657. A Close Difference
“It is so lovely by the sea,”
She whispered like a linnet;
“Yes, much more lovely by,” said he,
“Then if we are right in it.”
658. For A Book Preface
Out on the uncertain sea
Of public opinion I go;
Battered and reefed, provisioned and beefed,
For the blowyest kind of a “blow.”
659. The Great Poem Of The Future
Eight hours for work,
Eight hours for play;
Eight hours for sleep,
Eight hours per day!
660. He smoked a cigarette; about
Turned the fellow inside out;
And ere his mother ceased to flay,
He longed to turn the other way.
R. by Puck, Life, National Sportsman Mar. 1900
661. A German farmer had a patch
Of melons very fine,
And every night he had to keep
A watch upon his “Rhine”.
R. by Life, Puck, N. Sportsman for Mar. 1900
662. A hen was very set,
The farmer let her sit;
She set and sot until she got
Some chickens out of it.
Pub. in Joker for Nov. ‘99
663. Coming Events
The gun is hanging on the shelf,
The rod is king at last;
The worm is just about to turn,
The fly will soon be cast.
N. Sportsman July 1900
664. The cycle girl we soon will see
In fancy golfing checks;
To every pair of hose they’ll be
A thousand rubber necks.
N. Sportsman July 1900
665. Nature Cure
If a body meet a body
Coming thro’ the wood;
If a body kiss a body,
Does a body good.
Suburban
666. Heart Mystery
Those maidens who wear their hearts on their sleeves
Providing they’re owners of hearts at all,
Pray where do they put them, I’d like you to tell,
When they’re dressed for the fashionable ball?
Suburban
667. An Old Fashioned Winter
Little drops of water,
Little flakes of snow,
And zero weather, eight to twenty below with high prices for coal, and the water pipes frozen up, and when it thaws, two feet of water in the street and four in the cellar, makes it the hardest winter
That ever I did know.
Suburban
668. Too Thlow
“The only fault I find ith thith,”
Said hungry little Johnny Ruff;
“Fath day ith longer’n other dayth,
It dothn’t go quite fath enough.”
Suburban
669. A Spring Verse
Little drops of water,
Falling many hours
When they shouldn’t oughter,
Them is April showers.
Suburban
670. Oughto
“Money makes the auto go,”
Newkirk hath said quite fine;
Autos make the money go,
I’ll add to Newkirk’s line.
Suburban
Newton ‘Newt’ Newkirk (1870-1938) was a humorist and author who wrote for the Boston Globe and Post, as well as one of Joe Cone’s closest friends (see: ‘An Appreciation’. http://whowasjoecone.blogspot.com/p/bios-and-tributes.html ).
From a biography of ‘Bing’ Crosby:
In 1910, Crosby was forever renamed. The six-year-old Harry Lillis discovered a full-page feature in the Sunday edition of the , "The Bingville Bugle." The "Bugle," written by humorist Newton Newkirk, was a parody of a hillbilly newsletter complete with gossipy tidbits, minstrel quips, creative spelling, and mock ads. A neighbor, 15-year-old Valentine Hobart, shared Crosby's enthusiasm for "The Bugle," and noting Crosby's laugh, took a liking to him and called him "Bingo from Bingville." The last vowel was dropped and the name shortened to "Bing," which stuck.http://www.ioffer.com/i/bing-crosby-betty-hutton-original-here-come-waves-shee-528793785
For access to books by Mr. Newkirk, check out: http://catalog.hathitrust.org/Record/008661388
671. Whispers
I
love to listen to the sea,
It
whispers nothings unto me;
But
O, how different wifey is,
Whenever
she “whispers” she means biz.
Suburban
* * *
Seasonable Squibs
672. School is most out, the fields are green,
The
boys are in for fun;
And
ma can’t get her wood box filled,
While
base-ball has its run.
Suburban
673. The furnace fires are now let out,
Except
in coldest weather;
And
servant girls and cans of oil
Go
towards the sky together.
Suburban
674. The city angler out for trout,
Tramps
many brookways down;
Then
buys some of the farmer’s boy
To
take with him to town.
Suburban
675. The auto mobiles thunder now
Along
the great highway,
And
undertakers’ times are good
To
lay the dead away.
Suburban
676. The bathing girl looks for her suit,
To
mend it or to bind it;
But
for some reason best untold,
She
has hard work to find it.
Suburban
* * *
Seasonable Squibs
677. Now young America lets loose,
With
horns and crackers busy;
The
bigger racket he can make
The
bigger patriot is he.
Suburban
June 19, 1904
678. The blithe Suburbanite just now
Have
mower woes, alas!
They’re
trying to, in very truth,
“Keep
off the grass”.
Suburban
679. Sea-serpents soon will be the rage,
Sea
serpents long and frisky;
There
may be serpents in the sea,
But
there are more in whiskey.
Suburban
“We, cold water girls and boys,
Freely renounce the treacherous joys
Of brandy, whisky, rum, and gin
The serpent's lure to death and sin.
Song of the cold water societies, temperance groups composed largely of schoolchildren c. 1840 - GBAQ.
Song of the cold water societies, temperance groups composed largely of schoolchildren c. 1840 - GBAQ.
http://www.someworthwhilequotes.com/ALCOHOL.html
He’ll lift the good cup from
us;
Cassie Chadwick
Mercury
John Lawrence Sullivan (October 12, 1858 – February 2, 1918), also known as the Boston Strong Boy, was recognized as the first Heavyweight Champion of gloved boxing from February 7, 1882, to 1892, and is generally recognized as the last heavyweight champion of bare-knuckle boxing under the London Prize Ring Rules.
