co-opera- tive elevator company." The railroad company owned three elevators — "line" elevators they call them in the Northwest — that were operating in Lakefield when Jim Caldwell began the organ- ization of the farmers' co-operative enterprise in 1905. One hundred and twenty-five farmers subscribed a capital of $7,900 and erected their first elevator. It paid from the start. The first year the net earnings were 12 per cent, the second 5 per cent, and since then 8 per cent a year has been paid and a considerable sum has been passed to the surplus account, which is now more than $7,000. In 1908, the capital was increased to $10,900 and a second elevator was built. Now the Farmers' Co-operative Ele- vator Company is doing more business than the three "line" elevators put together — handling yearly 520,000 bushels of oats and barley for its four hundred customers, paying them an average of three cents a bushel more than they can get anywhere else, besides paying the regular THE AGENCIES 819 8 per cent dividends to its 146 farmer stockholders. Nor is this the entire measure of the benefits to the Lakefield farmers from co-operative effort in this direction alone. Their elevator company is not only their selling agent but their purchasing agent as well, and through it they are buying such commodities as coal, feed, flour, drain tile, salt, posts, and agricultural implements at a con- siderable saving. Of course, the success of the co-operative elevator made enemies for Jim Caldwell, because it interfered with some one's private profits. But Caldwell came of fighting stock and didn't care. Besides, the farmers of Lakefield Town- ship were his friends. There were two banks in Lakefield — a national bank and a state bank. The national bank found itself in dif- ficulties, in the winter of 1905-6 — or, at least, some of its officers, who were also its largest stockholders, were in difficulties, although the bank's condition otherwise was reasonably healthy. Some of Jim Caldwell's friends who were directors of the bank asked him to try to straighten things out. "Why, I'm not a banker," said Jim. "I don't know anything about banking." "But you've got horse sense and you're honest," was the reply. "We want you to see what you can do." So Caldwell took hold. He undertook to find buyers for the largest blocks of stock, and the farmers bought it because of their personal confidence in him for his suc- cess with the co-operative elevator. Jim Caldwell had begun at this time to believe in co- operation as the solution for all economic problems. He studied the national banking laws and found in them many handicaps to a genuinely co-operative bank. Nevertheless, he determined to make the First National Bank of Lake- field as nearly a co-operative institution as possible. He got the directors to agree with him that no more than $500 worth of stock should be sold to any individual, and he got the stockholders to agree not to sell to one another without first giving the bank an opportunity to find a 820 THE RURAL COMMUNITY purchaser who was not already a holder of shares. Thus, by a "gentlemen's agreement," he put into effect one of the cardinal principles of true co-operation, namely: the limitation of the interest of any individual shareholder in the co-operative venture. And after he had distributed the $36,000 of bank stock among 76 farmers and farmers' wives, they elected Jim Caldwell president. The co-operative idea in banking, so far as it could be carried out under existing laws, has been a success in Lake- field. The "motto" of the First National, prominently displayed on its stationery and advertising matter, is: Everybody's bank — owned by no clique — caters to no class — seeks only the legitimate banking business of all honest men in this community. And it lives up to that declaration of principles and to its announcement, familiar to every one in Jackson County: This bank is not and cannot be used to serve private interest. No one man owns more than ten shares of its capital stock. It is owned by many stockholders scattered through the entire community, and to serve the entire community is its unvary- ing policy. So far as the banking laws will let him go, Jim Caldwell has introduced new banking methods and ideas into Jack- son County — the principal new idea being that any honest man who is able and willing to pay his debts is as much entitled to credit at the bank as he is at the store or at the blacksmith's shop, regardless of whether he votes the same party ticket as the bank president does, deals at the vice-president's harness-shop, or buys coal from the chairman of the loan committee. And that the farmers and villagers of Lakefield appreciate this kind of banking and have confidence in it, and in Jim Caldwell, is proved by the figures that show an increase of nearly $200,000 in deposits above the $195,000 which the First National Bank had when the new policy was put into operation. By the time he had got this innovation in rural bank- THE AGENCIES 821 ing well under way, Jim Caldwell had given up the idea of going to South Dakota. Lakefield had adopted him and was depending upon him. Of course, he had made more enemies, principally among the shareholders and directors of the state bank whose membership included some of the principal merchants of the town. But he still had back of him the farmer stockholders in the co-opera- tive elevator, now reinforced by the farmer stockholders in the First National Bank, and — he enjoyed a fight. Two years passed. The co-operative elevator company, with Jim Caldwell as secretary, was running smoothly; the co-operative First National Bank, with Jim Caldwell as president, was growing in financial power and influence; and the people of Lakefield were becoming used to the co-operative idea. Conditions were ripe to start something else in the co-operative line. The Right Relationship League, of Minneapolis, whose activities in organizing co-operative stores throughout the Northwest I have de- scribed in a previous article in the World's Work, had proved its mastery of the basic principles that are essential to successful co-operative merchandising, and Lakefield of- fered an inviting field for its operations. There were two general stores in town. The proprietors of both offered to sell out. One of them put a highly inflated value on all his stock in trade, and negotiations with him were quickly dropped. The other and Jarger store proved to be worth, conservatively, about $13,000 for stock, good- will, and fixtures. One hundred and thirty-one farmers and village residents agreed to buy shares at $100 apiece in the new company and to do their trading, therefore, at the co-operative store. Then the question of financing a purchase for which the purchasers were unable to put up the cash arose. Every subscriber was good for many times the amount of his subscription, but, as with most farmers, $100 in immediate cash meant a real strain until the season's crops were marketed, and this was in the spring of 1908. Cash was needed with which to pay for the store property and to provide working capital, and Jim Cald- well agreed to provide it. 822 THE RURAL COMMUNITY "You take these farmers' notes to run a year, or longer if they want them to run longer, and let the new company indorse them," he said. "Then bring them in to me and I'll see that you get the money." To the ordinary student of economics it would seem that no bank would ever hesitate to lend money on that kind of security. The farmer's unindorsed note is good at any bank almost everjovhere except in the United States, and the farmer's note indorsed by a company composed of his fellow farmers is, on the face of it, as nearly gilt- edged paper as any money-lender could desire. But bank- ing in the United States, and particularly banking in the rural districts, is not done in that way. To the co-opera- tive stores of the Northwest this problem of financing is particularly acute, because of the practical certainty, wherever a co-operative store is formed, that the proprie- tors of other stores, who do not fear competition so much as they resent the introduction of new business methods, are directors of one or all of the banks in the community. So, when Jim Caldwell offered to float the entire $13,000 of notes, he went down in the records of the Right Rela- tionship League as one of the rare exceptions to the gen- eral run of bankers. But, of course, Jim was not a banker by training. He was simply an honest man with good business sense, unfettered by the American banking tradi- tion that the farmer shall mortgage his farm, his live stock, his tools, his furniture, his family, and his hope of salva- tion before he is allowed the privilege of borrowing money at 10 to 13 per cent. As it happened, the First National Bank did not carry the loan. No bank-examiner could have found fault with it, but the bank had not yet placed itself in a position to add $13,000 in one lump to its outstanding bills receivable. So Jim Caldwell put the notes into one bundle and sent them to his brother, with a letter saying that this was about the best investment for an idle $13,000 that he knew of. The money came back by return mail and the biggest store in Lakefield, occupying part of the same building with the bank, became the property of the Jackson County THE AGENCIES 823 Co-operative Company, and the directors of this new organization immediately elected Jim Caldwell its presi- dent. There has been no more immediate and noteworthy success in the history of the co-operative movement in America than the success of the Lakefield store. The former owner of the business was barely able to pay off his debts with the $13,000 that he received for his stock. The statement of the company's accounts on January 8, 1912, as audited by the Right Relationship League, showed assets totalling $54,376, of which $43,018 was merchandise inventoried at cost, and liabilities of $14,006, leaving un- distributed net earnings in the surplus and reserve funds of $17,770 above the total capital investment of $22,600 — ninety-five additional farmers and villagers having become owners of a share of stock apiece since the original com- pany was formed. And every one of the 226 stockholders, and about 250 non-stockholding customers of the store, has received annual rebates of from 5 to 10 per cent of his total purchases — about $35,000 having been distributed in this way, besides a regular 6 per cent dividend to the shareholders for the use of their capital. On total sales of $147,463 in 191 1 the net profits, above all expenses, were $9,916. Nearly thirty persons are employed in the store, which deals in groceries, dry-goods, notions, men's clothing and furnishings, women's ready-made garments, shoes, carpets, crockery, cut glass, silverware — in every- thing that comes under the head of "general merchandise." In addition, it buys and ships eggs and such small produce as the co-operative elevator is not equipped to handle conveniently. How the individual shareholder and customer of the Lakefield co-operative store profits by its existence is best told by concrete illustrations. Mr. S. L. Smalley, a far- mer, invested $100 in a share of the company, when it was organized in the spring of 1908. He has received $24 in dividends on his stock. In 1909 he received a dividend on his purchases of $92. In 19 10 he bought $1,890 worth of goods from the store and received in dividends $189. 824 THE RURAL COMMUNITY In 191 1 — a year of almost total crop failures in Jackson County — Mr. Smalley's dividend on purchases was $66.91. In all he has saved, through the co-operative store and his ownership of stock, to January 8, 1912, $372. If he had not been a stockholder his dividends on an equal amount of purchases would have been half of that amount. Jim Caldwell has saved $246 in dividends; Miss Mary Flinn, $263; Mrs. A. Vancura, $343 — eighteen stock- holders got back between them $4,193 in actual cash as their shares of the profits they had created. Some of the thriftier stockholders in the country do the shopping for many of their non-stockholding neighbors, charging no commission but accumulating dividends that come back to them in cash at the year's end. Although Lakefield lies in a rich dairying district, two privately owned creameries in the village had failed. The need of a creamery was there and the farmers saw it. So did Jim Caldwell. What more natural, since they had learned something about co-operation, than to start a co-operative creamery? That is what they did, with Jim Caldwell at the head. It was organized in July, 191 1, on the basis of one share to a cow, with 1,700 shares divided among 18 stockholders. In the first six months it did $10,000 worth of business and in the second six months $14,000 worth, shipping its butter to Philadelphia, where it sdd at half a cent a pound above the current New York City quotations for the best creamery butter, bringing an average of 28 cents a pound, the profits of which, divided among the shareholders, have yielded them a 6 per cent dividend on their investment above the price received for their cream. If nothing more than dollars and cents were involved in the co-operative movement as practised in Lakefield it would still be a great thing for the town. But the co- operators — and that means almost everybody — have ac- quired the habit of getting together, and once you get people into the habit of getting together they forget their neighborhood difficulties, forget the petty jealousies and meannesses that have kept them apart, rub off the sharp THE AGENCIES 825 angles caused by isolation, and find many new things that they can do in common for the common good. And that is just what has happened, and is happening, in Lake- field. I was in Lakefield on June 20, 1912, the day of the co- operators' picnic. There wasn't hitch room left for another horse anywhere in town by nine o'clock in the morning. Farmers and their families drove in from points as far as twenty miles away, to take part in the festivities and to renew acquaintances with their neighbors — for all co- operators are neighbors in Jackson County. There were thirty or forty automobiles, many of them owned by the farmers. More than half the houses in Lakefield closed up for the day while the whole family went to the picnic. A parade of automobiles, bearing banners inscribed with the facts and figures about the co-operative enterprises of the town and headed by the village band, led the way to the park. There speeches were made from the band- stand, to which a couple of thousand people listened. Then luncheon from the well-filled baskets, then a "tug-of-war," then every one went down to the ball-grounds and saw the Lakefield co-operative "nine" wipe up the ground with the non-co-operative baseball players of the village of Jackson. And everybody went home that night with a good deal more of the neighborly spirit and a host of new friends. There are still a lot of co-operative things to be done in Lakefield, but not nearly so many are undone as there are in most other American communities. Jim Caldwell has a few things in the co-operative line still up his sleeve. He is going to Europe next May as one of the Minnesota delegates to investigate at first hand the agricultural credit systems of Germany, France, and Italy, and it is a safe bet that one of the first places in America where the pro- totype of the Raiffeisen banks will be started will be Lake- field, Minn. CHAPTER XII THE AGENCIES (continued) COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION I. THE CENTRE 1. A RURAL EXPERIMENT BY REV. ERNEST BRADLEY DEAN OF TAMALPAIS CENTRE, EENTFIELD, CALIFORNIA (From The Playground, September, 19 ii) The reasons for making this statement about our work at Tamalpais Centre are threefold. In the first place it is offered to our friends — men, women, and children — as a record of some of the things we have been able to do; in the second place it is offered to those who are continueilly writing to us from all parts of the country for information; and in the third place it is offered to those who, sitting in the seat of the scornful, prophesied failure for the ex- periment. It is true that we have not had the success we anticipated along certain lines, but then this is true of all work of this kind. Because we have failed in some things, we are the better able to rejoice in the things that have been a success; and the things that have been a suc- cess are worth while. Tamalpais Centre has had a good influence upon the county at large, to say nothing of what it has done in its own immediate vicinity. It is in keep- ing with a great movement that is already beginning to make itself felt all over the country, a movement which means for our rural communities "better farming, better business, and better living." We might truly say that Tamalpais Centre was a pioneer in this movement for 826 TfiE AGENCIES S27 better living in rural and suburban communities. For many years statesmen, clergymen, and social workers have been wondering what was the matter with our coun- try towns, which were being so systematically drained of their best men and women, that those who were left behind seemed to have lost all heart to better their own condition. Then it was realized that the difficulty was to a very large extent a social one, and that we must ex- pect the city to attract the countryman in the future as it has in the past; the immediate thing to do was to "recognize the necessity of building up the life of the coun- try upon its social as well as its productive side," and to insist upon the rural community coming to its own again as one of the co-ordinating forces of our national life. Realizing this there have arisen recently a number of men and women who have been willing to give their money, or their time, or both, to social experiments which have for their aim better living in country communities. Among those experiments is Tamalpais Centre. Within an hour's ride of San Francisco, this work may be considered by some to be suburban experiment, but it has so many quali- fications which make it a kind of norm for other communi- ties to follow, and so many problems which belong to the country, rather than to the city, that I have not hesitated to call it a rural experiment. Tamalpais Centre was born on May Day, 1909. It is situated at Kentfield, Marin County, California, and is the gift of Mrs. A. E. Kent to the towns of Southern Marin. It is centrally situated and admirably adapted to the work contemplated by the donor. Twenty-nine acres of level land, at the foot of Mount Tamalpais, and surrounded by wooded hills, have been donated, and also a splendidly equipped club-house. In addition to this the Hon. Wil- liam Kent, the son of Mrs. A. E. Kent, gave a fund of ten thousand dollars to fit out the grounds and to reclaim a portion of the land, subject to winter overflow. Suitable apparatus and equipment for a children's playground were also given by Mr. John Martin. 828 THE RURAL COMMUNITY As an organization, Tamalpais Centre consists of a cor- poration of eight directors, and thirteen other men who together make up a board of twenty-one trustees, one of them being the executive head with the title of dean. The trustees in inviting the present dean to be its executive head struck the key-note of its policy when they said: "Tamalpais Centre, as you know, has been established to meet the social needs of our time and place. It must be a centre of neighborliness wherein all of us working together may more fully enjoy the life granted each of us. It is destined to mean opportunity for rest, recrea- tion, and instruction to men, women, and children. Our community is composed of people of all creeds and no creeds. Any recognition of denominationalism in our work would destroy the possibility of each of us being able to claim the Centre as his own." A large space of the acreage has been devoted to base- ball, and has been used continually during the last two seasons by several local teams, as well as by visiting teams. There is also a half-mile track for the speeding of horses, a necessary adjunct in a village community. No betting is allowed, actual racing is placed on other days than Sun- day, and if the men feel that they must swear, as horse- men sometimes do, they are asked to swear low. There is also ample room for tennis, basket-ball, running tracks, and the things called for in a well-equipped athletic field. These features are for use every hour of daylight and seven days in the week, except that no Sunday dancing is al- lowed. About this federal head known as Tamalpais Centre are grouped the various associations and classes which speak for its educational and social ideals. These organi- zations are independent of each other, having their own officers, and for the most part raising their own funds, and also paying a small per capita toward the general expenses of the Centre. They represent the application of the social ideals of good-will and neighborliness, not to the congested districts of a large city, but to a suburban and rural community. The people we are after are not THE AGENCIES 829 the poor, for there are few such in the district, but the tolerably well to do. After two years' work we may speak, not of what we intended to do, but of what we have done, and of what we are doing. Many things we intended to do have not materialized, and some things we have tried to do have turned out failures. Like every new social experiment we have had our difficulties, and some of them remain to this day, and are likely to remain until the pop- ulation of the community increases and the railway fares are less prohibitive to those of our friends who live in the near-by towns. Apart from these difficulties there have been the usual number of people sitting in the seat of the scornful, and the usual number of troubles which come to an infant organization — sneezings, colds, measles, and what not, but as we expected these things our disappoint- ment has not been as keen as disappointment usually is. We have tried first and foremost to speak and act like good neighbors in a community where people appeared to love their isolation, and where they were naturally sus- picious of the work we had in hand. We have gathered a few here, and a few there, until at the present writing Tamalpais Centre shelters some fourteen different organi- zations and classes. Among those organizations the place of honor belongs to the Woman's Club. The women have made good as they always do when they support a good cause. Though but young the club has established some very good traditions such as an annual Wild Flower Day, Old Settlers' Day, and May Day. They have held many interesting sessions and raised a considerable amount of money for furnishings and improvements on the club-house. They have conducted lectures on the topic of "Our Own County," and looked into such things as a pure milk sup- ply, public institutions, Indian traditions, geology, botany, woman's suffrage, and kindred subjects. It may readily be seen that this woman's club is the nerve-centre of a social ideal with a serious purpose. It affords an oppor- tunity to the women of the county to make their influence felt, not only in the more common business of social clubs, but in the things that educate, the things that make for 830 THE RURAL COMMUNITY good citizenship, and a purer democracy. The club