Cassie L. Chadwick (10 October 1857–10 October 1907) is the infamous name used by a Canadian woman who defrauded several U.S. banks out of millions of dollars by claiming to be an illegitimate daughter and heiress of Andrew Carnegie
smokeless powder is any of various combinations of gunpowder designed to replace black powder, with the more recent developments as of this era being the use of nitroglycerin in the formula. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Smokeless_powder DuPont had a factory producing such powder in the Chicago area that blew up (being extremely volatile) in 1906: “Opening in 1894, the DuPont Farm and Ammunition Storage facility had its own track spur off of the Chicago and Rock Island Railroad in between the Rexford Crossing and Oak Forest whistle stops as well as a listing in the train schedule as a recognized station. The primary product manufactured at the location was smokeless gunpowder, which was a clear game-changer in the ammunition industry, as well as forever altering the face of warfare. The DuPont station served as both a passenger drop off and pick up location for staff along with the occasion guest while providing a means to begin their distribution process of their product they were manufacturing.
Explosions were not uncommon in gunpowder factories and storage facilities and 12 years later in 1906, an explosion leveled the DuPont facility. Although there is currently no clear evidence as to the precise location of the facility, apparently the shock-waves from the explosion traveled a decent enough distance in which the windows of the Midlothian Country Club were shattered, according to a report on November 8, 1906 in the Charlotte News. It also appears the Associated Press distributed the geographical location of the facility to be situated in Tinley Park, however a 1900 Homesteader's Map shows the DuPont property to be closer to what would become Oak Forest in 1947 rather than Tinley Park.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Midlothian,_Illinois
black spots:
New International Encyclopedia, Volume 10, p. 489
https://books.google.com/books?id=EBsoAAAAYAAJ&pg=PA489&lpg=PA489&dq=%22smokeless+powder%22+%22black+spots%22&source=bl&ots=Jkx7AngXz0&sig=KsFiYaE7LiwyXkBM4PnsRhChkHE&hl=en&sa=X&ei=RtwQVZaWAuG0sASTkYCICA&ved=0CCYQ6AEwAw#v=onepage&q&f=false
768. The Nation’s Daughter
The Old Arm-Chair
Eliza Cook (1818–1889)
I LOVE it, I love it! and who shall dare
To chide me for loving that old arm-chair?
I’ve treasured it long as a sainted prize,
I’ve bedewed it with tears, I ’ve embalmed it with sighs.
’T is bound by a thousand bands to my heart;
Not a tie will break, not a link will start;
Would you know the spell?—a mother sat there!
And a sacred thing is that old arm-chair.
In childhood’s hour I lingered near
The hallowed seat with listening ear;
And gentle words that mother would give
To fit me to die, and teach me to live.
She told me that shame would never betide
With Truth for my creed, and God for my guide;
She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer,
As I knelt beside that old arm-chair.
I sat, and watched her many a day,
When her eye grew dim, and her locks were gray;
And I almost worshipped her when she smiled,
And turned from her Bible to bless her child.
Years rolled on, but the last one sped,—
My idol was shattered, my earth-star fled!
I learnt how much the heart can bear,
When I saw her die in her old arm-chair.
’T is past, ’t is past! but I gaze on it now,
With quivering breath and throbbing brow:
’T was there she nursed me, ’t was there she died,
And memory flows with lava tide.
Say it is folly, and deem me weak,
Whilst scalding drops start down my cheek;
But I love it, I love it, and cannot tear
My soul from a mother’s old arm-chair.
Old Uncle Ned
Written & Composed by Stephen C. Foster
New York: Millet's Music Salon, 1848
Dere was an old Nigga, dey call'd him uncle Ned--
He's dead long ago, long ago!
He had no wool on de top ob his head--
De place whar de wool ought to grow.
Den lay down de shubble and de hoe,
Hang up de fiddle and de bow:
No more hard work for poor Old Ned--
He's gone whar de good Niggas go,
No more hard work for poor Old Ned--
He's gone whar de good Niggas go.
His fingers were long like de cane in de brake,
He had no eyes for to see;
He had no teeth for to eat de corn cake,
So he had to let de corn cake be.
Den lay down de shubble and de hoe,
Hang up de fiddle and de bow:
No more hard work for poor Old Ned--
He's gone whar de good Niggas go,
No more hard work for poor Old Ned--
He's gone whar de good Niggas go.
When Old Ned die Massa take it mighty hard,
De tears run down like de rain;
Old Missus turn pale and she gets berry sad,
Cayse she nebber see Old Ned again.
Den lay down de shubble and de hoe,
Hang up de fiddle and de bow:
No more hard work for poor Old Ned--
He's gone whar de good Niggas go,
No more hard work for poor Old Ned--
He's gone whar de good Niggas go.
"My Grandfather's Clock"
Henry Clay Work, 1876
My grandfather's clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor;
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a pennyweight more.
It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride;
But it stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
His life's seconds numbering,
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
It stopp'd short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,
Many hours had he spent while a boy;
And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know
And to share both his grief and his joy.
For it struck twenty-four when he entered at the door,
With a blooming and beautiful bride;
But it stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
His life's seconds numbering,
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
It stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
My grandfather said that of those he could hire,
Not a servant so faithful he found;
For it wasted no time, and had but one desire —
At the close of each week to be wound.
And it kept in its place — not a frown upon its face,
And its hands never hung by its side.
But it stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
His life's seconds numbering,
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
It stopp'd short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
It rang an alarm in the dead of the night —
An alarm that for years had been dumb;
And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight —
That his hour of departure had come.