is now in its third year, has a membership of over one hun- dred and sixty, has been remarkably free from discord, and is full of enthusiasm for the future. The next organization worthy of mention is the Friendly Circle. This circle is a club of working men and women with a membership of sixty. It is an attempt to solve for a village community the so-called servant problem; and we are finding out that it ceases to be a problem as soon as the man or woman who drives our horses, or who digs our garden, or who cooks our dinner is looked upon as an efficient co-worker and friend. We must have got the idea of the name "Friendly" from the Kents, who have no servants in the ordinary sense of the term. All whom they employ are friends, and nobody ever heard of a servant problem on the Kent place. The circle meets on Wednesday evenings at nine o'clock, and then- for two hours we dance, play games, read, recite, and sing. A programme is not usually arranged, and there is seldom a dearth of something to do. Everything is as natural as it can be, and there is a spirit of camaraderie which levels all problems, and bridges over social inequalities. Dur- ing the actual rainy season, when many of the people go to the city for two or three months, the circle takes a holi- day, but nine months in the year the average attendance is about forty men and women. Attached to the circle is a civil government class for working men who are look- ing forward to American citizenship. Tamalpais Centre has also a Literary Class which meets every other Tuesday evening, and has a membership of twenty-five men and women. Among other things we have studied plays of Shakespeare, Stephen Phillips, Ed- mund Rostand, and the Book of Job. After the study of the evening there is a social chat around the big fireplace with a cup of coffee, or a social hop in the large hall for those so disposed. It is not every literary society that can read the Book of Job and finish up with a two-step, and yet it is done at the Centre, and done without appear- ing incongruous. THE AGENCIES 83 1 One of the best pieces of work that Tamalpais Centre IS doing is along the lines of the playground movement. We have organized the teachers of the public schools into a playground association. The women teachers from nine or ten different school districts meet at the Centre every Wednesday afternoon for a practical course in play- ground work. The teachers not only enjoy the work, which is naturally of a social and relaxing nature, but they are carrying the idea of supervised play into their own school yards, and the children all over the southern part of the county are learning folk dancing and the traditions of play which cannot help being an untold blessing to all concerned. These same teachers and children make up the groups for our May Pole contest, which is held on some day near the first of May. This year eight schools have entered, and will dance for the trophy, which is a silver cup. An interesting feature of the Teachers Playground Association this year was the meeting of the County In- stitute at Tamalpais Centre for one day during its session. The day was a revelation to them all. There was not only the usual instruction, and dry routine of business, but the teachers and children gave a splendid exhibition of folk dancing and games, and then, during the lunch hour, the whole institute turned in to dance and play with such energy that the superintendent had some difficulty in calling the teachers to the routine of business again. The children's playground work at Tamalpais Centre is under the trained leadership of a young woman, who, besides the regular outdoor work, has three children's classes under her charge, and two women's classes. Con- nected with this department, and under male supervision, are the boys' baseball and basket-ball teams, and the Knights of King Arthur. It has been the ideal of this playground department to teach that the real work of the playground movement lies, not in setting apart spaces for play, or in erecting costly apparatus only," but in sup- plementing these things with instruction and arranging a programme of plays which have special relation to the development of children and the making of good citizens. 832 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Besides these features of which I have spoken there is a Driving Association for the speeding of horses, and various groups of men who use the grounds for baseball on Sundays and holidays. During the past two years there have been art classes, religious study classes, sewing classes, dancing classes, civil government classes for women, a story hour for children, and a series, of pleasant Sunday afternoons around the fireplace, of a literary and social nature. The purely religious service has not been introduced. The nearest approach has been a series of civic services held on the Sunday afternoons preceding public holidays. These services have stood for the highest things in the commonwealth. All creeds and no creeds have been rep- resented. . Here we have gathered, not because we were this or that, but because we were Americans. We have tried in a feeble way to approximate an ideal which Dr. Jenkin Lloyd Jones gave to us at our opening, and that is to be "an embryonic cathedral, the communal meeting- house for which democracy waits, and which the highest religious inspiration as well as the growing ethical instincts of the community demand." These services have been fairly well attended, and would, ere this, have developed into a regular institution, had it not been for the prohibi- tive railway rates, and an inconvenient time-table. The Sunday-school might be considered an exception to any attempt to foster a religious service upon the com- munity, because it is something that has been forced upon us. The nearest churches or Sunday-schools lie in the towns and villages about us, so that Kentfield itself is peculiarly deficient in this respect. Realizing that some- thing should be done for the children, the dean of Tamal- pais Centre gathered his own children about his own fire- side every Sunday morning for religious instruction. It was not long before other children asked permission to attend this fireside Sunday-school. Then as the school grew in numbers and the winter came on, the children were transferred to the Centre building and organized under the name of the Sunday-school of the Neighbor- hood. The instruction is non-sectarian, and we have four THE AGENCIES 833 teachers, and over thirty boys and girls. At Christmas we held a manger service and invited all the young people interested in the Centre from the surrounding towns and villages to bring presents of toys, and books, and games for the children of the Catholic and Presbyterian orphan- ages of the county. Over two hundred boys and girls accepted the invitation and it was an inspiring sight to see them march up to the manger and deposit their simple gifts for their little orphan friends. In connection with the Sunday-school I was asked the other day what I thought was the best piece of moral work Tamalpais Centre was doing in this immediate community. I answered that it was in teaching boys and girls, many of whom had been in the habit of running around all day on Sunday in old clothes, to put on their best "bib and tucker" as a mark of respect to God and to a day which civilization had set aside for worship. All the boys and girls come down to the Sunday-school looking as spick and span as it is pos- sible for them to look, and the result is at least civilizing, if not indeed religious. The spacious floor of the club-house at Tamalpais Cen- tre is a favorite gathering-place for the high-school stu- dents of San Rafael for their class dances, and also for church fairs, as both the Catholic and Episcopal churches in the neighboring towns have used the building on sev- eral occasions. Entertainments are given from time to time and are fairly well attended. The largest gathering held in connection with the Centre is the annual May F6te. Last year nearly six thousand people were on the grounds and over one hundred track, field, and platform events were participated in by the boys and girls of the county. The May F6te began three seasons ago as a kind of a free-for-all event for everybody who came, but since then it has been the policy of the administration to encourage the schools to take up the affair and make the ffite in a peculiar manner their own. This year two-thirds of the events were under the super- vision of the teachers of the public schools, and the trophies, which were for the most part cups, were contested for 834 THE RURAL COMMUNITY with remarkable enthusiasm. The procession, led by the band of the St. Vincent's Orphanage, is one of the main features of the day, and as the various groups of contestants pass by the queen's throne, round after round of applause is given by the parents and visitors. Such is the work we are trying to do at Tamalpais Centre. It speaks for itself, and in spite of whatever failures we have been compelled to register, it deserves to live. Its life, however, will depend on the community realizing the possibilities of the experiment. A most valuable piece of property has been presented to the people of Southern Marin. Many of them appreciate it, and some do not. It is within the bounds of reason that most of them will appreciate it in the course of time. With the incoming of a larger population, with less prohibitive rates on the railway, and a more convenient time-card of trains, more and more people will use the club-house and grounds, and as the years go on the venture will be- come self-supporting. With such an excellent woman's club as the backbone of the institution, one need not fear for its future. 2. THE RURAL SCHOOL COMMUNITY CENTRE BY L. J. HANIFAN, A.M. STATE SUPERVISOR OF RURAL SCHOOLS, CHARLESTON, W. VA. (From The Annals, September, 1916) In the use of the phrase social capital I make no refer- ence to the usual acceptation of the term capital, except in a figurative sense. I do not refer to real estate, or to personal property or to cold cash, but rather to that in life which tends to make these tangible substances count for most in the daily lives of a people, namely, good-will, fellowship, mutual sympathy and social intercourse among a group of individuals and families who make up a social unit, the rural community, whose logical centre is the school. In community building as in business organiza- THE AGENCIES 835 tion and expansion there must be an accumulation of capi- tal before constructive work can be done. In building up a large business enterprise of modern proportions, there must first be an accumulation of capital from a large num- ber of individuals. When the financial resources of these several individuals have been brought together under effective organization and skilful management, they take the form of a business corporation whose purpose is to produce an article of consumption — steel, copper, bread, clothing — or to provide personal conveniences — trans- portation, electricity, thoroughfares. The people benefit by having such products and conveniences available for their daily needs, while the capitalists benefit from the profits reserved to themselves as compensation for their services to society. Now, we may easily pass from the business corporation over to the social corporation, the community, and find many points of similarity. The individual is helpless so- cially if left entirely to himself. Even the association of the members of one's own family fails to satisfy that de- sire which every normal individuEil has of being with his fellows, of being a part of a larger group than the family. If he may come into contact with his neighbor, and they with other neighbors, there will be an accumulation of social capital, which may immediately satisfy his social needs and which may bear a social potentiality sufficient to the substantial improvement of living conditions in the whole community. The community as a whole will benefit by the co-operation of all its parts, while the in- dividual will find in his associations the advantages of the help, the sympathy, and the fellowship of his neigh- bors. First, then, there must be an accumulation of com- munity social capital. Such accumulation may be effected by means of public entertainments, "sociables," picnics and a variety of other community gatherings. When the people of a given community have become acquainted with one another and have formed the habit of coming together upon occasions for entertainment, social inter- course and personal enjoyment, that is, when sufficient 836 THE RURAL COMMUNITY social capital has been accumulated, then by skilful leader- ship this social capital may easily be directed toward the general improvement of the community well-being. That there is to-day almost a total lack of such social capital in rural districts throughout the country need not be retold in this article. Everybody who has made either careful study or close observations of country life con- ditions knows that to be true. Of rural social survey there have perhaps been a plenty for the present. The impor- tant question now is, "How may these conditions be made better?" A Story of Achievement The story which follows is a concrete example of how a rural community of West Virginia in a single year ac- tually developed social capital and then used this capital in the general improvement of its recreational, intellec- tual, moral and economic conditions. The community under discussion is a rural school district of 33 square miles, which embraces fifteen school communities, or neighbor- hoods. Three of these school communities are villages having graded schools; the other twelve are strictly rural, having one-teacher schools. The total population of the whole district is 2,180, of whom 771 are of school age, 6-21 years. The school organization consisted of a board of education (three merrtbers and a secretary), a district supervisor and twenty-three teachers. This district supervisor, Mr. Lloyd T. Tustin of Hun- dred, West Virginia, was a new man in the district, com- ing from an adjoining county. He came into the district two weeks before the date set by the board of education for the opening of the schools. He spent these two weeks going about the district, conferring with the local trustees, getting acquainted with the people, and having the school- houses put in order for the beginning of the school term. On the Saturday before the Monday on which the schools were to begin he held his first teachers' meeting. The board of education were present. At this first meeting THE AGENCIES 837 definite plans were made for the year's work. Among the plans made the following are some that were carried through to successful conclusions: (i) Community Survey. — Each teacher made a survey of her school community, (a) to determine the physical and human resources of the people; (J) to learn the crop yields of the farms; and (c) to find what children in the community were not attending the schools and the reasons why they were not at school. These individual surveys were brought together and tabulated as a survey of the whole district. It was shown, for example, that of the 457 families, 401 were taking at least one newspaper. One item of interest was the fact that there were in the dis- trict 331 dogs and 445 cats. These items were turned to very practical account with the people for a district high school, for it could be shown that if each dog and each cat cost their owners one cent a day for food, then the people were spending upon these animals an amount, which added to what the district may receive from the state as high-school aid, would support a high school for their boys and girls. Of course, there was no disposition upon the part of any one to have all the dogs and cats killed. The fact was merely used to emphasize the small cost of maintaining a local high school. While the high school has not yet been provided, there is very strong probability that it will be established soon. (2) Community Centre Meetings. — This survey work proved to be of incalculable value to the teacher both in her regular school work and in her work for the community centre. She was able to learn at first hand the home life of her pupils and she was able to become acquainted with their parents. Her work among the homes aroused the in- terest of the patrons of the school, for no teacher had ever shown so much interest in them before. When she an- nounced that there would be a meeting at the schoolhouse for all the citizens, nearly all were interested and most of them came. In order to show just what the nature of this first meet- 838 THE RURAL COMMUNITY ing was, I submit below the programme which was offered at one of the schools: Song, led by the school choir. Devotion. Address, by the teacher. Reading, by a pupil. Current events, by a pupil. Essay, by a pupil. Song, led by the school choir. Reading, by a pupil. Vocal solo, by a local soloist. Reading, by a pupil. Debate. Cornet solo, by a citizen. Social half-hour. Note that this first programme was rendered almost wholly by the pupils. The teacher took occasion to speak of the work of the school and to show some of the pos- sibilities of such meetings. The people enjoyed this pro- gramme and expressed a desire for another meeting soon. The next programme at this same schoolhouse was pri- marily for the older folks. It was entitled, " Ye Old Time School Days." These older citizens took great delight in relating the school experiences of their day, and the chil- dren were interested listeners. As time went on the weekly community-centre meeting was becoming more and more a feature of the regular community activities — in fact the only co-operative activity of the community. In due time, when some social capital had been developed, these meetings occasionally took the form of discussions of prob- lems of a constructive nature. The people discussed such subjects as : Should West Virginia have a more effective compulsory attendance law ? Should there be a small tax on oil and gas for the sup- port of schools and roads ? Is it more profitable to grow hogs than to grow cattle in this community ? Do boys and girls have better opportunities in the city than in the country ? THE AGENCIES 839 But entertainment and discussion alone will not hold the interest of a community indefinitely. A definite pur- pose common to all must become the reason for this com- ing together. Fortunately, the community under dis- cussion soon passed through the stages of entertainment and discussion to the stage of action. The people them- selves under the leadership of their supervisor and teachers began to look about them for something which they might do toward personal and community improvement. The social capital developed by means of the community-centre meetings was about to pay dividends. (3) Agricultural Fair and School Exhibit. — The first big meeting of the year was the agricultural fair and school exhibit, which brought together the people of the whole school district. The local community-centre meetings gave the supervisor and the teachers an opportunity to explain the purpose and the plans of this undertaking. In October, two months after the opening of the schools, this fair and exhibit was held at the most central school- house in the district. The people came in large numbers. They brought baskets of food and had a community "spread." Prizes were awarded for the best products of the farm and the kitchen and for the best work exhibited by the schools. It was a great day to every one present. It was the "pooling" of social capital developed in the local community centres, the first meeting of the people of the whole district ever held up to that time. (4) Community History. — ^At each school the pupils of the classes in United States and State History wrote up the history of their local community — who the first settlers were and when they came, when the first church was built and when any others were built, when and where the first schoolhouse was built and important changes made in the schools since then, who had first introduced improved live stock, the silo, farm machinery and other items of local historical interest. This work, of course, was under the direction of the teachers. When the histories had been prepared, the children of each school gave a pro- gramme entitled, "History Evening," when the com- rr""^*-" h-'^to*-" •^r9s read by the pupils who had written 840 THE RURAL COMMUNITY it. This proved to be a very popular programme, since most of the citizens or their ancestors were personally mentioned. It had a marked effect upon the pride of the people in their home community. After these programmes had been rendered, the several histories of the local com- munities were compiled into a history of the whole school district. (5) School Attendance. — It will be recalled that one object of the community survey was to determine what children were not attending the schools. While visiting the homes upon that occasion the teachers were able to interest a good many absentees in going to school, or to persuade their parents to send them. Subsequent visits by the teachers at the homes brought most of the children into the schools. Then at the community centre meetings, the subject of school attendance was discussed from time to time as a part of the programmes. By means of this personal work of the teachers in the homes and of the dis- cussions at the community meetings the percentage of average daily attendance was actually increased by 14 per cent over that of the preceding year. This increased at- tendance was accomplished without resort to the courts in a single case. The parents came to realize that the schools cost them the same whether their children attended them or not. They came also to see more clearly than ever be- fore what the schools meant to the future welfare of their children and to the credit of themselves as fathers and mothers. Be it understood, also, that these parents were not "preached to" about sending their children to school. They were led into discussions of school attendance among themselves and they arrived at their own conclusions. (6) Evening Classes. — While making the community surveys the teachers quietly learned the number of adult illiterates in their communities, though this information was obtained indirectly, so as not to be embarrassing to any one. When their reports were brought together it was found that there were in all 45 adults in the whole school district, who could not read and write. At first it was thought best to organize night schools of the Ken- THE AGENCIES 84 1 tucky "Moonlight" type for these persons alone. But in talking with the people at the community centre meet- ings the supervisor and teachers came to the conclusion that what would best meet the educational needs of the whole adult population were evening classes for any who would attend them. Accordingly announcement was made at the community centres that at certain centres evening classes would be offered one night each week in addition to the regular community centre meetings. These centres for evening classes were so selected that the teachers of near-by schools could assist the local teacher in this work — in effect a consolidation of schools for evening classes. The plan was eminently successful. The English subjects (reading, writing, spelling), arithmetic and agri- culture constituted the course of study, not the usual text- book study, but just the things that the people were in- terested in learning. Nothing was said about illiteracy, for that would have been very embarrassing to those who had unfortunately failed to attend schools when they were boys and girls. Any one who could not read and write joined the English classes and began at the very begin- ning. They had individual instruction and, therefore, learned very fast. The evening classes were in themselves community centre meetings: (a) because they brought together three or four neighborhoods at one of the centres, thus enlarg- ing the circle of acquaintance; (b) because the demonstra- tion work in the agricultural subjects attracted a great many who would have come out for no other reason; and, (c) because the class exercises were either preceded or fol- lowed by a social half-hour, and in some cases followed by the serving of refreshments provided by the families represented, sometimes merely a basket of choice apples from one of the farms. (7) Lecture Course. — Closely related to the work of the evening cleisses was the lecture course. Now, when we speak of a "lecture course," we usually think of a series of lectures and entertainments given by persons brought into the community for that purpose and paid for by the 842 THE RURAL COMMUNITY sale of tickets of admission. The lecture course in our rural district was a very different proposition. The lec- tures were free. They were given at the schoolhouses by the teachers of other schools in the district and by citizens of the community who had messages for the people. The subjects were of a very practical nature, dealing with im- provements of agriculture, roads, schools, sanitation, morals. For information these lecturers drew upon the United States Bureau of Education and the United States Department of Agriculture, the State Agricultural College, the State Department of Schools, and the Public Health Council. Wherever possible, bulletins of information on these subjects were handed to the people to be taken home with them. These lectures were in reality community- centre meetings. The teachers themselves benefited greatly from them by the preparation they made for them. (8) National Patriotism. — In view of the military strife abroad the time was ripe for a revival of national patriotism among the people. Accordingly, one of the programmes at each of the community centres had national patriotism as its central theme. By a little guidance upon the part of the teachers this programme led to the placing of a flag upon every schoolhouse in the district. The people them- selves purchased the flags, cut and hauled the flagpoles, and observed "Flag Day" at the schoolhouses when the flags were raised. This demonstration led later to the placing of a small flag in each schoolroom so that when "The Star Spangled Banner" was sung, every child leaped to his feet and saluted his country's flag — another factor of community improvement. (9) School Libraries. — Another interesting outgrowth of the community-centre work in this district was the raising of $282 for school libraries. This amount was raised at box suppers, pie socials, and public entertainments. Every school in the district now has a small collection of books approved by the State Superintendent of Schools. In addition to the books purchased, the teachers secured a large number of free bulletins upon subjects of agriculture, roads, schools, and other subjects of interest to the com- THE AGENCIES 843 munity. Here again the community-centre meetings were the means of providing these school libraries. (10) School Athletics.- — As stated in the first paragraph of this article there were in this school three graded and twelve one-teacher schools. The three graded schools were made athletic centres, and to each were assigned four one-teacher schools. At each of these three centres a baseball team was organized, the players being chosen from among the pupils of the graded school and its four allied one-teacher schools. These three athletic centres were then organized into a district-school baseball league. One who did not get information at first hand by observa- tion could scarcely conceive of the benefits derived from the baseball contests. The baseball games were almost the only source of outdoor amusement provided the people of the district. Rivalry among these three athletic centres was keen, but yet wholesome. The activities of the base- ball league were a strong factor in the development of community social capital. There were a good many boys who had not been in school for two or three years, who enrolled now to play baseball. But in his account of these baseball contests, the supervisor says: "They (these older boys) stayed in school not only to the end of the baseball season; they got a taste of books and have been regular in attendance to the end of the year. Some who had not been in school for over two years won their Free School Diplomas this year and are planning to go to high school next year." (11) Good Roads. — In two or three places I have made mention of roads. The subject of improved roads was discussed at each of the community centres, that is, it was discussed by the people themselves. Waste of time and money occasioned by the bad condition of the roads of that district and the cost of improving them were figured out, even mathematically, by the citizens at these meet- ings. The crowning event of this notable year's work was the voting of bonds in the sum of $250,000 to improve the roads — a very large dividend paid on the social capital developed during the year. 844 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Conclusions The reader may question the propriety of discussing such subjects as community surveys, school attendance, evening classes, and good roads in an article whose title is "The Rural School Community Centre." I will admit that they are subjects not generally thought of in con- nection with community centre work. Nevertheless, I am firmly convinced that the supervisor and teachers, whose achievements I have described, have struck bed- rock in community building. It is not what they did for the people that counts for most in what was achieved; it was what they led the people to do for themselves that was really important. Tell the people what they ought to do and they will say in effect, " Mind your own busi- ness." But help them to discover for themselves what ought to be done and they will not be satisfied until it is done. First the people must get together. Social capital must be accumulated. Then community improvements may begin. The more the people do for themselves the larger will community social capital become, and the greater will be the dividends upon the social investment. 3. THE FARM CENTRE HIGH SCHOOL BY B. H. CROCHERON (From The University of CaUfomia Journal of Agriculture, September, 1916) There are usually three monumental buildings at a Cali- fornia county-seat. Of these the first is the court-house, the second is the jail, and the third is the union high school. The people build all three with a civic pride in the gigan- tic buildings, but the bills for construction are cheerfully passed for payment to the next generation. Like massive mausoleums the county high schools, erected at enormous expense, are more a mark of expensive construction than efficient education. THE AGENCIES 845 The union high school has come in the wake of the move- ment for the consolidation of the elementary schools. Per- sons have argued that because it was desirable to join to- gether small primary schools into one district and one building that it was therefore desirable to join high-school districts and create a consolidated or union high school. But the district is often so large that the farmers of the outlying portions have little participation in the school except to help pay the taxes. It is true that their children would be permitted to attend if they applied, but few farmers can afford to send their youngsters so far, since it means boarding in town or an automobile for the ex- clusive use of the children. All this has come about because the California people want good schools. Unfortunately they are likely to con- fuse schools and school-buildings. The truth is that a good school is made up of good teachers and good students — the building in which they meet has but minor impor- tance. The high schools in California have been busier on buildings than aught else, so that a few present the pitiable spectacle of an ill-paid teacher "hearing lessons" in a hundred-thousand-dollar building before a handful of uninterested youngsters. It would be better for the young- sters and for the community to hire a well-paid, competent instructor and hold classes in a tent. Often the quality of the work done is in inverse proportion to the cost of the building, because the greater the annual interest pay- ments the smaller the amount available for other pur- poses. But I have no protest to make against expensive build- ings for city conditions. It may be that in cities the wealth and compactness of the community warrant the expendi- ture. Neither have I exception to take against expensive rural school-buildings provided the building fits the purse of the people and provided the community can afford the architectural gimcracks that usually appear. My protest is against the modem tendency to make everything else subservient to the erection of a great build- ing which if necessity requires the spreading of the school 846 THE RURAL COMMUNITY district over an immense territory and the bonding of that district to the limit in order to meet the cost. My belief is that closely available high-school facilities are a necessity for California communities; that the folks who live on farms ought to have, and will have, community schools at coimtry crossroads to train rural children for farm life. The community school is coming because the school is growing to be a community institution. It used to be that a school could claim to be a children's institution and to open its doors only five hours a day for five days a week during forty weeks a year. Now persons are seeing that education, like religion and politics, is a continuing process and that the school may find its duties among those over twenty-one as well as among the youngsters. Then, too, the idea has begun to spread that when a school confines itself between four walls it becomes hide-bound. Schools, must grow out among the people, among their homes and farms. So it is that community schools for all the people are coming. But the unit of the community will be a farm neighborhood — not a county. The school district must be small enough so that Bill and Mary can go home to the farm after school, so that mother can come in to the farm women's meetings. That distant high school at the county-seat serves no such place among the people. It is too far away, it is awesome and empty and echoing. It is a place where you have to wear a white collar and your Sunday shoes. In California the successful meetings of farm folks are held in country buildings away from towns. There you can drop in after supper, wearing your overalls and work- shirt. The county high school has a stage like a playhouse, an auditorium lit up like a new saloon, and a shiny floor fit for a ballroom. It is a convenient showplace for the town folk and a talking point for the real-estate man, but the farm folks stay away because it is a thing apart from farms and the open country — from plain living and straight thinking. THE AGENCIES 847 Many persons have talked and written in interest of the community school. It is plain that it should be led by a man who knows farm problems. He should be an agricultural college graduate, hold the position of prin- cipal, be hired for twelve months a year and thus become an integral part of the farm community. With him as vice-principal should be a woman trained in home eco- nomics and in the problems of farm home life, who be- lieves her field larger than merely to teach high-school girls how to make salad dressings and sewing aprons. The school should teach cigriculture in a four-year course for all the boys and for those girls who desire to take it. Because it touches the fundamental problems and pur poses of country living, the agricultural course should be the paramount thing in the rural school. Courses in agri- culture are already taught in fifty or more high schools in California, in many of which they are unsuccessful be- cause the agriculture is tied behind the rest of the school like the tail on a kite. Usually it is not in the main tent at all, but in a sideshow located somewhere on the edge of the lot. But in the farm-centre school the teaching of agriculture will become an essentijil and paramount influence. The instructor of agriculture will realize that because agri- culture is an outdoor occupation it can only adequately be taught out-of-doors. He will furthermore see that since his school is located in the centre of a farming com- munity where real soils, real cows, and real fruit-trees abound, that the farms of that community furnish far better material for agricultural teaching than any imita- tion school farm that could be created. It has been ex- traordinary that so many schools teaching agriculture have felt that they must artificially create a miniature school farm when real farming was all about. If the com- munity high school can purchase only one piece of agri- cultural apparatus, it may be that this had best be a school omnibus to transport the students from the high-school building to the particular farm on which the day's lesson is to be studied. The school will therefore not need many 848 THE RURAL COMMUNITY acres of land, but will do most of its work on the home farms of the students and upon the other farms of the community. Agriculture is not only an out-of-door subject but an all-year-round subject; therefore the teacher of agricul- ture in the community high school will extend his teach- ing throughout the entire growing season, and boys en- rolled in the agricultural classes will try out at their homes M A ■ /> ^ */ • jT r Id '■^t^i*^-- \ ""^ "■' . 1 "7^'V"-' ^u*.«^ *} '"''"•A3 ^-"^'^ \-, ;/ >«>.y..tt> y<^X^^^|V. ■• ^iC^^^ri / / I'l. JLna *^' ^Vk\l**/"V ■««■•«■ 1 _/ / v\/ +■ ^«UH> ^l.fy ''"v^^\/*M'—~\ "^ \ c«'-«5=>!;^ /\ ^ "'Ty^^/t\' "*• li \ '—.^Sl / X**'— ^pfeS^—'-'-'^iV ^>.^**» ■" "^"^ **/^Cx'*""'''"V-i^''^'^ "?* r. J/{^V} "<• •"'7.2: ^ ""/^'^ ^S- \pr^c^ v.--^P'i!p&«N"^^^*<«\ /^Tv^^^^^ >\ '*'*^'v ^fW^'TlS i/i ll /<^ 1 ) 'i^i^S.-'.**' r'-^^li _ °*'"^ t V.^;^ Y2En\V^59^-— ^^ ^fi/^VV^'^'''^ \ .J^S yO»^^^^ """" /==^^C~\ Jj^^^^s-i L •'■'■" •"••""- V "■-,"1 "S Vfj;.?^ — ^ K^;«*^^^jJ^2^ .^'r '-■r^ ""^^i^J^ I ' ' rV.vv»/ N^^^T^^^SsKS^ C *=^^^-^ i&^l^'S^ )' — ^?^^^5j ij ^',-''' »->«.... "'''^^^^^S^'^§^VW v^-- ••• The Work of a Rural School Circles are elemeDtary agricultural clubs. Dots are farm ezperimeDts with boys. Crosses are farm experiments with men. The county is fifty miles long by thirty nules wide on a practical scale the lessons learned at school during the winter season. These practical applications, sometimes known as "home project work," should be supervised by the teacher of agriculture during the summer. In turn, be- cause the community school will have real things to teach, demonstrations will be located on farms with men who apply for such work. Thus the teacher of agriculture in the farm-centre school will become a sort of farm adviser for the particular community in which he is placed and THE AGENCIES 849 will doubtless carry on much work in co-operation with the county farm adviser located at the county-seat. The teacher of home economics will realize that her work may be as necessary for farm women as for the girls that are enrolled in school, and will extend to these farm women the opportunity of attending classes on Saturday afternoons, wherein new lessons in domestic science and domestic art would be given in a prac- tical way. Because of the respect that the women will there learn for the teacher and her applied science, much more interest will be given at home to the school teaching of cookery and sewing given to the girls. But the domestic science and art will have to be as practical as the agri- culture, and will have to be carried into the homes as the agriculture is carried onto the farms. So long as school? do play-cooking in lesson hours and hire others to dp^^i^l cooking in the school cafeteria, so long will the farm folks fail to take the work seriously. The community school will serve a simple hot lunch each day to the school chil- dren at cost price, and all the work will be done by the students. The farm-centre school will, of course, give adequate courses in English, mathematics, science, and history. It will, however, teach no foreign languages, because the rural boy or girl who intends to go no further than the rural school has no time to give to the less valuable branches of learning. English should be taught in such a way as to fit it to the needs of rural persons and to acquaint them with the best things in country-life literature. History should be taught from an industrial, not a political, stand- point, and should concern itself with the progress of peoples and industries rather than the disasters of kings and dynas- ties. Mathematics can be made a vital subject for rural consideration when the problems are couched in terms of country things and consider bushels of wheat and acres of land rather than rolls of carpet and brokerage com- mission. Advanced arithmetic, geometry, and trigonome- try, together with some plane surveying, are of real value for country boys and girls. Nothing need be said of the 850 THE RURAL COMMUNITY value of adequate science courses in the rural school. The practices of science lie all about in such profusion that botany, zoology, chemistry, and physics can be daily il- lustrated in the farm community. The community activities of this rural school will keep its doors open all year around and bring people to it dur- ing many evenings as well as during the day. There will ScKeme Ag'iculturAl H«8" Dcnoci Baltimore County Plan of campaign for a rural school. be winter lecture courses for farmers, Saturday-afternoon meetings for women, a young people's literary society on a week-night, and I fancy that both dances and prayer- meetings will take place there. When such a school be- comes the centre of the community interest, it finds no difficulty in enlisting many persons to its aid, and there- fore to the school will come those who wish to catch the ear of the farm people, so that it will become a centre of community thought and enterprise. The elementary THE AGENCIES 85 1 rural schools round-about will find in it a starting-place for the help and co-operation that they need and an in- spiration toward enlarging their sphere of influence. Such community schools need cost but a few thousand dollars, because the chief factor in their influence will not be marble columns or complicated ventilating systems, but will be the personality and activity of the men and women who direct them. The climate of California makes it possible to build at small cost adequate buildings which will serve the needs of the children and the people for many years to come. It is probable that for a cost of $5,000 to $10,000 buildings can be built anywhere in California which will meet the educational needs of fifty to one hun- dred pupils. To this cost should be added several acres of land to furnish sufficient playground space and room for a small experimental garden where such laboratory materials may be raised as are not grown on community farms. No attempt should be made in these community schools to create great school plants or what is known as "per- manent" buildings. In truth, there is no such thing as a permanent school building, since the educational needs of this generation may not be those of the next, and a build- ing which seems permanent to-day may be out of date and inefficient twenty years hence. The builders of schools have much to learn from successful poultry keepers, who have found that the best ventilation comes through cloth windows and that the most expensive poultry house is not the best. Such a community or farm-centre school need cost but a small annual outlay. The annual per-capita cost of a high-school pupil in California is said to be $125. This is largely because of the expensive maintenance of the large buildings and because of the complexity of the number of courses that are given in the high schools, allowing a large selection. A community high school with an at- tractive course of study from which little or no deviation is allowed, reduces the number of teachers necessary, while the inexpensive building effects a great reduction in the 852 THE RURAL COMMUNITY annual maintenance. It is probable that for $100 per year per pupil, or a total fund of from $5,000 to $10,000 per year, such a school as has been described can be main- tained. There are in California 175 farm bureau centres estab- lished in fourteen counties. These farm bureau centres have a regular and permanent organization which is linked together in a country system and through the Agricultural College becomes a state-wide institution. Many of these farm bureau centres, lacking an adequate place of meeting, have already begun to agitate for the establishment of rural schools either of the intermediate or high -school type, which could furnish a community centre as well as educational facilities for the children of the neighborhood. The farm bureau movement is spreading so rapidly in California and has witnessed such steady progress that it is possible to predict that by 1922 there will be six hun- dred farm bureau centres in California established in forty counties throughout the State. Among these six hundred farm bureau centres it is quite probable that at least one hundred of them will find a place for the farm-centre high school as an institution of the community. //. CLUBS 1. A COUNTY WITH COMMUNITY CLUBS (From Wallace's Farmer, Des Moines, la., June 9, 1916) It occurred to C. W. Davis, shortly after he began his duties as agricultural agent for Greene County, Iowa, that one of the best ways in which he could serve the farm interests of the county would be through community clubs. He calculated that these not only would enable him to keep in close touch with the people, and to reach a greater number than he otherwise could, but that they would accomplish much good. With these thoughts in mind, Mr. Davis began to point out the advantages of com- THE AGENCIES 853 munity or farmers' clubs, and he assisted in getting them organized at every opportunity. At the present time, Greene County has ten community clubs, and there is agitation for several more which Mr. Davis hopes to have organized in the near future. Seven were in operation by last November, and three were formed during the winter. They have adopted the following names: Kendrick, North Junction, Friendlich, Pumpkin Centre, Pleasant Hill, Park, Green Briar, Jackson Centre, Hardin Centre, and Big Four. The county not only has these individual clubs, but there has been organized a fed- eration of the various clubs which are scattered through- out the county. One of the activities last year was a