Still the clock kept the time, with a soft and muffled chime,
As we silently stood by his side;
But it stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
His life's seconds numbering,
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
It stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
The Old Oaken Bucket
Samuel Woodworth
How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view!
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew!
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it,
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell,
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it,
And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well-
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well.
That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure,
For often at noon, when returned from the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing,
And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell;
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.
How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As poised on the curb it inclined to my lips!
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
The brightest that beauty or revelry sips.
And now, far removed from the loved habitation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,
And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well!
Down On the Farm
Gustavus Du Bois
When I was a boy I used to dwell
In a home I lov’d so well,
Far away among the clover and the bees;
Where the morning glory vine,
Round the cabin porch did twine,
And the robin red-breast sang among the trees
There were brothers young and gay,
A father old and gray,
And a mother dear to keep us from all harm;
There I passed life’s golden hours,
Running wild among the flow’rs,
In my boyhood’s happy home down on the farm.
Many weary years have passed
Since I saw the old place last,
But the memory still steals o’er me like a charm;
Ev’ry old familiar place,
Ev’ry kind and loving face,
In my boyhood’s happy home down on the farm.
And today, as I draw near
The home I love so dear
A stranger comes to meet me at the door;
Round the place there’s many a change,
And the faces all seem strange,
Not a lov’d one now to greet me as of yore.
My mother dear, is laid;
‘Neath the elm trees pleasant shade,
And the golden summer sunshine’s bright and warm;
In the old familiar place,
I can see a stranger’s face
In my father’s old arm chair down on the farm.
Many weary years have passed
Since I saw the old place last,
But the memory still steals o’er me like a charm;
Ev’ry old familiar place,
Ev’ry kind and loving face,
In my boyhood’s happy home down on the farm.
(Recorded on an Edison wax cylinder by Edward Clarance circa 1893
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9_zkTmWKn9w )
680. It isn’t because of the Fourth of July
The
lesson he never can learn;
But
once every year he lets the world know
He
has a few fingers to burn.
Suburban
681. The shortcake season is at hand,
And
Tommy’s but one thought;
While
shortcake’s nice he finds it is
Too
altogether “short”.
Suburban
* * *
682. The Summer Season
Soon
will the little busy bee
Improve
each opportunity,
By
stinging those who come to see
The
Countrified Community.
Suburban
683. Uttaly Utta
There
was a young bard in Calcutta,
Who
did unmercifully stutta;
A
poem he read,
On
the goodness of bread,
But
couldn’t get far as the b – b – b – b – butta.
R. by Life, Sun, Puck, Suburban
684. Jack Ashore
Little
Boy Blue come blow your roll,
You’ve
come ashore to have a stroll;
Pitch
in and “toot” it loud and free,
You
cannot blow it on the sea.
R. by Life, Puck, Suburban
685. A Generous Maiden
He
asked her for her hand last night,
And
Gladys, nothing loth;
Said
“Jack, you ask me for my hand,
Why
don’t you take them both?”
R. by Life, Puck, Suburban
686. A Fool Ruster
Foolishest
thing I ever see,
At
home or anywhere,
A
ruster standin’ on one laig
When
he hez got a pair.
Ac.
N.Y.
Sun, Pub. June. 21, 1904
687. Its Proper Name
‘Tis
not a day of patriots now,
Of
lessons and utility,
Why
not employ the proper term:
“Fourth
of Juliability”.
R. by N.Y. Sun, Suburban
688. Sir “T”
‘Tis
not polite for us to say,
Tho’
truthful it may be,
The
only cup he e’er can lift
Will
be a cup of “T”.
Camb.
Press
(presumably referring to ‘T’ Roosevelt)
689. Modern
Civilization
Civilization’s
a mighty good thing,
For
all of our half naked sons;
But
we question the policy now and fore’er,
When
they do it with whiskey and guns.
Camb.
Press
690. A Matter Of Location
Yes,
I want to be an angel,
And
with the angels be;
But
I’d rather have the angels
Down
here along with me.
Camb.
Press
691. Not A Candidate
I
wouldn’t enter politics,
No
matter my financial mix;
I’d
have to throw some mud, you see,
Or
else get mud all over me.
Camb.
Press
692. Sir Thomas feels full confident
Whatever
else this man may be
He
is not doubting Thomas.
Brooklyn
Life
Sir Thomas Lipton
Chicago Tribune, August 20, 1904
693. Young America
Whene’er
his sister uses rouge
He
thinks it out of place;
But
when the Fourth gets round he’ll pow-
Der
both his hands and face.
Suburban
694. A Burning
Question
Can
anyone tell why a blamed old hen,
With
plenty good land of her own,
Won’t
stay there and scratch to her heart’s content,
And
let other folk’s garden alone?
R. by Sun, Puck, Ac. Judge
695. Waived
“What
are the wild waves saying, dear?”
He
whispered in her shell-like ear;
“Sweet nothings,” said the truthful
maid,
“But you can discount them,” she
said.
R. by
Puck, Judge, Suburban
696. A Sea Idyll
The boy stood on the burning deck,
The sun threw down an awful
heat;
And when at last it grew too hot,
He went and put his shoes on
his feet.
Suburban
697. Jim Crow
The greatest lesson that I know
Is when a farmer shoots a crow,
And ties him to a pole out where
The other crows can see him there.
R.
by Sun, Suburban
698.
The Rose And The Man
“Full
many a rose is born to blush un-
seen
and waste its fragrance,” sang the poet
rare,
Full
many a man can never get a raise
in
pay until he’s packed his tools to go else-
where.
R.
by Sun, Life, Suburban
699. The Modern
Honk
‘Tis
not the “honk” of the wild goose now,
We
hear in the clear, cool morn;
But
all the day, on the great highway,
‘Tis
the “honk” of the auto-horn.