trip to the Agri- cultural College at Ames. Mr. Davis wanted the farmers of Greene County to know more about the state college they were supporting, and he arranged a trip for each club; these being planned to conflict with the farm work as little as possible. Six clubs made the trip as individual organizations, and it gave 850 farmers, with their wives and families, an opportunity to spend a day at the college, where they were entertained and were shown every pos- sible courtesy. The trips were made by automobile, and on the journeys they took occasion to advertise Greene County and their communities. The bringing of the college and 850 persons of the county in closer touch with each other in this way, resulted in much good both to the college and to those who visited it. All that many knew of the Agricultural College was what they had read or heard of it, and some of them did not have much faith in it. Those who lacked faith came home more favorably impressed. The trip inspired some to attend the short course last winter for the first time, and others were convinced that it would be worth while to have their sons or daughters take up a regular course. At the college, they were given a bird's-eye view of the entire institution, and were escorted from one depart- ment to another. They visited the hog-feeding pens, where some hundred head of swine were being fed different ra- 854 THE RURAL COMMUNITY tions; they went through the dairy, veterinary, horticul- tural, farm crops, and other buildings, and when it was time to go home, they regretted that circumstances pre- vented a longer visit. Mr. Davis says these trips resulted in a keener appreciation of the State College. Some of the clubs are very informal organizations, hav- ing neither constitution nor by-laws. Meetings are held in the usual way, as neighborhood affairs rather than as formal gatherings. Most of the clubs, however, have adopted some form of constitution, similar to the one printed in the circular on farmers' clubs, issued by Wal- laces' Farmer. The clubs have their officers, such as presi- dent, vice-president, secretary, and treasurer. Some of them have their reporters. While others are planning on a librarian. During the winter most of the clubs meet twice a month at the home of the members. These meetings are all-day affairs, and most of the activities are of a social and edu- cational nature. The women folks bring something to eat, and at noon they lunch together in picnic fashion. Occasionally an authority from the Agricultural College is invited to discuss some topic in which most are interested. The programmes include talks by members, debates, and purely entertaining selections. In country communities, farm boys and girls have little opportunity to develop special talents, and in many cases the older folks are simply existing from one day to the next. At these club meetings, some training is given in speaking before an audience, and those who take part get to feel more at ease when they happen to be called on to make a talk. Those who can sing are given an opportunity to develop their talent before an audience, and the same is true with those who can read, play the violin, piano, or other musical instrument. The musical features help to relieve the monotony that might make a strictly educational programme tiresome. Each club arranges its meetings to suit itself, and it plans its own programmes. While it is impossible for Mr. Davis to attend all the THE AGENCIES 855 regular club meetings, he arranges to be there whenever he can. Here he meets dozens in the same time that he would spend with an individual. The club meetings en- able him to keep in touch with the farm interests, as he otherwise could not hope to do, and it enables the farmers he serves to keep in closer touch with their county agent. Although the meetings are of a social nature, the men find topics for conversation, and they have a chance to talk over their plans with the man they hired to advise them. Summer meetings, as a rule, are not held quite so often, and the usual plan is to hold them in the evening, instead of during the day. The lunch is served on the lawn un- less it happens to be wet, and the programmes also are held in the open. More or less of a study is made of in- dividual farms, and methods are compared. Before these clubs were organized, one neighbor paid very little atten- tion to what another neighbor was doing, especially if the farms did not adjoin. When a club meets on one farm, all who attend go home with a fair idea of methods fol- lowed on that farm, and very often with practical ideas for mciking certain improvements in their own way of doing things. Possibly they learn of something to avoid, if the member at whose place the meeting has been held has tried out something which did not prove successful. Mr. Davis carries on more or less co-operative experi- mental work, and he plans to have club meetings held on these farms, so that the results of the experiments can be studied as a community. For example, there is more or less peat soil in Greene County, and this year different soil treatments will be compared. These experiments will be tried out in different parts of the county. One- fourth of each field will receive no treatment, as a check; to another fourth of the field a complete fertilizer will be applied; to another fourth, kainit will be applied, and to the last quarter acid phosphate will be applied. These plots will be planted to the same crop, and receive the same care, and when harvested, each plot will be gathered and weighed separately. At this time, the clubs will hold 856 THE RURAL COMMUNITY their sessions on these farms, to learn how best to handle peat soils. In the same way, dub meetings are held on other farms where different experiments have been tried. No co-operative buying nor selling has been done by any of the dubs, but in certain instances agitation along this line has accomplished the same result. One of the clubs talked quite strongly of buying coal on the co-opera- tive plan, but before any action was taken, the matter was discussed with local dealers, who promptly modified their prices so that little would have been gained from a co-operative purchase. The dealers did not want to lose the trade, and they made arrangements with the club members so that they could handle the coal at a saving to themselves and to the users. The farmers agreed to get the coal from the cars, so that the dealers would not have to handle it nor store it, and they agreed to buy it on a cash basis. Members of the clubs have bought four cars of tankage. While the feed was not purchased in the name of any of the clubs, the men who bought it talked over their needs at the club meetings, and in this way got together when otherwise they probably would have con- tinued to buy in small quantities at higher prices. Mr. Davis says there is a growing interest in co-operative buy- ing, however, and that he expects this to be developed in the near future. Likewise there is a growing interest in co-operative selling, which has been done in an indirect way through the clubs. At the meeting, two or more members — in their natural course of conversation — get to talking about their cattle and hogs, and very frequently they arrange to ship at the same time. In this way, the club is a means to an end, getting individuals together for their mutual advantage. The average membership of Greene County clubs is about sixty-five, although the attendance oftens runs up to more than 200 persons. The Green Briar Club has about 225 members, and the North Junction Club grew to such proportions that it was thought advisable to divide the club. The Friendlich Club is an outgrowth of the THE AGENCIES 857 North Junction organization. When a club becomes too large, or tries to cover too great a territory, its work seems to be hampered. Mr. Davis likes to have each one centre its activities in a certain community or neighborhood where all members are within a reasonable radius. The plan gives individuals more responsibility, and they take a greater personal interest. The clubs have been of some benefit to rural churches in the county, and the churches have been of great benefit to the clubs. There is a movement for utilizing the churches for the social work of some of the clubs, and, in fact, one of the clubs is considering a church as its permanent head- quarters. The Pleasant Hill Club has held two or more meetings at the church in the district, and the Green Briar Club contemplates the remodelling of a church to fit its needs. In this case, a basement would be put under the church, and the meetings held there instead of at the homes of members. It is thought that this extension would add interest rather than detract from the religious life of the church organization. The basement as a meeting- place would have certain advantages over private homes, especially in serving suppers or in holding indoor pro- grammes and entertainments. Most of the clubs elect one of their members as its edi- torial representative or reporter. It is the duty of this officer to see that notices of meetings are published in the local papers, which have displayed a spirit of co-operation in boosting along the work. Local papers also are glad to publish brief accounts of meetings after they have been held, and to print news stories of those that are to be held. The publicity thus gained serves to keep up interest and to add to the life of the club. Another officer for which there seems to be a place is a librarian, and some of the clubs have elected a member to serve in this capacity. The librarian makes arrange- ments for getting reading-matter in the form of magazines or books, and also songs. Under the state travelling li- brary plan, it is possible for a club to borrow a selection of books for a month or longer. The only expense to the 858 THE RURAL COMMUNITY club is the transportation of the books to and from Des Moines. In making a selection, the librarian finds out from the members at one of the meetings about what titles will be most acceptable, and these are requested from the State library. The officer looks after the distribution of the volumes, and sees that they are turned in when an- other selection is to be requested. The plan really brings the facilities of a great city library within reach of every member of the club. The federation of the clubs and the county interests is an outgrowth of the individual clubs. The president of each community club is a director in the federation, and, besides these, the federation consists of the secre- taries of county commercial clubs and the superintendent of each school. A meeting of the federation is called when- ever occasion demands, Mrs. E. B. Wilson being presi- dent; C. W. Davis, vice-president, and H. C. Roelofsz, secretary-treasurer. Under the activities of the federa- tion, a gala day for Greene County was planned, this being arranged to come just after corn-planting, and before time to begin ploughing, also to be staged before the schools closed (May 24th and 25th). The community club work being pushed by Mr. Davis seems to be accomplishing much good for all interests concerned. It is awakening a renewed interest in com- munity life, providing amusement and entertainment on the farm, keeping the young folks at home, cementing closer ties of friendship between the old and the young, making old grudges disappear, and is building up the social life of the agricultural people of the county. THE AGENCIES 859 2. FARMERS' CLUBS BY L. O. LANTIS (From Extension BuUetin, Agricultural College, Ohio State University, 1917- 1918) Suggestions Concerning the Formation of Clubs 1. Do not form a club if there is an organization in the community that can do the necessary work. It will be far better to get the existing organization to take up the work. Sometimes a little effort will result in getting the desired movement started. Suppose a Grange is not very active and there is need for an active club in the community. It may often happen that the officers of the Grange will be ready to take up some proposed line of endeavor if the matter is clearly presented to them. If it succeeds, other plans will be easily made, because success in one thing leads to further plans. 2. It is not advisable to try to organize a club unless there is a demand for it. Sometimes a community is prompted to start an organization because a neighboring community has succeeded with an organization. Study the situation carefully, talk with the leading people in the area that will be concerned, and if there seems to be a place and a need for it, then proceed with the organiza- tion. 3. Make provision in the constitution so that all classes may be reached. The charge is sometimes brought against a group that it is a "rich man's club." There will be laborers and renters in the community and they must not be left out of consideration. They should be welcomed, and when officers are elected and committees chosen, they should be given representation. A community club is an agency for promoting human welfare, and therefore all people must be considered. 4. A club will not succeed unless it has something to do. People soon tire of an organization that exists merely so that a few persons may hold offices and have oppor- 86o THE RURAL COMMUNITY tunities in meetings to air their views on various ques- tions. Therefore, an organization should be "undertaken for some specific purpose" which can better be accom- plished through concerted action than through individual action. 5. The organization should be as simple in form as pos- sible. The object of the organization should be kept in the foreground and the organization itself should occupy a subordinate place. National Rural Organizations Wherever conditions will at all permit, it may be ad- visable to afHliate with some standard national rural or- ganization. Such affiliation increases the social efficiency of the club in state and national matters and brings contact with the larger organization movement, which stimulates local activity. Several rural organizations are found in Ohio. The one having the largest membership is the Grange. The Farmers' Union, The Farmers' Equity Union, The An- cient Order of Gleaners, and others have been established in the state. Information concerning any one of these organizations may be obtained by communicating with some one who is a member of the organization, or by corre- spondence with the College of Agriculture. Local Rural Organizations There are various types of local organizations found in all parts of the state. Many of them aid very greatly in promoting a wider acquaintance and greater sociability. They afford relief from the monotony which is too often found in rural communities. They also bring about re- forms and improvements in the community which are often very desirable. Among local clubs, the following may be mentioned: I. The Small Family Club. — It consists usually of twelve to eighteen families. The meetings are held at the homes THE AGENCIES 86 1 of members. Such clubs are so limited in number of mem- bers that they do not reach the most of the people in a neighborhood. 2. Farm Women's Club. — These clubs are a great help to women on the farm. They can discuss topics in which women are particularly interested and often undertake and carry to completion much-needed reforms in the com- munity. 3. Farmers' Club. — All farmers living in the community and their sons more than sixteen years old may be members of such a club. At the club meetings, questions pertaining to farm management, growing crops, raising stock, and other questions in which farmers are interested may be discussed. 4. Community Club. — Membership in such a club in- cludes all the families in the community and all the mem- bers of each family. One advantage of such a club is that a family is not separated, but father, mother, and chil- dren may participate in the meetings. 5. Farmers' Institute Club. — The Farmers' Institute is an organized body with officers. Where no organization exists, it may be advisable to form the Farmers' Institute Association into a permanent group for the purposes sug- gested in the above constitution. Why not have monthly meetings of the people who ordinarily attend the Institute and others who may be interested ? 6. Boys' and Girls' Club. — These clubs are organized un- der the supervision of W. H. Palmer, State Leader Boys' and Girls' Club Work, Extension Service, College of Agri- culture, The Ohio State University. The names of the clubs will show the objects for which they are organized. The following clubs were organized last year: Pig Grow- ing, Poultry, Dairy Cow Record, Home Making, Potato, Com, Tomato, and Clothing. Competent instructors are sent into the various counties to coach the boys and girls along the line in which they are interested. The County Fair Association often offers prizes and special induce- ments. Bankers, business firms, and individuals frequently offer prizes. County and district superintendents of schools 862 THE RURAL COMMUNITY usually aid In organizing the boys and girls. Printed in- structions for the organization of any kind of club will be sent to those asking for them. Definite Community Projects Much community welfare work is ineffective because it is made up of the expression of ideals and theories. If a community organization is to be a success, there must be well-understood things to talk about and things to do. The following suggestions as to what may be done are not theoretical, but are a summary of successful accom- plishment: I. Education. — The federal and State governments have given liberal support to extension work carried on under the auspices of the State College of Agriculture. The money that is provided is largely expended in farmers' institutes, extension schools, and various kinds of club and demonstration work for the rural communities. The services of the Extension Department are available at State expense to any rural community as far as the facili- ties of the Department will permit. A local club can corre- spond with the Director of Extension Service at the College of Agriculture in regard to arranging for an extension school, securing speakers for public meetings, or arrang- ing for demonstration work. In addition to providing educational features of the club meetings, the club may do some of the following things : (o) Co-operate with the school-teachers and superintendents in getting adequate public library facilities. (&) Devote a part of the programme from time to time to the discussion of school matters. (c) Visit the school, note condition of the grounds, buildings, and equipment, the kind of work being done, and study how the school plant may be made more efficient for community service. The leaders in public school work are, as a rule, in sym- pathetic accord with modern movements toward making the school function in the life of the entire community, and welcome organized community support of what they wish to do. THE AGENCIES 863 (d) Assist by permitting the use of the farm or home plant, stock and machinery as a school laboratory. (c) Work for ample playground space and equipment. (/) Co-operate in local school fairs, exhibits, etc. (g) Provide a lecture course. (A) Plan for medical inspection of school children. (i) Co-operate with the school in arranging a suitable pro- gramme for holidays and special days: e. g., a patriotic pro- gramme on Washington's birthday. (j) Help to organize a chorus or an orchestra in the community. Either of these will be a great help in the meetings of the club. 2. Health and Sanitation. — A club may work along the following lines : (a) Assist in conducting a survey of health and sanitary con- ditions in the community. (6) Plan for courses in public health and home sanitation to be given by physicians or representatives of public health as- sociations. (c) Co-operate with other agencies in planning for community nurses, physicians, hospitals. (d) Plan for adequate medical inspection of school children. (e) Insist upon standards of purity in food supplies purchased. (/) Discussion of installation of a water system in a farm home. 3. Community Beautification and Improvement. — Orderly and well-considered outdoor beautification in communities has a financial value and arouses pride in the community. Some of the following things may be done: (a) Plan community improvement days. (Jb) Organize programmes for uniform beautification of public highways through common planting of community selected types of trees. (c) Plan artistic bridges, culverts, guide-posts, etc. \d) Arrange for wholesale purchase of standard seed for beau- tifying lawns, barnyards, etc. \e) Improve churchyards, cemeteries, buildings. (/) Plan discussions of community improvement. (g) Plan for preservation of natural bits of landscape and the marking of historical spots. (/[) Plan for elimination of dangerous railway crossings. \i) Discuss the road situation in the community. Persons familiar with road building, as county surveyors or commis- 864 THE RURAL COMMUNITY sioners, should be invited to address the club and to answer questions that may be raised. 4. Recreation and Social Life. — In many communities, the young people complain that there is a scarcity of social entertainment. The isolation in the country is the cause of discontent not only among the boys and girls but also among the older people. Men and women who learn to play together, easily work together and they remain young. In some communities, the clubs are carrying on activities along the lines mentioned below: {a) Plan for recreation facilities under proper auspices for both village and rural communities. (6) Community picnics. Make arrangements for an interest- ing programme of games or contests. There will be people of all ages present and entertainment for all must be considered. (c) Homecomings and reunions of pupils who formerly at- tended the district school may be made very enjoyable affairs, if carefully planned. {d) Literary and musical entertainments, training in folk- songs, plays, pageants, etc., tend to promote a wholesome social life among those participating in them. (c) Plcm for community camping-grounds. (/) Discuss plans for securing a community house or hall which may be used for club meetings, as a place for athletic teams to practise, for holding farmers' institutes, and all meetings that will help to solve the moral and social problems of the small communities. 5. Home Economics. — Professor Carver says: "One of the most powerful forces driving people from the country to the city is the lack of household conveniences in the country homes." Therefore, the club which can find ways of getting these conveniences in the homes of its members will do a great deal toward checking the movement from country to city. Under certain conditions, it seems advisable that women should have their own separate organization. Sometimes, a separate programme for women at the time of meeting of the community organization seems advisable. There are many topics that might be discussed and plans for com- munity improvement that might be profitably considered. THE AGENCIES S65 The following activities are suggested: (a) Contest in bread-making among the club members, hav- ing the exhibit and judging at the regular meeting time or as a special feature of some open meeting. (Judging done by use of score-card.) (b) Co-operation with the school in conducting a food ex- hibit and contest. (c) Aid in serving a hot lunch for the school children. (As- sistance given by Extension Service, College of Agriculture, Ohio State University.) (d) Demonstration of canning vegetables and fruits. (e) Collection of textile samples for a permanent exhibit for the school or library. (/) Fitting up a rest-room in town for the country women. (g) Practical plans for improving methods of disposing of human wastes at public places and at home. (ft) Arrange for a Child Welfare Exhibit. (Assistance given by Children's Bureau, U. S. Department of Labor, Washington, D. C, and by State Board of Health, Columbus, Ohio.) (i) Plan an exhibit showing need for caring for the teeth. (As- sistance given by State Board of Health, Columbus, Ohio.) (J) Co-operate with the school in planning home-work for children that can be credited at school. (k) Help equip a playground. (Assistance given by Play- ground and Recreation Association, i Madison Ave., New York City, N. Y., and by Recreation Department, Russell Sage Foun- dation, New York City, N. Y.) (/) Collection of old furniture, costumes, utensils, etc., for a permanent community exhibit. (m) Discussion of wall decorations and furniture for the farm home. CONSTITUTION AND BY-LAWS FOR A RURAL COMMUNITY CLUB Constitution Article I — Name The name of this Club shall be the Community Welfare Club of Article II — Purpose The purpose of the Club shall be to arrange social and edu- cational meetings; to study ways and means for the promotion 866 THE RURAL COMMUNITY of community welfare; and to provide facilities for community action in effecting social and economic improvement. Article III — Membership Any person in the community is eligible to become a member of this club upon giving his or her name to any member of the executive committee. When approved for membership by a majority vote at any regular meeting, said person shall be de- clared a member. Article IV — Officers There shall be the following officers : a president, a vice-presi- dent, a secretary, and a treasurer. Article V — Duties of Officers Section i. President. It shall be the duty of the president to preside at all meetings of the club, and also to serve as chair- man of the executive committee of the club. Section 2. Vice-President. It shall be the duty of the vice- president to preside at the meetings of the club in the absence or at the request of the president. Section 3. Secretary. It shall be the duty of the secretary to keep the minutes of the proceedings of the club; to keep a list of the active members; to receive names of new members; to carry on the correspondence of the club; and to fulfil such other duties as usually pertain to this office. Section 4. Treasurer. It shall be the duty of the tresisurer to collect and disburse the money of the club; to keep a record of all money received, spent, and on hand; and to report upon the state of the treasury at the annual meeting, or whenever called upon to do so. Article VI — Committees There shall be three standing committees of the club, namely.: The Executive Committee, the Programme Committee, and the Social Improvement Committee. Special Committees may be appointed at any meeting. Article VII — Duties of Committees Section i. Executive Committee. The Executive Committee shall consist of the elected officers of the club. This committee shall confer upon questions regarding the welfare of the club, and shall consider and recommend matters of importance to the club. Section 2. Programme Committee. The Programme Com- mittee shall consist of three members chosen in such manner THE AGENCIES 867 as the club may direct. It shall be the duty of this committee to arrange programmes for all meetings of the club, to secure speakers, and to get the local newspapers to publish programmes and accounts of meetings. Section 3. Social Improvement Committee. The Social Im- provement Committee shall consist of five members chosen in such manner as the club may direct. This committee shall have supervision of projects pertaining to the social development of the community. It shall co-operate with the Programme Com- mittee in arranging for picnics, field-days, and similar meetings. Article VIII — Meetings The club shall hold regular meetings in such manner as the by-laws may direct. Article IX — Quorum One-third of the membership shall constitute a quorum for the transaction of business. Article X — Amendments This constitution may be amended at any regular meeting of the club by a two-thirds vote, provided that the proposed amendment shall have been laid before the club at the regular meeting next preceding. BY-LAWS 1 . The annual membership fee shall be , payable quarterly. 2. An annual business meeting shall be held 3. Regular meetings shall be held 4. The officers of the club shall be elected for one year at the annual meeting, and their term of office shall begin immediately at the close of said meeting. 5. Speeches from the floor are limited to minutes and the time may be extended only by unanimous con- sent. 6. No speaker may have the floor a second time unless all others who wish to speak have had an opportunity to do so. 7. These by-laws may be amended by a majority vote at any regular meeting of the club, provided that the proposed amend- ment shall have been laid before the club at the regular meet- ing next preceding. 8. Roberts' Rules of Order (or some similar book) shall be the authority for settling disputed points not covered by this constitution and these by-laws. 868 THE RURAL COMMUNITY ORDER OF BUSINESS The order of business in all regular meetings of the club shall be as follows: 1. Social half hour. 2. Call to order. 3. Song. 4. Reading minutes of previous meeting. 5. Report of special committees. 6. Report of standing committees. 7. Treasurer's report. 8. Unfinished business. 9. New business. 10. Special programme. 11. Adjournment. SUGGESTIONS CONCERNING THE OFFICERS AND MEETINGS 1. The officers must do their work in accordance with the constitution and by-laws and parliamentary law. 2. The president should be a leader in the community. He should have tact and be able to arouse enthusiasm for the work the club is doing. 3. The secretary should keep neat and accurate minutes of all meetings. 4. The treasurer's accounts should be carefully examined by an auditing committee, annually. 5. The committee that arranges the programmes should make all arrangements far enough in advance of the meeting to give adequate time for preparation to those who will have a place on the programme. 6. Try to start the meetings on time and make them snappy and interesting. THE AGENCIES 869 ///. THE COUNCIL 1. FORMS OF ORGANIZATION BY WALTER BURR (From "Community Welfare in Kansas,'' Extension Bulletin, No. 4. The Kansas Agriculture College, 1915) Organization Forms The question arises in the mind of the local leader, What form of organization will best serve for community-welfare accomplishment in any town or neighborhood ? The an- swer will depend quite largely upon organized conditions already present. From the standpoint of rural organized conditions, communities divide into three classes: (i) un- organized; (2) overorganized ; (3) unified in one organi- zation. I. UNORGANIZED COMMUNITY It sometimes happens that a neighborhood is recognized as a coherent community, and yet at a given time it has no organizations, either religious, economic, or social. In such a neighborhood the organization for community welfare is to be built on its own foundation. Where this unorganized condition prevails nothing can be better than to organize at once a Community Welfare Club. II. OVERORGANIZED COMMUNITY It frequently is found that the rural community already has too many organizations, and that to organize another would mean to add just one more failure. A certain Kan- sas town that comes to mind is typical of a great many others — a town in which they have, aside from a sufficient number of churches, lodges, etc., a Parent-Teachers' As- sociation, a Playground Association, A Woman's Civic 870 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Improvement Club, and a Welfare League. A minister in an agricultural community with a town centre of seventy- five in population reports that a survey revealed in that PLAN OF CONDUCTING COMMUNITY WELFARE ACTIVITIES IN LOCAL RURAL COMMUNITIES IN KANSAS COHMUMCATION ANO rHOWSPOHTATlOW Kansas State Agricultural College Rural Service Department. small community sixteen organizations for social and religious purposes. One must grant the right of any small group to organize THE AGENCIES 87 1 any kind of a society or club, with purposes economic, social, religious, or educational; and in a sense each such organization has a certain interest in the welfare of the whole community. But in such an overorganized con- dition those who are interested in the community welfare movement are in danger of making one of two mistakes: (i) They may attempt to have one of the existing organi- zations undertake, exclusively, the community welfare work. Now, no one organization in the community has a right to take to itself this prerogative; the others naturally resent such presumption, and may either oppose the movement or else duplicate efforts in the same com- munity. There is so much that needs to be done that it would be sad indeed if well-minded people were forced either to oppose the doing of good things or to duplicate the efforts of others in the sam.e field. (2) The other mis- take that may be made is to launch a new society in the already overorganized community, such 21s a community welfare club. It must at once be looked upon as an in- truder in the field, and as assuming to do things which the others could not do. The solution of the problem in such an overorganized condition is found in the Community Council. The fol- lowing is quoted from the report of the American Com- mission on Agricultural Co-operation and Rural Credit in Europe, in their recommendations with regard to Amer- ican rural communities: Just as it is important for individuals to work together for their common ends, so it is important for associations to work together. So far as possible, for example, let all of the farm- improvement societies in a community or district co-operate wherever they have interests in common. Let all co-operative business societies federate wherever they can. Let all of the different associations for improvement of country life come to- gether and talk over things they have in common. And finally, so far as practicable, bring together all of these interests, whether they are chiefly concerned with better farming, better business, or better living, and see if, after all, they are not working for precisely the same large end and have not many things in com- mon, 872 THE RURAL COMMUNITY No one yet knows just the best method of accomplishing this, but a plan is being tried in some parts of the country that is worth suggesting, at any rate. It is as follows: Organize a council in each rural neighborhood, the boundaries of which are agreed upon. This council is made up of represen- tatives of all of the associations and institutions in the neigh- borhood, such as credit unions, co-operative societies, granges, farmers' unions, school board, women's clubs, etc.; let every agency or institution interested primarily in community better- ment have a place in the council. The work of the council is to hold community meetings, appoint committees, and in other ways to try to accomplish the following objects: 1. To create the "community idea" ; that is, the idea of "each for all and all for each." 2. To make a study of the needs of the community in farm matters, in business matters, and in living matters, and out of this study to make a plan of community improvement which includes both those things that can be done at once and those improvements that will take a long time to accomplish. 3. To assist and encourage any new organization in the com- munity that may be necessary or desirable in order that all the problems of the community may be, if possible, worked out to a successful solution. A way to proceed in the development of the community- council plan is suggested as follows: 1. Let any leader or group call a public meeting for consideration of the needs of community development. 2. Let those present at the meeting elect a committee of three to secure representatives from the various organ- ized bodies as members of the Community Council for one year, and to call a meeting of such representatives for or- ganization. 3. The request for a representative on the Community Council should be presented, by the committee elected for that purpose, to each organization in the community. Such an organization should, if it decides to co-operate, appoint a representative, who should be accepted as a member of the Community Council. 4. These representatives should organize under the name of "The Community Council," with chairman, treasurer, and secretary. 5. The business of the council is to conduct community THE AGENCIES 873 meetings for the discussion of projects for community welfare, and, through subcommittees which the council should elect from time to time, to carry to completion projects that have been thoroughly discussed. 6. Prior to the close of each year of service of the council, that body should call a community meeting, at which meet- ing a committee of three should be appointed to have rep- resentatives chosen by existing organizations to compose the Community Council for the ensuing year. These representatives should meet and organize as designated in article 4, and become the recognized Community Coun- cil for the ensuing year. III. UNIFIED IN ONE ORGANIZATION It sometimes occurs that the life of a community is al- ready unified in an organization that is entirely satisfac- tory. This may be a church, grange, farm and home in- stitute, or farmers' union. In such a case it would be unnecessary to perfect a new organization, and it would be preferable to establish a community welfare depart- ment of the existing organization. For this purpose either the community welfare club or the community council plan may be adapted to use. Where the welfare club plan is used, the constitution for that organization may simply be changed to designate the department instead of the club. Minor changes may also be made to adjust the plan to customary procedure of the organization establishing such a department. Where the community council plan is used, that body resolves itself into a community welfare commission, ap- pointed by the existing organization, and having super- vision, for a definite period, of the welfare work of the or- ganization. The author considers that the department plan should be used only when the community is already unified in one organization, or when only one organization can be prevailed upon to undertake the community welfare proj- ects. 874 the rural community Uniformity in Rural Organization In developing rural organization in America, the writer feels that it is quite desirable that there should be a uni- form national plan. One realizes how difficult a task it is, in a nation like ours, to develop any plan that has a national uniformity. However, if those who in their local communities organize for rural welfare will study care- fully the diagram on page 24 (which is worked out after the plan of Doctor Carver's bulletin prepared for the Na- tional Office of Markets and Rural Organization) they will discover how readily any organization can adapt it- self to that plan. It is not too much to hope that the time will come when in every rural community in America there will be an organized life (under whatever name) which will work with reference to the three fundamental factors in rural organization: (i) The central body; (2) the public forum; (3) definite rural community projects. To the extent that we bring about this condition will we build a prosperous and happy rural America, and the State that leads in giving permanency and uniformity to rural organizations will confer a lasting favor upon all the States. May that State be Kansas ! 2. THE COMMUNITY COUNCIL BY E. L. MORGAN (From Mass. Agr. College, Extension Bulletin, No. 23. " Mobilizing the Rural Community," September, 1918) The Need During the past few years enough has transpired to emphasize the specific problems involved in the develop- ment of an adequate system of agriculture and country living. While all these problems, involving the various phases of agriculture, public health, education, the home, recreation, transportation, etc., present numerous technical aspects peculiar to each, still it is apparent that, because THE AGENCIES 875 WHAT ONE COMMUNITY FOUND ORGANIZATIONS SELF-CENTERED rUTEIUIIV CLUB i WOHENS GROUP I WOMENS k GROUP IV •^UlIllCH l/ v HOtffE:BE/Vc f' NO COMMUNfTY PURPOSE OR PROGRAM S^PUBUC \ ^ piJBLIC ^ Vgbxnbe 1 ] -D \ BOARD OF JO ^ tr*de/ IMPROVEHENr ^usocuTioy SCHOOL OFFICIAU This chart is exa^erated to lend emphasis, but it gives a true picture of the general tendency among local organizations to put their own selfish inter- ests first, and the lack of planning for the future on the part of the aver- age town. 876 THE RURAL COMMUNITY there is so great an interdependence among them, it will not be possible to achieve the necessary larger develop- ment without a careful co-ordination of all the elements involved. Many efforts at progress have failed because the whole job to be done had not been taken into account. Almost every town in the State is doing one or two good things, but there is generally lacking a well-balanced movement which takes account of all interests of the community and in a businesslike way brings about the development of each. In Massachusetts the township is the natural local unit. Things are done as a town. It is the form of local govern- ment. There may be a number of neighborhoods within a township but in most cases their interests blend into the larger community of interest. The person living in the most remote section of the town has as much interest in public affairs and is as much a part of them as those living at the centre. This being true, the natural group unit for the larger interests is usually the town. In this bulletin the terms, community and town, are used interchangeably. Those things by which the people live — agriculture, education, public morality, etc., must be stimulated and developed. These interests are usually represented by organizations of some sort, such as the grange, the farmers' club, the school, the church, etc. This being true, the only practical approach to these larger interests lies through the machinery or organizations the people themselves have set up. Most towns have a considerable number of these or- ganizations and the lines of cleavage are often very marked. These groups become self-centred, having no community spirit, little interest or consideration for other groups and no responsibility for the general well-being. Among towns having a number of organizations there is enough similarity in the general condition of relationships that we may think of Diagram, page 875, as typical. Tlie community is here represented by a double circle, the outer one representing the boundary of the community. It also presents the THE AGENCIES 877 community as a unit. The inner circle is intended to de- scribe the common ground or natural working basis of all the groups represented around the larger circle. In this case the way to the common ground is blocked by Prejudice, Indifference, Cross Purposes, and Misunder- standing. The unwillingness of farmers to work together and com- bine their interests is one of the limiting factors in the development of agriculture. We must put this community idea into our thinking and planning. We must see the community as a unit whose future welfare can and must be planned in advance. There must be developed a strong, virile, aggressive community, the dominant spirit of which is "all for each and each for all." The community at its best must be the goal. The need, then, may be thought of as: — 1. A get-together of local groups for mutual under- standing and an appreciation of the work to be done. This is the first step toward progress. 2. A practical, comprehensive, accurate plan for future development worked out by the people of the community, this to be based on actual needs. 3. The applying of this long-term plan or programme as fast as local circumstances will justify. What Has Been Done The need for a thorough organization of rural affairs has been recognized in some form in most sections of the country. The States Relations Service of the United States Department of Agriculture has been giving attention to it in the various States. The variety of conditions in the different sections of the country naturally calls for some differences in the form and method of the local get-together unit, but taken as a whole they are the expression of a nation-wide movement for the development and maintenance of a solid, substan- tial community as the best means of achieving an adequate agriculture and country life. 878 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Massachusetts was probably the first State to give at- tention to this work in an organized way. The develop- ment here has been primarily agricultural and has had a natural growth. It was started some eight or nine years ago in one community which with the assistance of the Agricultural College undertook a thorough organization of its affairs. From this as a beginning the calls upon the College for community direction increased until in 1912 WHAT THIS COMMUNITY NOW HAS A LONG-TERM PROGRAM — This chart, although exaggerated to give emphasis, shows the goal toward which the community should work — a definite working programme with all groups bound together for the common good. THE AGENCIES 879 a man was appointed who has given his time to this work. It has been the policy to co-operate with those towns which make definite requests. The service rendered is in the form of advice and always follows the expressed desire of the people for action. The development of agriculture is almost always the first item taken up. This work is developed through the Farm Bureaus by means of a co- operative project in community organization between the Farm Bureau and the Agricultural College. In Massachusetts where most towns have a number of local organizations a form of joint committee or community council is being used. (See page 893 for plan.) It has seemed better to unite existing groups for work than to bring about something entirely new which would be an additional bur- den to an already overloaded community. The council leads community committees in a thorough study of the town and in the working out of a three to five years plan or programme of town development, made up of specific projects in farm production, farm business, conservation, boys' and girls' interests, and community life, *'. e., educa- tion, the home, public health, civic affairs, recreation, transportation, etc. The carrying out of this programme is done by local organizations co-operating through the council. Most of the other States have given some attention to this work, the direction in some instances being given from the State Board of Education, in others from the Extension Service of the Agricultural College, similar to that of Maissachusetts. In certain sections a beginning has been made through the grange, the farmers' club, the community league, the community centre and other agencies. Where these various forms of work have been in operation for some time, im- provement is reported in agriculture, education, roads, health, recreation, etc. In these instances very little at- tention has been given to bringing existing forces together. It has been rather the work of a given organization doing very good things but taking very little account of other agencies in the same community. 