R.
by F.T. News, Suburban
700. Uncle Josh Catches On
I
watch the papers fur to see
Jest
what the weather’s goin’ to be;
An’
ef it’s rain them folks are sayin’,
I
start right in to dew my hayin’.
Suburban
701. What makes the lamb love Mary so?
The
eager people cry;
Why
Mary eats no lamb, you see,
And
that’s the reason why.
Suburban
702. War Questions
The
question is, we’d like to ask,
You
see we’ve never lost the score;
Are
the ships the Japs are sinking now
The
ones they sunk before?
Suburban
(see #228)
Sept. 1904
703. Shaken Before
Taken
The
candidate’s abroad just now,
He
shakes your hand with care;
But
wait until election’s past,
He’ll
shake you then for fair.
Suburban
704. Adamless
How
doth the summer maiden stand
Upon
the stretch of barren sand;
Oft
hath she stood in that same spot
Waiting
the man who cometh not.
Suburban
705. Silent Watches Of The
Night
Midsummer’s
here and farmer John
All
day his ground doth scratch;
While
every night he has to lie
And
watch his melon patch.
Emma Elizabeth
(Clevenshire) & Joseph Andrew Cone
706. Lights And
Shades
O
de moonlight’s on de melon patch,
And
de firelight’s on de cellun;
And
de dawg lights on de possum’s back,
But
de coon lights on de melon.
Suburban
707. Well Done
Here
is a joke I lately wrote,
I
think it is a gem!
Policemen
don’t belong to clubs,
The
clubs belong to them.
R.
by Judege, Sun, B. Life, Mercury
708. _
_
_
_
_
709. ?
? ? ?
When
mortals have a
Stomach
ache,
They
should take something
For
its sake.
R.
by Judge, Sun, B. Life, Life
710. Once Enough
The
man who fights and runs away
May
live to fight another day;
But
if he’s like the most of chaps
He
won’t butt-in to any scrapes.
Ac.
by Life. R. by Judge, Sun, B. Life, Life (?)
711. A Winter Epitaph
Here
lies good little Willie Hicks
Who
was too full of youthful tricks;
Too
much ice water Willie drank –
He
had his skates on when he sank.
Mercury. R. by Judge, Sun, B. Life, Life
712. A Pull
I’d
ruther pull a pickerel
In
on a cotton string,
Than
pull the wires some people pull,
I
hones’ would, I jing!
713. Overdone
If
health is found within the kiss,
Then
all, both poor and wealthy,
Will
kiss so much that soon we’ll hear
That
everyone’s unhealthy.
Mercury
714. The Perfect Wagnerite
From
millionaire to ten per week
It
is the thing to scrimp;
I’m
living out the simple life
Because
my pay is simp’.
N.Y.
Sun, Jan. 25, 1905
715. Frenzied Financial Terms
To
be correct and up to date,
In
case of being fluked,
Financially
or otherwise,
You
“Chadwickized” or “Duked”.
Medford
Mercury
Cassie Chadwick
Between 1897 and 1904, Cassie Chadwick scammed millions of dollars from Ohio banks by claiming to be the illegitimate daughter of Andrew Carnegie. The banks, believing they could charge Carnegie high interest rates, happily loaned her the money without asking too many questions.
Chadwick had used a simple ruse to lay the groundwork for her scam. She had asked a Cleveland lawyer to accompany her to Carnegie's house. He waited in the carriage while she went inside to conduct her business. On the way out, she "accidentally" dropped a promissory note for $2 million, signed by Carnegie. When the lawyer saw the note, she told him her secret — that she was Carnegie's daughter — but swore him to secrecy, confident he would immediately break his vow and tell every banker in Ohio, which he promptly did. In reality, the note was forged and the only business Chadwick had conducted inside Carnegie's house had been to chat with his maid.
Chadwick's con fell apart in 1904 when a bank demanded she repay a loan of $190,800. She couldn't repay, and finally bankers thought to ask Carnegie if she really was his daughter. Carnegie's reply: "I have never heard of Mrs. Chadwick."
Chadwick was sentenced to over ten years in prison, but died in jail after two and a half years.
San Francisco Call, Volume 97, Number 41, 10 January 1905
716. To Mr.
Hoch
Oh
Mr. Hoch, you oughtn’t to
Have
tried to kill or knock them;
If
you desired to cut them out
You
simply should have “Hoched” them.
Johann Otto Hoch (also known as The Bluebeard Murderer) (1855– February 23, 1906) is the most famous and last-used alias of a German-born murderer and bigamist, John Schmidt. He was found guilty of the murder of one wife but is thought to have killed 50 more. He was hanged.
717. “Pro And Con”
Pro
and Con are always together,
That
they are brothers ‘tis plain to see;
But
tho’ they are related ‘tis truthfully stated
That
Pro and Con can never agree.
Mercury
718. John L’s Favorite
“Of
all sad words,
Of
tongue or pen,
The
saddest are these:”
“I
am a has-been.”
Mercury
"Maud Muller" is a poem from 1856 written by John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892). It is about a beautiful maid named Maud Muller. One day, while harvesting hay, she meets a judge from the local town. Each is smitten with the other. The judge thinks that he would like to be a local farmer married to Maud, while she thinks that she would like to be the wealthy judge's wife. Neither voices these thoughts, however, and both the judge and the maiden move on. The judge marries a woman of wealth whose love for him is based on his riches. Maud Muller marries a young uneducated farmer. Throughout the rest of their lives, each remembers the day of their meeting and remorsefully reflects on what might have been.
This poem contains the well-known quotation: "For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: 'It might have been!'"
Sullivan retired to Abington but appeared in several exhibitions over the next 12 years, including a three-rounder against Tom Sharkey and a final two-rounder against Jim McCormick in 1905 in Grand Rapids, Michigan.
1898 John ‘L.’ in his prime (1880s)
719. The Last
Straw
The
bluebird may forerun the spring,
No
doubt he does as people say;
But
springtime isn’t really on
Until
the straw hat comes to stay.
Mercury
720. Money In It
I’d
like to be a purple cow,
Although
I never see one;
I’d
fetch a handsome price, I vow,
If
I could only be one.
Mar. 1905
721. Also His Hat
Late
to bed
And
early to rise,
Makes
a man’s head
Too
big for his eyes.
722. Psalm Of Mud
Muddy
days like these remind us
We
can do no pedal feats;
But
departing, leave behind us
Overshoes
in suburb streets.
Mercury
723. The Pace That Kills
He
who drinks and runs away
May
live to drink another day;
But
he who makes himself a tank
Is
bound to shortly walk the plank.
Mercury
724. A Red One
Be
not like dumb driven cattle,
With
a lash to make you stir;
Let
yourself be up and doing,
Be
an automobile, sir!
Mercury
725. Fatal Filosofy
Ashes
to ashes,
And
dust to dust;
If
you take on water
Your
stomach will rust.
726. Time vs. Money
Poor
Cassie gets 10 weary years,
If
we believe the editors;
Time
may be money in her case,
But
hardly for the editors.
R.
by Sun, Mercury
Cassie L. Chadwick (10 October 1857–10 October 1907) is the infamous name used by a Canadian woman who defrauded several U.S. banks out of millions of dollars by claiming to be an illegitimate daughter and heiress of Andrew Carnegie
Following her marriage to Dr. Chadwick in 1897, Chadwick began her largest, most successful con game: that of establishing herself as Andrew Carnegie's daughter. During a visit to New York City, she asked one of her husband's acquaintances, a lawyer named Dillon, to take her to the home of Andrew Carnegie. In reality, she just visited his housekeeper ostensibly trying to check credentials. When she came back, she dropped a paper. Dillon took it up and noticed it was a promissory note for $2 million with Carnegie's signature. When Dillon promised to keep her secret, she "revealed" that she was Carnegie's illegitimate child. Carnegie was supposedly so wracked with guilt that he showered huge amounts of money on her. She also claimed that there was $7 million in promissory notes tucked away in her Cleveland home, and she was to inherit $400 million upon Carnegie's death. Dillon arranged a safe deposit box for her document.
This information leaked to the financial markets in northern Ohio, and banks began to offer their services. For the next eight years she used this fake background to obtain loans that eventually totaled between $10 and $20 million. She correctly guessed that no one would ask Carnegie about an illegitimate daughter for fear of embarrassing him. Also, the loans came with usurious interest rates, so high in fact, that the bankers wouldn't admit to granting them. She forged securities in Carnegie's name for further proof. Bankers assumed that Carnegie would vouch for any debts, and that they would be fully repaid once Carnegie died.
With this money, Chadwick began to live a very lavish lifestyle. She bought diamond necklaces, enough clothes to fill 30 closets, and a gold organ. She became known as "the Queen of Ohio."
In November 1904, she received a $190,000 loan from Herbert B. Newton, a Brookline, Massachusetts banker. Newton was shocked when he learned of the other loans Chadwick had received, and called his loan in. Chadwick could not pay and the bank sued. At the time, she had accumulated debts equal to $5 million. It was also discovered that a number of securities being held for her in various banks were worthless. When Carnegie was later asked about her, he denied ever knowing her, and further stated he hadn't signed a note in more than 30 years. Chadwick fled to New York, but was soon arrested at her apartment at the Hotel Breslin and taken back to Cleveland. When she was arrested, she was wearing a money belt containing over $100,000. Leroy Chadwick and his adult daughter hastily left Cleveland for a European tour when the scandal broke. However, he did file for divorce before leaving on the tour.
The news sent shockwaves through the Cleveland banking community. One bank, Citizen's National Bank of Oberlin, which had loaned her $800,000, suffered a massive run that forced it into bankruptcy.
Andrew Carnegie attended her trial, wishing to see the woman who had successfully conned the nation's bankers into believing that she was his heir. Other attendees included members of the very Millionaires' Row families from whom she had tried so hard to gain acceptance. The trial was a media circus. On 10 March 1905 a Cleveland court sentenced her to 14 years in prison and a fine of $70,000 for conspiracy to bankrupt the Citizen's National Bank and conspiracy against the government (Citizen's Bank, as a federally chartered bank, was an agent of the federal government).
727. A Real Eden
O,
Adam was a happy man,
He’d
naught his heart to harden,
He
had no neighbor’s hens to scratch
And
wallow in his garden.
R,
by Sun, Mercury
728. Love’s Optics
“Love
makes the world go round,” they say,
But
to my doubting mind;
Love
makes a very unfit guide
It
is so often blind.
R,
by Sun
729. Eh, Sisters?
The
womanly woman
Is
a joy indeed;
But
the manly woman
We
do not need.
Mercury
730. Hump Yourself
It’s
well enough to sit an’ dream
About
the honey an’ the cream;
But
if you want sech things as these
You’ll
hafter keep a cow an’ bees.
Mercury
731. Every Man His Own
Barber
The
gay suburbanite gets up
At
daybreak every morn;
To
work the garden hose and shave
The
whiskers on his lawn.