880 THE RURAL COMMUNITY A Report from a Few Massachusetts Towns The following are a few of the towns that are working together to bring about a thorough organization of local affairs. They are seeking to co-ordinate all local agencies and to plan for future development in a sane, businesslike manner. The development of farm production and farm business has been the chief item of interest and has re- ceived the most attention in every case. In most towns this is a matter that will take time. Many of the other things have been done merely because people got the idea of having their community at its best and saw certain things that needed attention at once. Becket. — ^Various organizations of the community came together and exchanged working plans. This brought about a better working harmony among them. Boys' and Girls' Agricultural and Home Economics Club work has interested the young people of the community. An agricultural fair was organized which brought to- gether things made or grown in the town. An all-year-round programme of agricultural institutes, lectures and demonstrations was a great stimulus to agri- culture. Attention was given to recreation. Such activities as baseball, basket-ball, and picnics were well planned for. A new interest in pure-bred live stock has resulted in the purchase by farmers of a number of pure-bred in- dividuals. Last year a campaign among farmers resulted in a greatly increased acreage of corn and beans. Brimfield. — Various Committees of the Community Council worked out plans which were reported at a mass- meeting, many of which were adopted as the community's working programme. Co-operation with the Hampden County Improvement League has brought many farm lectures and demonstra- tions and has resulted in an added interest in agriculture as an industry. THE AGENCIES 88 1 A Farmers' Co-operative Exchange was organized for the purchase and sale of supplies and products. Special attention has been given to the celebration of July 4th, Labor Day, Christmas, etc. Organized play and recreation was arranged for the children under paid leadership. The women of the community meet frequently in the study of home affairs. Last year special food production plans resulted in an increased acreage of the staple crops. Montague. — The organizations of the community came together for a mutual understanding and have continued to co-operate in community affairs. The Street Railway Company was interviewed con- cerning adequate service for school children, the result being a decided improvement. A local committee co-operated with the Boston and Maine Railroad Company in the improvement of the sta- tion grounds and lighting. Agricultural extension schools, lectures, and demonstra- tions have greatly stimulated interest in agriculture. Special attention has been given to boys' and girls' agri- cultural and home-making clubs, the result being the en- rollment of a large number in this work. A local committee raised funds to purchase a fire truck which has reduced the insurance rates for the town. A weekly village calendar is published which gives the events for the coming week, together with other informa- tion of value to people of the town. Petersham. — The Community Council has given special attention to the bringing together of local organizations. The celebration of public events is a thing which is now well planned for here. A Farmers' Co-operative Exchange was organized to handle farm business interests, a survey being made which shows the agricultural possibilities of the town. Last year a fund was raised which enabled a committee to purchase 31 tons of fertilizer and 165 bushels of seed potatoes and a considerable quantity of beans, Canada 882 THE RURAL COMMUNITY com, buckwheat, and peas for seed. From this supply 80 farmers secured part or all of their fertilizer and seeds. A Home-Making Club has been organized in which the women of the town meet to study the various problems connected with the home. Walpole. — The exchange of plans and projects between the large number of organizations in the town has been of very great value in avoiding overlapping and stimulating co-operation. A committee after working a year and a half with the assistance of a landscape architect reported a plan for the physical development of the town which was adopted at the town meeting. Special attention has been given to boys' and girls' home garden work, the result being the interesting of a large number of children. An agricultural-development plan which included co- operation between farms and manufacturers has resulted in an increased acreage of crops. A public market was established which has brought the producer and consumer together to the advantage of both. A committee reported a town finance plan which was adopted by the town at its regular town meeting. A road-development plan was adopted which provided for the opening of some new roads, the closing of others, and the care and maintenance of all. Hardwick. — This town was one of the very first to give attention to organization and, perhaps, has developed the plan a little farther than some others. For this reason the larger mention is made of its achievements. The local organizations of the community came to- gether for mutual help and planning through a com- munity council. A co-operative buying and selling association was or- ganized among farmers in 1914, and has been of great value to the town. A definite, thorough, practical long-term plan of de- velopment was worked out by the community. THE AGENCIES 883 An orchard-pruning and spraying campaign was started which reached most of the orchards in the town. The result was a new and lasting interest in fruit growing. The White Wyandottes were adopted as the breed of poultry for the town, the local demonstration farm being the centre for breeding stock. A community horse shed, accommodating 20 teams and costing $1,600 was built by the public, assisted by special gifts. Much of the work was donated. Provision was made for boys' and girls' club work. This has included garden, canning, and home-making clubs, Boy Scouts, Camp-Fire Girls, etc. The farmers decided that pure-bred cattle were worth while. Holsteins were chosen as the breed for that town. NvnBEH OF" PvHt BaED HOLSItlNS _2A sa il_ A very marked increase in the number of pure-breds was made in three years. A community day was held at which seventy-two head of pure-bred Holsteins and a number of pens of White Wyandottes, which have been brought into the town dur- ing the last three years, were exhibited. • A landscape architect was secured to plan the develop- ment of the common. The plan shown on the next page was adopted and is being carried out. Farm demonstration projects were carried on in top dressing hay land, poultry management and live stock breeding. Local dramatics were revived and have given the young people of the town new opportunities. When the town got the work-together idea it brought 884 THE RURAL COMMUNITY about a union of two churches (Congregational and Uni- versalist) under one minister. (Write pastor of the Fed- erated Church for plan.) Definite plans have been carried out for the community celebration of public events — Christmas, Memorial Day, July 4th. Once a year the community gets together to hear re- Plan of Common ports of the work done during the past year and to con- sider projects for the coming year. How TO Organize Your Community It is impossible to set up any one particular way of or- ganizing a community and expect it to work in every de- tail in all parts of the State. The thing needed is for the town to get clearly in mind the idea that the most efficient method must be used, and, owing to varying local condi- tions, each community has its own starting-point at which the beginning must be made, that it is only through co- operation and united action that agriculture and com- THE AGENCIES 885 munity life are going to be developed and that the goal to be attained is the community united and working to- gether in the carrying out of a definite, practical, long- term plan of development along those lines of greatest interest. (See what some communities are doing, pages 880-884.) The most successful communities have found the fol- lowing principles to be indispensable in their develop- ment: 1. In any redirection of rural interests the community is the natural unit of activity. 2. The progress of the rural community represents one problem and one only. This problem has a number of phases but they are all parts of the whole and must be dealt with as such if substantial progress is to be made. 3. Improvement plans must be based on actual farm and village conditions. They must be based on facts — guessing must be eliminated. 4. Those things by which the people live must be ade- quately organized if substantial community progress is to be brought about. These are usually expressed through local organizations, unorganized group interests or both. This does not mean that something new must be organized. It means that the various elements of the community must get into the best possible working relation to each other so they will become an harmonious working unit — the team-work idea. There are three forms which have been used in this State, each one applying to different conditions. The first two are thought of as stepping-stones toward the third. I. The Local Leader. — There are many towns in which there is very little interest in matters of progress. In these cases about the only possibility lies in the efforts of a few local leaders to awaken general interest by bringing about some special events which will be sufficiently interesting to create a desire for something of a more permanent na- ture. In some towns a teacher, minister, farmer, or doc- tor has been the local leader and by working through the 886 THE RURAL COMMUNITY school, church, grange, or farmers' club has produced valuable results. Some of these results have been: A farmers' institute. A community day. Pure-bred live stock improvement. Community celebrations — Christmas, July 4th, Thanks- giving. Plays and pageants. A public forum. A town agricultural fair and exhibit. The keeping of farm accounts. Home and public-grounds improvement contest. II. The Group Plan. — In every town there are people whose interests are the same and who can work together for particular improvements with the community idea AnovMT or bvsmtss Done: 5y hmiti Exchanqe %\ax}aa. ^^anoo jU^^^Qfl l^OQAa 1914 1915 1916 1917 in mind before it is possible to get the town as a whole together on a larger and more thorough development plan. This is called the group plan of work. It differs from the first in that it is not usually done through existing organi- zations but often results in the forming of a new organiza- tion for some specific purpose. Like the first plan, it should be thought of as a step toward the larger and more complete community development. Some things that have been done under this plan are: Formation of a farmers' co-operative exchange for buy- ing and selling. The third year business amounted to I2 1, 000. THE AGENCIES 887 Organization of a home-makers' club directed by the women's section of the farm bureau. Starting of a cow test association. Organization of a co-operative creamery. Formation of a local breeders' association. III. The Community Council. — ^As has been stated, the two plans just mentioned should not be thought of as the end. They are good, in and of themselves and well worth doing, but let us not lose sight of the fact that the work to be done requires an all-around community develop- ment. It may be necessary to do these specific pieces of work but let us think of them as a part of the preparation for a complete organization of the community. We be- lieve the following to be the more complete plan. It is the result of several years' trial in this State and has been an evolution bom of the experience of common folks. It will always need to be adapted to local conditions ' but ' The community council idea will apply in all cases where the community is ready to come together. In communities having few or no local organiza- tions the particular plan for forming the council here presented will need to be modified to make it apply to a particular case. The general principles involved, however, remain the same. Our experience has been that the fol- lowing change in the formation of the council and in the work of the com- mittees makes the general plan applicable to the communities of the type just referred to, viz: Choose a community council from among the represen- tative people of the town, being careful that the real leaders are included and that they represent the various interests. Secure representatives from such organizations as exist. The total number should not be less than six or more than ten. This group then assumes all the functions of the council as men- tioned under 3 page 888. The committees do the same work indicated under 5 page 89, and in addition are working committees and serve throughout the year carrying out the various projects. The name "community council" should be used in all cases in order that there may be uniformity over the State. It has been in use long enough so that people have come to think of it as the community counselling together for ics best long-term development. It should be clearly understood that in following this modification of the original method the salient points of com- munity organization remain the same and must be the basis of work done, viz. : (o) a general get-together of the people, (6) through study of local con- ditions, (c) definite development projects, (d) the carrying out of these projects as fast as local conditions warrant. Do not forget that any effort to apply the community council plan to communities where there are few organizations should be made with this exception in mind and the original plan adapted accordingly. 888 THE RURAL COMMUNITY the principles (page 885) are the same. The steps usually taken are: 1. Conference of a Few. Some local leader should call together one representative from each local organiza- tion or group and a few at large to consider : (a) The pos- sibilities of and benefits to be derived from a general get-together for definite planning of the future of the com- munity. (&) Whether the town cares to put in the neces- sary time, money, and brains to produce results or whether it prefers to let "well enough" alone and let the future take care of itself. At this time it is best to have some one present from the Farm Bureau or Agricultural College to tell of the success of other towns and make clear the necessary steps. 2. Organization Representatives.^ These repre- sentatives should report to their respective organizations, each of which should appoint one permanent representa- tive to become a part of the joint committee or council of organizations." (Model plan, page 893.) There should also be chosen three or more members at large. This coun- cil is not another organization. It is merely the co-ordina- tion of all local interests for united action. 3. The First Work. There are three specific things which a community council should do at first: (c) Bring about a thorough understanding among the various local organizations as to just what each is doing, viz. : Get a statement of the present purpose of each or- ganization. ' Large place may appear to be given to the mechanical bringing together of local organizations. This is true, but let it be clearly understood that it is only as a means to the end which is the building up of those things by which the people live. Organizations are used by local people as vehicles to further those interests they hold to be vital. Most towns have a number of these. Some of them have become rather inactive, but experience has shown the wisdom of bringing together and stimulating these pieces of machinery which the people themselves have set up from time to time rather than forming a new agency entirely independent of these, which would in many instances duplicate the work of some of them. ' Diagram, page 889. THE AGENCIES 889 WHAT THIS COMMUNITY DID IT MOBILIZED FOR RESULTS This chart shows the actual steps taken by the community in mobilizing its forces and developing a practical working programme. 890 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Exchange plans of work for the next six months. Work out a calendar of gatherings of every sort for the next six months. Arrange these chrono- logically so that conflicts may be avoided. (b) Take up any specific items of community interest which should receive immediate attention. Consider special problems in agriculture or com- munity life that need to be met at once. Develop plans for community celebrations such as: Christmas, July 4th, Labor Day, Thanksgiving, etc. Plans to be carried out by local organizations, not by the council. (c) Call in representatives of county organizations and ascertain what work they are prepared to co- operate in for your town. These should include: District Officer of the State Department of Health. The Farm Bureau or Improvement League. Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children. County Young Men's Christian Association. County Nursing Association. The Boy Scouts and others. 4. The First Community Meeting. Plenty of time should be allowed to insure a perfect understanding among the local organizations. Sometimes this takes a year, but it is time well spent. After the items mentioned in (3) pages 888-890 have been achieved the council should begin to consider the larger planning for the community. Call a community meeting to consider the questions men- tioned under (i) page 888 and these only. A chairman and secretary should be elected and all mention of specific items of improvement avoided at this time, as it may often reopen old issues and arouse antago- nism just at the time when the greatest harmony is needed. It will be found worth while to have some one present from a town that has made a success of community organiza- tion. The whole matter should be thoroughly discussed from all possible angles and a vote taken to determine whether the people really desire to go aheadt THE AGENCIES 89 1 5. Committees. If action is favorable, a few com- mittees should be appointed. It is better to have a few general committees with sub-committees. The follow- ing* have been found sufficient for all practical purposes: — (o) Farm Production — soil, crops, animals. (6) Farm Business — farm supplies, sale of products, credit, farm records and accounts, surveys. (c) Conservation — purchase and use of food, canning, drying and storing, fuel supply, natural resources, points of scenic and historical value. (d) Boys' and Girls' Interests — schools, educational clubs, social clubs, moral training, plays, and games. (e) Community Life — the home, education, health, transportation, recreation, civic improvement, public morality. These committees should be asked to do three things: (c) Study the town thoroughly along their respective lines. (6) Call in whatever help can be secured from State and county organizations, boards and institutions, (c) Work out two or three practical projects for improvement which will be submitted to the second mass meeting. These projects should be based on actual needs. 6. The Second Community Meeting. This should be merely an unofficial town meeting. The chairman of the first mass meeting should preside. The committee chairman should report their projects which should be taken up separately and put to a vote just like an article in the town warrant. While there will be nothing official or binding in this vote, still it will give sufficient attention to each project to prevent worthless ones being passed. Here again everybody should have his say, for it is better for opposition to appear now than later. Do not forget that a community will go no farther nor faster in its de- * In some communities it is advisable to combine the committees on farm production and farm business into one committee on agriculture. 892 THE RURAL COMMUNITY velopment than the majority of the people both see and believe. 7. The Community Plan or Programme. Such proj- ects as are adopted become the community's working programme. It should comprise some projects which can be carried out at once and others which will require a period of years. The projects adopted are turned over to the community council, which acts as their custodian and directs their carrying out. 8. Getting Results. The local organizations carry out the specific projects.^ As their representatives come together in the council they either choose or by general consent are asked to become responsible for definite things. They do this, knowing that they will have the sympathy and support of other organizations and also that they will be expected to produce results. If there are projects which no organization can carry on, such as co-operative buying and selling, it may be necessary to organize a new group to do this work. 9. Council Meetings. The council should meet regu- larly every three months, with special meetings as neces- sity requires. These meetings should be real conferences on the most important community matters. Reports should be made of work done by the various organizations, concerning the projects adopted and carried out by them. The remaining projects should be gone over to ascertain whether any of them can be begun during the coming three months. Other matters than the specific projects often come up at this time and receive consideration. 10. The Annual Community Meeting. Instead of one of the quarterly meetings of the council there should be a meeting of the entire community. This should take the form of an annual meeting. Three things should be done: 1. Reports should be made of work done by any or- ganization or group during the past year. 2. The council committees should report the working plans for the coming year. ' Diagram, page 889. THE AGENCIES 893 3. The chairman, secretary, and committees for the ensuing year should be chosen. In addition to these matters of business there is usually a speaker from the outside who discusses some question of special interest to the community at that particular time. Special community meetings should be called as often as there are vital questions to be considered by the community. MODEL AGREEMENT FOR A COMMUNITY COUNCIL Article I — Name and Object There is hereby created the Community Council to serve as a medium through which the organizations of (town) can co-operate more fully in their work for community progress. Article II — Membership Membership shall consist of one representative from each general organization or group of the community and three (five to seven in large towns) selected at large. Those selected by organizations or groups shall be from their own membership and shall be chosen as soon as possible after October ist of each year. Article III — Officers The officers shall comprise chairman and secretary who shall be chosen at the annual community meeting. Article IV — Meetings The council shall meet every three months, viz.: The first Monday evening in March, June, September, and December. Meetings of special groups of citizens may be called when neces- sary to carry out special lines of work. Special meetings may be called by the chairman or by any five members. Article V — Annual Community Meeting The council shall arrange for an annual community meeting to be held on or near the first Monday of December, at which time reports shall be made on the progress of the town. At this time projects for the ensuing year shall be presented and voted upon. Such projects as are adopted shall become a part of the working programme. 894 THE RURAL COMMUNITY Article VI — Amendments This agreement may be altered or amended by a two-thirds vote of tjhe residents of the town of present at the an- nual community meeting. IV. FEDERATION 1. THE RURAL COMMUNITY AND CHURCH FEDERATION BY JOHN ROBERT HARGREAVES HOOD RIVER, OREGON (From The American Journal of Sociology, September, 1914) While the rural church of the coming days must be de- termined in its form less by past tradition than by intel- ligent co-ordination of those tried-out methods which are proving effective, it must, at least in the beginning of the adjustment, have regard for such denominational char- acteristics and interests as are represented in the com- munity. This can be done without division either as to organization or as to sentiment. In taking members into a federated church it was the writer's habit to exhort the applicants to bring with them the strength of their re- spective churches. On one evening we welcomed into fellowship nine people representing three denominations, namely, three Presbyterians, three Congregationalists, and three Disciples; and, while we touched on the heart love of each, our greetings were not found to conflict. In coming into the federated fellowship the Presbyterians still felt their loyalty to the faith of their fathers. Why not? They had been enrolled as Presbyterians, the Gen- eral Assembly had made provision for such a move, and had not the minister requested them to benefit all with the good things for which their church stood ? The Con- gregationalists could still rejoice in their independence and democracy. The Disciples were not conscious of any THE AGENCIES 895 deviations from their devotion to the letter of Scripture. In days gone by the struggle for religious liberty had re- sulted in that mutual forbearance which made possible undisturbed separate existence. The act referred to simply indicated that mutual forbearance had reached the point of mutual appreciation, making possible harmony in close contact. In that congregation, though the place of as- sembly was miles from a town, there was no occasion to refer to declining rural church attendance. The building was filled from end to end and more than half were men. As an expression of sincere feeling they frequently sang "Blest be the tie that binds," recognizing as that tie not a sectarian name but a common community feeling. In the community church mentioned, and in other fed- erations of like character, it has been proved that different denominations may receive recognition and at the same time supplement each other and within the same as- sembly; that the manifestation of charity and mutual appreciation does not necessarily involve compromise. As a rule differences of opinion in matters of interpreta- tion do not form the natural religious alignments anyway. In either of the representative churches we may find as much difference in opinion as between individuals taken from the different churches. Still they work on without difficulty. Take for instance a Baptist association. In its personnel are ministers from the seminaries in Chicago, in Rochester, and in Louisville — men grounded in different interpretations, exponents of somewhat widely differing ideas on Scripture and on philosophy, but all feeling the life which comes from the spirit of Christ, and all fired by the same desire to see men freed from wrong entangle- ments. In this common feeling and desire they experience their bonds of brotherhood. They are joined on ideals, but not on ideas. When the first churches were organized it was not on the basis of doctrine, nor for the purpose of becoming exponents of particular theories. They were voluntary gatherings of people actuated by the spirit which Jesus showed, and their banding together was for the eco- nomic use of their opportunities, and for mutual assistance 896 THE RURAL COMMUNITY in times of need. The same basis of organization is pos- sible in the average rural community of the present day, and rural Christendom will not be disloyal to convictions if it ceases to endure the deadening influence of division. As a possible method for the federating of the different religious forces of any country place, we will quote the Articles of Federation which we prepared for the con- solidation of the Baptist and Methodist churches of Mosier, Oregon, which churches, together with people of other evangelical groups and some of simple Christian character without particular designation, formed one of the most united, unselfish, and considerate congregations it was ever our privilege to know. In setting forth these articles we wish it understood that the result described is not con- sidered an end in itself. We realize that the critic may see difficulty arising out of a long-continued attempt to conserve the rights and affections of different denomina- tions within one body. The effort looks forward to a united Christendom, or at least to a simple church peculiar to country places in which there has been a natural and gradual blending of the different lines of emphasis. While desiring organic union it realizes that all cannot go from the top floor at one jump. We are growing nearer together, but the process is slow, and we cannot afford to leave coun- try districts subject to their present disadvantages until headquarters have come together in a single centre. This constitution with modifications has been used in a variety of places and is as follows: Article i. This federation shall be called the Immanuel Church (Baptist and Methodist). Art. 2. Its purpose shall be the teaching of the gospel and plan of ethics as taught by Jesus Christ, the public worship of God, the expression of Christian spirit in the spread of the gospel among all people, and the encouragement of such social matters cis may tend to the upbuilding of the home community. In the teach- ing, disputed points shall be left to the individual conscience and the individual responsibility before God, only advising that each one be true to himself. Art. 3. The membership shall consist of such as are now members of either organization, without change of the particular THE AGENCIES 897 designation, and of such others as may be members of any evan- gelical church, who may be enrolled according to their denomina- tion, and their letter kept in custody for any future need, and of those who from time to time shall come into possession of a religious experience through conversion. In the admission of converts permission shall be given to enroll under whichever name the individual may desire, care having been taken to allow for the intellectual satisfaction of the conscience. In the case of the ordinance of baptism, provision shall be made for its ad- ministration according to the desire of the candidate and by such person as shall be in full sympathy with the act. Letters of dismissal shall bear the name of the federation and shall be dismissed as from the federation. [By modification of Article 3, this constitution may be adapted to conditions where just one denomination has a church in a locality in which the large majority of people are of other rela- tionships. In such Ccise the federation would consist of said church, together with those allied to other evangelical bodies in sympathy with the same general idea, and who would be en- roled as above stated, the entire congregations adopting some name of community significance. (Such arrangement is wise only when the original church can enter unresistingly into the movement, feeling that by so doing it will better adapt itself to community needs). Adaptation may also be made in the or- ganization of a church in localities where different denomina- tions are represented while only one church centre is practical.] Art. 4. The minister shall be a regularly ordained clergy- man, recognized in the circles of an evangelical church having general recognition in this State ; said minister shall be expected to continue his association with his own body but in his minis- trations to this federation shall recognize and live up to the basis on which it is established. He shall be the choice of a two- thirds vote of a quorum at a specially called meeting of the church. Art. 5. The building shall be turned over to the use of the federation and shall be kept in repair by the organization of the federation. The property of such shall, for the time, remain in the hands of the present trustees of the church used. Art. 6. The officers of this federation shall be the pastor, ex-officio, a clerk and treasurer, and three deacons who, with two other members to be chosen by a majority of the congrega- tion, shall constitute an executive committee and shall represent as nearly as possible the personnel of the organization. Art. 7. The general expenses, care of building, and running expenses of service shall be borne by the federation as such and without any reference to any past ratio. Art. 8. Four regular collections shall be taken during the year for missionary purposes and shall be divided equally be- 898 THE RURAL COMMUNITY tween the two federated churches. Any special collection may be taken only by the consent of the congregation. [In congregations differently related the benevolences may be arranged for by a missionary committee, the same to make distribution according to the varied desires.] Art. 9. If for any purpose either or any denomination form- ing a part of this federation desires a meeting for its own par- ticular purpose, such meeting may be held in the church build- ing, provided it does not interfere with the regular services of the federation. Art. 10. This federation shall be in effect for at least two years. Art. II. This constitution may be changed or amended by a two-thirds vote of a special meeting called for that purpose. Not only could it be claimed for this particular federa- tion that there was no neutralizing of real forces nor any compromise, but on the other hand it could be justly claimed that each brought a contribution of worthy sug- gestion, adding to the total strength of the assembly. The presence of the Episcopalian was recognized, and it tended to the greater refinement of the service, a much- needed influence in the average country church ; the Meth- odist kept us in mind of that inherent appetite of the soul which naturally seeks for stimulation through religious fervor; the presence of the Baptist kept prominent the sacred value of the personal religious experience in the final conclusions of religious faith ; the Presbyterian neces- sitated a frequent consideration of the regularity, precision, and that reverential orderliness which arises so naturally from the Calvinistic emphasis. All together the people proceeded toward one common goal, and that in harmony with personal conviction. In their work the thought of church building was displaced by that of community in- terest. The only time we ever heard church claims men- tioned was when a Baptist asked if the Methodists had received their full share of a certain missionary offering. The strong devotees of any church need feel no alarm about consolidation, nor think that the ideas they cherish will be obscured by contact with phases of religious think- ing emphasized by other people. Indeed they might be THE AGENCIES 899 glad of the opportunity which federation affords to reveal the benefits of their positions in the midst of others. The only ones who need to fear are those who have a narrow view of their church position, or such as have personal interests to defend. Vital principle need not be sacrificed. While it is generally recognized that something must be done if the vital religious and social life of country dis- tricts be conserved, the efforts looking toward the com- munity centre are, according to our own experience and study of the question, confronted by at least three well- defined obstacles: First, we have a traditional conserva- tism in a small minority, generally though not always among the older people. This minority will seldom exceed 10 per cent of the people interested, and would not be long effective were it not for an outside sectarian leadership which keeps active this so-called loyalty. This outside group, which constitutes our second obstacle, will often include the ministers of the various small churches; for in all too many cases the country ministry, on account of its transitory character, may be thought of as outside the real life of the community. But the conservative minority and the outside officials could not in a great many cases long prevent rural consolidation were it not for a third party which comes to their assistance with money. This third party, constituting the most formidable obstacle, is the "home missionary department" of the different churches. A few instances taken from immediate observa- tion and experience in a characteristic section of the Pacific Slope will support this assertion. In a village of about 1,110 people located in a dry-farming section of eastern Oregon there are six struggling churches. For the con- solidation of these scattered forces a number of progressive men launched a pronounced though very kindly effort, and, as a man known to be interested in such matters and having had a little experience, I was invited into their council. At a representative mass meeting held on a Sun- day afternoon I saw the real community condition set forth : Men of affairs with but one or two exceptions were lined up for consolidation, a few were awaiting develop- 900 THE RURAL COMMUNITY ments, and a very small number were determinedly op- posed. We are not likely to forget the statement of one business man, a statement expressive of the general feel- ing: "We do not want so many churches, we do not want so many ministers, the ministers we do have we want to pay ourselves," and the congregation cheered. Out of this endeavor two churches consolidated, but to offset the possible influence and stay the final triumph of com- mon sense, the home society of one of the remaining churches subsidized the little group to the extent of $600 per year in order that they might secure a minister of suf- ficient strength to hold his own against the minister of the federated church. In face of the attitude, and an in- tensified competition on 'the part of another church, the combined organization with their new community out- look had a measure of success, but of course nothing like it might have been, had this town with its coterie of strong and competent leaders been permitted to attend to its own affairs according to the desire of the majority. A few miles east from the place just described I was asked to stop off at a similarly located village of about 350 people, the entire constituency being probably not more than 500. In this place there was one saloon, and it was prospering, but religion was receiving little attention. The small num- ber of church-members were scattered in three groups, all struggling for existence but incapable of accomplishment, too small and ineffective to demand attention. In this village there were some interested citizens who desired to reduce the condition to a more practical basis. The opposition was slight, and could not of itself have been long effective, but behind it was the usual outside influence and the treasuries of three missionary societies. For one society to have withdrawn would not have corrected the condition, but if all had withdrawn the spirit was such that a practical community centre might soon have been established. It was a place in which the historic align- ments were such that all the churches needed to be recog- nized. Farther eeist was another village, still smaller, in which there had been three separate churches, two of which THE AGENCIES 9OI had consolidated in a most successful federation. The time came when the third church was without a pastor. This the federated church considered an opportune mo- ment for the making of overtures looking to a complete community centre. A committee was appointed which met with a committee of the outstanding church and of- fered every reasonable concession, even to the going to their building. About three families opposed the much- desired arrangement, but to their assistance came the outside influence. A missionary appropriation was made which made possible the calling of another minister, and the painful competition went on. Within sight of the village just referred to was another village of about 700 people. In it were five churches. Three of these churches had regular ministers and full appointments, but on ac- count of the scattered forces were waging a losing battle, and the condition was painful. One of the three churches was self-supporting and it made overtures looking to fed- eration. Its move expressed the sentiment of a large ma- jority of the village. Again the outside influence prevailed against the sincere wish of the many resident citizens. Two missionary societies are operating in this field. Had they both withdrawn, a strong central church would have been established. They did not choose to withdraw, so the discouraging struggle, with its accompanying jealousies and conflicts, continues. We might go on with descrip- tions, but these will suffice for illustration. While obstructions are somewhat pronounced, and dis- couragements not a few, the outlook is anything but hope- less. As time passes the objecting minority will grow smaller and smaller; the church officials will eventually become sensitive to the pulse of the people at large and consider their interests rather than the desire of the very few; the missionary boards are becoming more and more cautious in new moves and will eventually realize that it is their privilege to withdraw altogether from the Amer- ican churches of the Pacific Slope. Then will the rural centres soon show their ability to meet their own demands, and" the religious and social developments for which the 902 THE RURAL COMMUNITY several societies have striven will go on apace. In this progress the past help of the "board" will not be for- gotten. In conclusion we may briefly summarize the advantages of "federation of churches" in country places. Even in the midst of present difficulties, advantages are showing up so prominently that adjustments are sure to multiply. It is not very many years since there was but one con- solidated rural school; now there are over one thousand, and the number is increasing. The community churches of to-day are very few in number, but before ten years have passed they will be all over the land, and the coun- tryside will have come to its own. Among the far-reaching influences there is that broader fellowship which once having experienced we cannot get along without. In the words of one of my parishioners, those having tasted will ask, "Why didn't we do it before ? " " How could we ever go back to the old way?" We become fully satisfied with Jesus' simple test of Christian character: "By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, by the love ye have one for another." In one part of my parish a chief worker was a Covenanter Presbyterian, in another part the right- hand man was an aged Wesleyan Methodist exhorter. I knew that in all details of thought we could not have agreed any more than I can agree in all things with my nearest Baptist friend, but we believed in each other. When it came to a lift, we found that the enthusiasm of the Methodist had not wasted his strength. He took his. full share. Nor did the culture and moderation of the Presbyterian keep him away from the real endeavor. We found him where the drudgery was hardest. So I might go on in description of men of many names, men who but for federation would not have experienced each other's strength. We worshipped the same God, we worked for the same cause, neighborhood betterment, and perhaps one day when the words Baptist, Methodist, and Pres- byterian are forgotten we may meet in that great com- munity centre, in that city of which the Apocalypse says, "I saw no Temple therein." My flesh thrills with 'the THE AGENCIES 903 thought of it. At times the writer has known what it was to experience some inconveniences on account of his pro- nounced views on "rural church federation," but he con* sidered the inconveniences more than paid for by the privilege of broader fellowship which the practice made possible. We can also testify that our church position has not been belittled. We have known men, not accus- tomed to such acknowledgments, voluntarily to testify to the importance of our denomination's tenets, and we have done the same in the case of other churches whose virtues we had not formerly appreciated. We have also seen churches conserved which otherwise would have be- come extinct. There is also that advantage which comes from con- formity to the fundamental law of God involved in social contact. Many of the possibilities of co-operative en- deavors pointed out by specialists in rural conditions, endeavors which would greatly increase the happiness and desirability of country life, are made impossible be- cause the neighborhood leaders are divided into sundry bands through the division of church interests. One dif- ficulty with the law enforcement in village and country places is the diffidence which results from the too infre- quent contact of the majority of the people. Citizens in small groups do not do their duty as easily and efficiently as citizens in larger groups. No denomination of Chris- tians, no matter how it cherished a particular idea, has any right to interfere with the God-intended method of developments such as is afforded by the contact of men with men in sufficient numbers, and in groups of sufficient variety, to provide the varied lines of talent needed for mutual helpfulness. When in Chicago a few weeks ago I attended morning worship in the Auditorium. There were about two thou- sand people present. The music was inspiring, though in execution not unusual. The sermon, judged by itself, was ordinary, but preached in the midst of that great sym- pathetic congregation it had a tremendous effect. As I sat there receiving inspiration from the service, I thought 904 THE RURAL COMMUNITY of the country district in which the very large gathering with the inspiration of the contact is not possible, and then of those church divisions which keep even the limited number in subdivided groups. For the sake of the religious and social rights of rural communities let this condition cease. V. THE FARM BUREAU' THE COUNTY FARM BUREAU BY B. H. CROCHERON (From Circular No. i66, University of California, College of Agriculture, Berkeley) The