Mercury
732. Absent Minded Beggar
Most
wonderful thing I ever knew
I
can’t believe me sane;
I
took an umbrel’ away from home,
And
brought it back again!
Mercury
733. Too Trust
There
are “trusts” of all descriptions,
Good
and bad, and large and small;
But
the man who writes it “no trust”,
Is
the stayer after all.
Mercury
(possibly referring, at least partially, to T.
Roosevelt?)
734. The Abstainer
Never
borrow trouble,
Never
borrow money;
Then
your little pathway
Always
will be sunny.
Mercury
735. Bucolic Verse
The
apple blossoms all have fell,
Green
apples now have set;
Small
Johnny won’t be feeling well
In
a few weeks, you bet.
Mercury
736. Toot, Toot, Toot
The
hoss is clean discouraged, an’
The
country people too;
The
auto’s cleared the right o’ way,
The
whole durn country through.
Mercury
July 10, ‘05
737. Night, Versus Day
“O,
what is so rare as a day in June?”
A
poet asked in a beautiful rune;
If
he had asked me I’d have said on the
spot:
“An
evening in June beats the day all to pot.”
Mercury
And
what is so rare as a day in June?
Then,
if ever, come perfect days;
Then
Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,
And
over it softly her warm ear lays;
Whether
we look, or whether we listen,
We
hear life murmur, or see it glisten;
Every
clod feels a stir of might,
An
instinct within it that reaches and towers,
And,
groping blindly above it for light,
Climbs
to a soul in grass and flowers;
The
flush of life may well be seen
Thrilling
back over hills and valleys;
The
cowslip startles in meadows green,
The
buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,
And
there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean
To be
some happy creature's palace;
The
little bird sits at his door in the sun,
Atilt
like a blossom among the leaves,
And
lets his illumined being o'errun
With
the deluge of summer it receives;
His
mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,
And
the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings;
He
sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,-
In
the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?
Now
is the high-tide of the year,
And
whatever of life hath ebbed away
Comes
flooding back with a ripply cheer,
Into
every bare inlet and creek and bay;
Now
the heart is so full that a drop overfills it,
We
are happy now because God wills it;
No
matter how barren the past may have been,
'Tis
enough for us now that the leaves are green;
We
sit in the warm shade and feel right well
How
the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;
We
may shut our eyes but we cannot help knowing
That skies
are clear and grass is growing;
The
breeze comes whispering in our ear,
That
dandelions are blossoming near,
That
maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,
That
the river is bluer than the sky,
That
the robin is plastering his house hard by;
And
if the breeze kept the good news back,
For
our couriers we should not lack;
We
could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,-
And
hark! How clear bold chanticleer,
Warmed
with the new wine of the year,
Tells
all in his lusty crowing!
Joy
comes, grief goes, we know not how;
Everything
is happy now,
Everything
is upward striving;
'Tis
as easy now for the heart to be true
As
for grass to be green or skies to be blue,-
'Tis
for the natural way of living:
Who
knows whither the clouds have fled?
In
the unscarred heaven they leave not wake,
And
the eyes forget the tears they have shed,
The
heart forgets its sorrow and ache;
The
soul partakes the season's youth,
And
the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe
Lie
deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth,
Like
burnt-out craters healed with snow.
James
Russell Lowell
738. Fickle Man
The
fellow who’s kicking so much at the heat,
Is
the fellow who six months before
Was
cursing the cold like a thousand brick,
And
wishing the winter were o’er.
Mercury
739. Sure,
Mike
The
Irishman rules the political world,
Now
what do you think of that?
For
doesn’t it say in the papers each day,
Each
party is going to stand “pat”?
Mercury
740. Getting
Even
“I
wouldn’t wed the smartest man
That
ever lived,” said she;
“You
couldn’t, madam,” he began,
“I’m
married now,” said he.
Ac.
Judge
741. How About It,
Then?
“A
bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,”
So
all the philosophers say;
Which
same is all right, unless the old bird,
Should
happen to be a “jay”.
R.
by Sun, Judge, Mercury
742. He Ought To Know
The open-work stocking
And peek-a-boo waist,
So says the mosquito,
Shows excellent taste.
R.
by Sun, Ac. Judge
1. (historical) A type of stocking having decorative gaps in the fabric
A fashionable garment in the early 20th century was the "peekaboo waist", a blouse made from broderie anglaise or sheer fabric, which led to complaints that flesh could be seen through the eyelets in the embroidery or through the thin fabric.
An open-work Stocking of 1905
743. Dry Bathing
Little
drops of water
On
her bathing dress,
Fills
the summer maiden
With
unhappiness.
A.
by Judge,
Pub. Judge
744. Hot Feet
Now
doth the little busy bee
Fly
round the meadow lot,
And
for summer boarders he
Makes
things exceeding hot.
Mercury
745. Boys Will Be Boys
The
watermelon’s on the vine,
The corn is on the cob;
The
farmer’s gone to soundly sleep,
The
boy is on his job.
Mercury
746. A Botanical
Fact
“A
rose by any other name
Would
be as sweet,” they say;
‘Twould
have the prickers on it, too,
In
just the same old way.
Mercury
747. Would You?
Life
is real, life is earnest,
Jokes
are all right in their place;
But
I’d rather have a bunion
On
my feet than on my face.
R.
by Sun, Puck, Mercury
748. Nothing To Pull
We’ve
wireless this and wireless that,
But
you can count us “nix”
Till
someone rises to invent
A
wireless politics.
R.
by Sun, Puck, Mercury
749. Closed For
Season
Now
doth the little busy bee
Hide
stinger, tail and hummer;
Within
the cell he loves so well
Till
balmy days next summer.