Function of the Farm Bureau A farm bureau is an organization of farmers and ranchers who combine to promote agriculture through co-operative study of farm conditions. Many types of farmers' organizations have long been existent. There have been farmers' clubs, granges, in- stitutes, unions, alliances, and others. Some of these have been more or less successful, but many have passed away. Their failure has usually been due to one or more of the following causes: (l) Lack of a distinct purpose to fill a definite need; (2) lack of membership to sufficiently represent all classes of farmers and types of farming; (3) lack of co-operation with other similar farm organizations ; (4) lack of continuous and unselfish leadership. The farm bureau is distinct from all of these. It is not primarily a social organization; neither is it essentially to unite farmers so as to lower prices of stuffs bought and to raise prices of products sold. It is formed to bring to- gether for mutual co-operation those farmers who want to investigate the fundamental problems that are involved in production on their farms. Every state and territory has at least one "experiment farm" supported by federal and state funds. These have been exceedingly valuable because the results therefrom THE AGENCIES 005 were noted by men whose business and interest it was to observe. The acreages of these farms were small ; their crops were often meagre — and yet they have been worth millions beyond their cost because the records of produc- tion and the conditions under which they were grown were known and noted. Fundamentally, a farm bureau for the county can be collectively a sort of giant experiment station with several hundred observers who hold a monthly caucus to' com- pare results. The farm bureau has a trained man to aid it: The Farm Adviser. It is his business to help interpret results, to point out new lines of work, and to deduce conclusions from the evidence at hand. The farm bureau can be of greater value to the county than the farm adviser. To- gether, they can be of more benefit than either alone. Other activities may concern the farm bureau besides local research into agricultural problems. The farm bureau may be a sort of rural chamber of com- merce and thus be the guardian of rural affairs. It can take the lead in agitation for good roads, for better schools, and for cheaper methods of buying and selling. Various subsidiary organizations of the farm bureau, known as farm bureau departments, may be formed, thus linking together persons of similar or identical interests. Per- haps, most of all, the farm bureau can help promote the social institutions of country life. Some rural neighbors are so starved for recreational meetings that they will come out to anything from a patent-medicine show to a school meeting. The farm bureau can help put more recrea- tion into rural life. Every country neighborhood ought to have some social gathering at least once a week. It is almost as much needed £is the spiritual congregations at the church, or the educational assemblages of the chil- dren at the schoolhouse. But very surely and insistently, the farm bureau is not first and foremost of these purposes — good and desirable as they may be. Perhaps, the farm bureau can help to buy cheaper and better seeds, can help to boost the local 906 THE RURAL COMMUNITY socials, can encourage the faltering school-teacher, can get out and talk for good roads — but its first and surest function is to increase the local knowledge of agricultural fact. The General Plan The membership of the farm bureau is composed of those persons in the county interested in agriculture who ORGANIZATION PLAN OF THE COUNTY FARM BUREAU A, Twelve Centres D, Secretary B, Four Directors-at-Large E, Twelve Centre Directors C, Vice-President F, President desire to promote its prosperity through the formation of a county organization to which they pay a dollar a year each. A county farm bureau should have at least one- fifth of the farmers in its membership. The whole membership of the farm bureau meets to- gether but once a year at its annual meeting in the. fall. THE AGENCIES 907 At that time the general officers are elected — president, vice-president, and four directors at large. For practical purposes, the county organization is divided, along geographical lines, into ten or twelve farm bureau centres. Each centre that has ten or more members elects a director as leader. He acts as chairman of the meetings and represents the centre on the board of the county farm bureau. Thus, if there are ten centres in the county, there will be fourteen directors on the board: four at large and one from each of the ten centres. These directors, with the county president and vice- president, usually hold a meeting once a month when re- ports are heard from the various centres and the general plans for the movement in the county are considered. The officers elect a secretary-treasurer who holds the funds and keeps the records of the farm bureau. The farm bureau is financed by dues of a dollar a year which its members pay into the central county organiza- tion. The expenses of the bureau are those of hiring offices, the carrying on of correspondence, printing of pamphlets, etc. Sometimes, but not usually, the farm bureau pays the expenses of the directors who come to the board meet- ings once a month. Usually no funds are required to con- duct the farm bureau centre organizations, but if necessary, the members of a centre may vote to levy on themselves a small additional fee. The General Meeting Once a Year The annual meeting — at which the election of officers takes place — is held in the fall, usually at the county- seat. It should be so arranged as to make it a matter of considerable local interest and importance-^it may be an all-day gathering to which speakers of note are invited; it may sometimes take the form of a large public banquet, or of a country picnic. The main effort is to have present a large proportion of the membership of the entire farm bureau in order that the officers elected may be adequately 908 THE RURAL COMMUNITY representative of the whole community and that once a year the organization may realize its strength and its large membership. The Directors' Meeting Once a Month The directors of the farm bureau meet every month — usually on a Saturday — at the farm bureau offices or at the farm adviser's offices. These meetings should be of such vital interest that the entire board of directors will be present. At these meetings the agricultural policies of the county should be determined, committees appointed, reports heard from each of the directors representing a farm bureau centre, and from all departmental committees, and a general consideration given to the plans of the farm bureau and the farm adviser. The meetings may or may not be open to the public. In some cases it has been thought wise to have the directors, at the conclusion of the morning meeting, lunch together at a local hotel or restaurant in order that there may be some social phase to the day's proceedings. The Farm Bureau Centre Meetings Once a Month The farm adviser, by regular appointment, may be present one day a month in each centre of the farm bureau. Thus, if there are ten or twelve centres, he will have ten or twelve definite appointments each month for his local work. It is not usually possible for a farm adviser to meet with more than a maximum of thirteen centres. Since the effective work of a farm bureau requires the leader- ship of the farm adviser, it is highly desirable that the county be so districted that not more than thirteen centres need be formed to cover all the probable places at which iarm bureau centres will be required. The usual method of the farm adviser is to come at once to the home or office of the local farm bureau director and to learn from him those who desire to have the fcirm ad- viser call at their farms on that day. He then spends his entire day — or two days if necessary — going about the THE AGENCIES 90^ neighborhood seeing those who desire his services. The farm adviser never goes to any except those who so request. Usually the farm bureau centre has its meeting the night when the farm adviser is there. These meetings may be open to the public, but should be serious discussions- of questions pertinent to the farm prosperity of the neigh^ borhood. To this end, it is proposed that some of the local meetings of the farm bureau centres be devoted en- tirely to a study of some one phase of agricultural prac- tice. For example, if lime is a pertinent question for the neighborhood, the farm adviser may explain in detail all the forms of commercial lime, using a blackboard if neces- sary to make it all clear. The members may bring note- books and write down such points as interest them. Other subjects, such as "sprays and spraying," "balanced ra- tions," and "methods of testing seeds" may well occupy one or several meetings in order to cover them in such a way that all can gain a true comprehension of the sub- ject. It will take real old-fashioned study to do it. But that is the function of the farm bureau. Sometimes, the members of a farm bureau centre go in automobiles for a well-planned day to see demonstration plots that show definite results, to look at a well-built barn or a well-bred herd. Such a trip is an inspiration as well as a source of more knowledge. But it must be under- taken with a serious purpose and not as a junket. Some of the meetings may be open to the public and take on a more distinctively social feature. But if, as often happens, the presence of others hampers freedom of discussion and a real promotion of the subject, it may prove better to discourage the attendance of persons not members of the bureau and to hold the "social meetings" at other times. The Demonstrations on Selected Farms In order to further promote an understanding of some of the methods advanced by the farm adviser, it may be desirable to have demonstrations of these located on 91 THE RURAL COMMUNITY scattered farms throughout the county. Usually, these demonstrations are placed with the most interested and active members of the farm bureau. If, say, the farm adviser desires to locate fifty demon- strations through the county, he may ask each of the di- rectors representing a centre to nominate five members with whom demonstrations may be placed. These mem- bers agree to undertake the management of one piece of land, section of orchard, or group of animals as directed by the farm adviser in order to demonstrate some fact of agriculturcil importance to the neighborhood. Usually farms supplied with such demonstrations are called "demonstration farms," and the owner is known as a "demonstrator." Often the farm bureau supplies signs to be placed on the gate-post or a roadside tree on the farm where such a demonstration is located. These signs read, " Demonstrator, County Farm Bureau." Departments of the Farm Bureau Soon after a county farm bureau is organized, there is a renewed activity and interest along the several lines of agriculture represented among its members. Even in one farm bureau centre these are often of diverse agri- cultural interests because their farms turn out diverse products. Thus those of like interest may desire to form subsidiary organizations for more frequent meetings or for more direct work along their specialty. For example, the dairymen may wish to carry on co-operative cow testing, to purchase pure-bred sires, or to market their product; the swine raisers may wish to stamp out hog cholera or to specialize on one breed of hogs; the alfalfa growers may desire to uniformly grade their hay or to store it in co-operatively owned warehouses. These needs are met by the organization of departments within the farm bureau. There may be a "Cow Testing Depart- ment," or a "Dairy Department"; a "Swine Breeders' Department"; an "Alfalfa Growers' Department," and others. THE AGENCIES 9ir Each department organizes with sections in each centre wherein there are interested members. Each section in a centre has a Farm Bureau Centre Committee on Swine Raising (for example), which renders a monthly report at the regular centre meeting for the swine raisers' section DEPARTMENTAL - ORGANIZATION -OF -THE- COUNTY -FARM-BUREAU A, Swine Breeders' Committee of the Farm Bureau Centres a. Swine Breeders' Committee of the County Farm Bureau A and a. Swine Breeders' Department of the Farm Bureau B, Cow Testing Committee of the Farm Bureau Centres b. Cow Testing Committee of the County Farm Bureau B and b. Cow Testing Department of the Farm Bureau C, Any Committee of the Farm Bureau Centres c. The Same Committee of the County Farm Bureau C and c. The Same Department of the Farm Bureau of the centre. This report is transmitted by the centre director to the committee of the board of directors, known as the Farm Bureau Committee on Swine Raising, which in turn reports for the whole department at the regular meeting of the Board of Directors. The secretary-treasurer 912 THE RURAL COMMUNITY of the farm bureau is treasurer of all departments and the Board of Directors are the final court to pass upon all plans and reports of the several departments. By this means the united agricultural force of the whole county is given to the enterprises undertaken by any de- partment, so that financial, moral and universal backing is given to a group of men who, standing alone as an out- side organization, could not find sufficient strength to accomplish effectively the end desired. The several de- partments may become of prime importance to the mem- bers, but if all are kept within the initial county farm bureau organization and, as above, clear their activities through the Board of Directors, the county can still pre- sent a united agricultural front. How TO Form a Farm Bureau The movement for a farm bureau usually starts from some interested persons in the county who feel it desirable to have such an organization to further its agricultural interests. Often, it is the chamber of commerce that makes the start to call the matter to the attention of the people. Sometimes it is a small farmers' club, grange, or farmers' union that issues the call for a county-wide organization. However the matter begins, the fundamental point is that it shall be a voluntary organization of farm people who realize the need for such a gathering of the rural forces of the county. There have been two methods used to organize farm bureaus in this state. The most general method has been to call a big meeting which is advertised in every way possible. Usually the invitations are sent out by a self-appointed committee who try to arouse all the people of the county. Some- times these send out post-cards to every farmer in the county, getting the list from the office of the county tax assessor, or some other public place of record. Usually the meeting is held in some big hall or on a picnic ground ; THE AGENaES 9 13 sometimes there is a brass band and social features to the occasion. Almost always it is an all-day meeting. If re- quested, speakers are sent from the College of Agricul- ture. At this meeting a constitution and by-laws are adopted; the members pay to the county organization a dollar each as their first year's dues; and a president, vice-president, and four directors at large are elected. At some later time, these officers, meeting together, divide the county into ten or twelve geographical districts. The members of the county farm bureau living in each district then form themselves into a farm-bureau centre and elect a director to represent them on the board of the farm bureau. This method has been generally used and may, in most cases, prove most successful. It starts the or- ganization off with a big day and calls it to the attention of all the people. The other method is the reverse of this. A committee of interested persons, a chamber of commerce, or a board of trade, holds small meetings in diflFerent sections of the county that might become farm-bureau centres. At these meetings those present, if they so desire, join the farm bureau, pay in one dollar, and afterward elect a director to serve on the board of the farm bureau. After the ten or twelve centres have been formed, the directors so elected meet together and call a general meeting at which a con- stitution and by-laws are adopted and a president, vice- president, and four directors at large are elected. This method has been used in counties where the farmers did not have sufficient primary interest to come together at a large county meeting, or where the people of the county were so scattered as to make it difficult to bring them to- gether at any one place. Constitution The following constitution and by-laws (Reprint, with some corrections, from Circular ii8 of the College of Agri- culture) is that which has been adopted in farm bureaus of the State. 914 THE RURAL COMMUNITY CONSTITUTION AND BY-LAWS FOR THE COUNTY FARM BUREAU Preamble. — In order to promote the agricultural interests of this county and all its enterprises dependent upon agriculture, we, the undersigned, do hereby form a permanent organization under the following constitution and by-laws. Article I. Name. — ^The name of this organization shall be the County Farm Bureau. Article II. Object. — The object of this organization shallbe to assist the Farm Adviser in this work in the county and to aid him in the development of agriculture and such allied in- dustries as may properly come within his province, including the betterment of social, home, school, and church conditions in the county. Article III. Membership. — ^Any person resident of County or an owner of farm land in the county, interested and willing to aid in the development of the agriculture of the county, may become a member of this bureau by agreeing to this con- stitution and paying to the county organization an annual mem- bership fee of one dollar and such other dues as may be regularly assessed. Article IV. Officers and Duties. — Section i. — The adminis- tration of the affairs of the County Farm Bureau shall be vested in the following officers : a president, a vice-president, a secretary-treasurer, four directors at large, and one director to be elected as hereinafter provided, from each regularly or- ganized farm-bureau centre through the county. Section 2. — ^The directors at large shall be elected by the whole bureau, not more than one from one centre. Each centre di- rector shall be elected by the members of the bureau living in the centre concerned. The secretary-treasurer shall be elected by the officers. Section 3. — The term of office of all officers shall be one year, or until the next annual meeting. Section 4. — ^AU the officers excepting the secretary-treasurer shall be elected at the regular annual meeting. Section 5. — At all elections a majority of votes cast shall be necessary to elect. Vote shall be by ballot. Section 6. — Each officer shall be entitled to one vote. Section 7. — The president shall preside at all the meetings of the officers or of the bureau, appoint all standing committees and perform all other duties not otherwise provided for. Section 8. — ^The vice-president shall perform the duties of the president in his absence. THE AGENCIES 915 Section 9. — The secretary-treasurer shall keep a record of the proceedings of the bureau, receive the membership fees and as- sessments, have custody of all funds of the bureau, and of all departments therein, and shall make a full report at each an- nual meeting, or at such time as the bureau may direct. He shall pay out money only on orders signed by the president and countersigned by himself. Article V. Vacancies. — ^The officers shall have power to fill all vacancies. Article VI. Meetings. — ^Section i. — The bureau shall hold a regular annual meeting during the early fall, the date and place to be set by the officers and announced at least two weeks prior to the time of meeting. Section 2. — ^The officers shall hold a regular monthly meeting at the office of the Farm Adviser. Section 3. — It shall be the duty of the president to call special meetings of the bureau at the request of a majority of the officers, and notice of same must be given in advance. Article VII. Committees. — The committees to be appointed shall be made up of persons suggested by the Farm Adviser and approved by the officers. The number of committees and num- ber of persons on each committee to be regulated by the nature and character of the work to be done. Committeemen shall serve for a term of one year, or for the length of time specified at the time of their appointment. Their duties shall be out- lined at the time of their appointment. Article VIII. Order of Business. — The following shall be the order of business at all regular meetings of the bureau and officers: 1 . Call to order by the president. 2. Reading of the minutes of the last meeting. 3. Report of committees. 4. Unfinished business. 5. Communications from State Leader or Farm Adviser. 6. Reports of officers. 7. New business. 8. Adjournment. Article IX. Amendment. — This constitution may be amended by a two-thirds vote of the members present at any regular or special meeting. Notice of such amendment must be given at least two weeks in advance. Article X. Enacting Clause. — Section i. — This constitution shall be in effect on and after its adoption. Section 2. — ^All officers elected at the time this constitution is adopted shall hold office only until next annual meeting. 9l6 THE RURAL COMMUNITY BY-LAWS No. I. — A member shall be considered to have been properly notified of any proposed action of the bureau by its officers when- ever such notice shall have been mailed to each member or pub- lished in two issues of such county papers as may be designated by the officers. No. 2. — ^Whenever a farm-bureau centre shall organize, with a minimum of ten charter members, it may immediately elect its director, who shall hold office until the next annual meeting. The centre may then apply to the officers of the Farm Bureau for a seat for its director in the Board of Directors. No. 3. — ^An organized centre shall be entitled to a centre-bureau headquarters, at which, if requested, the Farm Adviser shall be present on the regular schedule at least once a month, in so far as his schedule will permit. At such time it will be the object of the Farm Adviser to meet members of the bureaus and others, and to furnish such aid as may be requested. No. 4. — ^The director for each organized centre will have charge of the local headquarters of the bureau and will make such ar- rangements for the Farm Adviser while there as will best con- serve the time of the adviser and serve the interests of the county. No. 5. — Departments of the Farm Bureau may be organized, and may be later abolished, by vote of the Board of Directors of the Farm Bureau. Only members of the Farm Bureau shall be members of departments therein. The organization of a de- partment shall include: (o) Members of the department within each centre, to be known as centre section of department. (6) A committee in each centre to be known as the " centre committee on " (c) A committee of the Board of Directors to be known as the Farm Bureau Committee on " " Centre committees shall report through their directors to the farm-bureau com- mittee, who in turn shall submit all reports to the Board of Di- rectors of the Farm Bureau.