Mercury
750. Melancholy Days
The
melancholy days are here,
The
apple crop is low;
Sweet?
cider will be scarce and high,
And
that’s what makes them so.
Mercury
751. Let Him Come
If
man could have but bottled up
The
awful heat last summer,
To
use all through the winter’s cold
That
man would be a hummer.
Mercury
752. After The “Fall”
All
beach “affairs’
‘Twixt
he and she
Are
washed away
And
gone to see.
R.
by Sun, Puck. Mercury
753. Good Old Autumn Time
The
man who says that days like these
Are
sad or melancholy,
From
writing verse had ought to cease,
Or
try again, by golly!
R.
by Sun, Puck. Mercury
754. A Rare Individual
Breathes
there a man with soul so dead
Who
never to himself hath said:
“I
guess I’ll take an auto ride
And
kill a soul or two beside.”
R.
by Sun, Puck. Mercury
755. Pa’s Bargain
Papa
he bought an auto and
Found
something wrong was hid in’t;
‘Twas
second hand, and so, of course,
It
auto went, but didn’t.
R.
by Sun, Puck. Mercury
756. The Countryman’s
Autology
Praise
God when all blessings flow,
Praise
Him for lots of ice and snow;
Praise
Him for wintry days to come
That
put the auto on the bum.
R.
by Sun, Puck. Mercury
autology - n. The scientific study
of one's self.
757. Revision
A
goodly sage sometimes has said:
“Constant
dripping wears away the stone”;
Why
shouldn’t he have said instead:
‘Constant
chawing chaws away the bone”?
R. by Sun, Puck. Mercury
“Constant
dripping wears away the stone” is an old English proverb
referring to perseverance.
758. They tour the country to see the grand sights,
Then
tie up their heads, necks and heels;
And
drive like the __ and look like the evil, (devil?)
These
people in automobiles.
Mercury
759. Pay, Pay, Pay!
There’s
a truthful old saying
That
“joy never kills”;
Don’t
fear consequences
But
pay up your bills!
Mercury
760. Ever Been Hit?
The
snowball is a luscious thing
When
held between the teeth;
But
not when one receives it in
The
ear or just beneath.
Mercury
761. Not The Cow’s Fault
Little
drops of water,
Little
lumps of chalk,
Cause
the naughty milkman
Oft
to take a walk.
762. Is Pittsburgh
Jealous?
It
is said Chicago ladies,
Tho’
of course we do not know,
Now
are using smokeless powder
So
the black spots will not show.
R.
by Sat. E. Post, Puck, Judge. Mercury
smokeless powder is any of various combinations of gunpowder designed to replace black powder, with the more recent developments as of this era being the use of nitroglycerin in the formula. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Smokeless_powder DuPont had a factory producing such powder in the Chicago area that blew up (being extremely volatile) in 1906: “Opening in 1894, the DuPont Farm and Ammunition Storage facility had its own track spur off of the Chicago and Rock Island Railroad in between the Rexford Crossing and Oak Forest whistle stops as well as a listing in the train schedule as a recognized station. The primary product manufactured at the location was smokeless gunpowder, which was a clear game-changer in the ammunition industry, as well as forever altering the face of warfare. The DuPont station served as both a passenger drop off and pick up location for staff along with the occasion guest while providing a means to begin their distribution process of their product they were manufacturing.
Explosions were not uncommon in gunpowder factories and storage facilities and 12 years later in 1906, an explosion leveled the DuPont facility. Although there is currently no clear evidence as to the precise location of the facility, apparently the shock-waves from the explosion traveled a decent enough distance in which the windows of the Midlothian Country Club were shattered, according to a report on November 8, 1906 in the Charlotte News. It also appears the Associated Press distributed the geographical location of the facility to be situated in Tinley Park, however a 1900 Homesteader's Map shows the DuPont property to be closer to what would become Oak Forest in 1947 rather than Tinley Park.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Midlothian,_Illinois
black spots:
New International Encyclopedia, Volume 10, p. 489
https://books.google.com/books?id=EBsoAAAAYAAJ&pg=PA489&lpg=PA489&dq=%22smokeless+powder%22+%22black+spots%22&source=bl&ots=Jkx7AngXz0&sig=KsFiYaE7LiwyXkBM4PnsRhChkHE&hl=en&sa=X&ei=RtwQVZaWAuG0sASTkYCICA&ved=0CCYQ6AEwAw#v=onepage&q&f=false
763. Lay Of The China Egg
Folks
laugh at artificial things,
Tho’
some of them are more than neat;
For
instance, take the China egg,
Tho’
lain enough it’s hard to beat.
R.
by Sat. E. Post, Puck, Judge. Mercury
A China egg is a ceramic egg placed under a chicken so as to induce
it to start laying.
764. Small – But –
A
wee and dainty angel she,
A
little sup and a little play;
But
play nor sup could quite come up
To
the bill I had to pay.
Mercury
765. A Sunday Morning Thought
“Man
wants but little here below,
Nor
wants that little long”;
Especially
if it should be
A
sermon far from strong.
Mercury
“Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long.”
The Vicar of Wakefield (1766) Ch. 8, The Hermit (Edwin and Angelina), st. 8
Oliver Goldsmith (10 November 1730 (or 1728) – 4 April 1774), Irish novelist, playwright, poet and physician.
Mar. ‘06
766. Ahoy There!
The
boy stood on the burning deck
And
said, “Good bye, my pards!”
I’ll
have to pass or order up –”
It
was a deck of cards.
R.
by Puck, Judge. Mercury
767. That Reminds Me?
The
weather prophets. wherever we find them,
Are
disconsolate, sullen and sore;
The
present winter doesn’t remind them
Of
any winter that’s gone before.
Mercury
768. The Nation’s Daughter
A
true blue girl Miss Alice is,
She
advocates home trade;
Her
gentleman, American,
Her
gum is Yankee made.
Mercury
Alice Lee Roosevelt Longworth, 1884–1980, American socialite, b. New York City. The only child of Theodore Roosevelt and his first wife, Alice Hathaway Lee, she was a teenager when her father assumed the presidency, and she enlivened the White House with her charm, irreverence, and rambunctious independence. In 1906 (Feb. 17) she married Representative Nicholas Longworth in a White House ceremony. For many decades she was a famous Washington hostess, noted for her knowledge of all things political, her outspoken opinions and often caustic wit, and her influence as a powerbroker. http://www.encyclopedia.com/doc/1E1-LongwortA.html
“We stand unequivocally for a protective tariff.” Pres. Theodore Roosevelt, August, 20, 1906
The Daily Mail Year Book, Volume 7, Associated Newspapers Groups, Limited, 1907 – (Great Britain)
769. No Ice To Cut
The
winter’s been so mild that all
All
the girls are sad of eye;
They
fear their ice cream sodas will
Be
minus by and by.
Mercury
770. Consider The Lovers
Woodman
spare that tree,
Mayhap
in gladsome June
A
pair of lovers fair would sit
Beneath
its shade and spoon.
Mercury
771. Have You Been
There?
It’s
easy enough to be funny
When
checks are coming like fun,
But
how can a man be his brightest
Who
hasn’t the price of a bun?
Mercury
772. The True Situation
Man
wants but little here below,
But
wants that little lengthy;
But
while he has it don’t you know,
He
wants it pretty strength.
Mercury
773. A Lucky Cast
She
was a freckled country maid,
She
did her mother’s duty;
A
city fellow married her
To
get a speckled beauty.
Sun, Apr. 29, 06
774. The Happy
Commuter
The
smell of the bonfire pervades the land,
For
this blessing I say “amen”;
For
my wife can’t say at the close of day:
“My
dear, you’ve been smoking again.”
Mercury
775. With The
“Push”
Good
things of life are coming now,
And
must be pushed along;
And
now upon the lawn we hear
The
mower’s morning song.
Mercury
776. A Quatrain To Maxim
It’s
hard on Gorky to be thus used,
But
we simply want to remind him;
That
when he comes to U.S. again
He
should leave his trouble behind him.
Mercury
Alexei Maximovich Peshkov (28 March 1868 – 18 June 1936), primarily known as Maxim (Maksim) Gorky, was a Russian and Soviet writer, a founder of the Socialist realism literary method and a political activist.
In 1906, the Bolsheviks sent him on a fund-raising trip to the United States with Ivan Norodny. When visiting the Adirondack Mountains, Gorky wrote Мать (Mat', The Mother), his notable novel of revolutionary conversion and struggle. His experiences in the United States —which included a scandal over his travelling with his lover (the actress Maria Andreyeva) rather than his wife—deepened his contempt for the "bourgeois soul" but also his admiration for the boldness of the American spirit. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maxim_Gorky
§ April 10, 1906. Gorky arrives in the United States.
§ April 14, 1906. US newspapers allege Gorky sex scandal with Russian actress
§ May 14, 1906. Gorky addresses a large unruly crowd in Brooklyn.
§ July 15, 1906. Gorky publishes negative impressions of American society.
§ July 28, 1906. Gorky issues a public appeal to the American Public to provide assistance to the Russian People.
§ September, 1906. H.G. Wells publishes comments about Gorky’s visit to the United States.
§ October 13, 1906. Gorky sails from Hoboken, New Jersey.
777. Suitable
Suits
The
Easter suit has had its day,
The
summer suit outshines the rest;
But
of the suits of all the year,
The
bathing suit it suits us best.
Mercury
778. “I wouldn’t marry the best man living,”
She
said in her teasing way;
“All
right, my dear,” said I forgiving,
“I’ll
be just as bad as you say.”
Pub.
N.Y. “Sun”
779. The busy bee will busy be,
If
you be careless both’ring he;
Beware
ye of the busy be,
And
be not busy where he be.
“Sun”
780. If it’s true that the good die young
As
poet and prophet has sung,
Do
you wonder, as sad as it is,
That
this world is as bad as it is?
“Sun”
781. One farmer’s grass has gone to hay,
Another
one, alas!
Who
left it out one rainy day,
His
hay has gone to grass.
“Sun”,
June 5, ‘06
782.
Getting Personal
“What’s
good for mosquitoes?” she cried in despair,
Wildly
striking some vigorous blows;
“The
best thing I’ve seen,” said he, very mean,
“Is
the peek-a-boo waist and open-work hose.”
R.
by Times, Sun, Puck, Trans., Judge, N.Y.
Her.
783. Nature Study
Sometimes
our city folks don’t know
A
hornet’s nest out in the tree,
But
if they’ll shake it they will find
In
half a shake just what it bee.
R.
by Times, Sun, Puck, Trans., Judge, N.Y.
Her.
784. A Shrink Rule
Although
the modern bathing suit
Doth
shrink a goodly bit,
The
modern maiden shrinketh not
From
often wearing it.
R.
by Times, Sun, Puck, Trans., Judge, B. Life,
Life, N.Y. Her.
785. Advice To The Tardy
Time
has a value known to none
Save
him who has a deal to do;
Talk
business until it is done,
Make
your escape when you are thro’.
R.
by Times, Sun, Puck, Trans., Judge, N.Y.
Her.
786. For Book Collectors
A
book is like a valued friend;
A
valued friend you would not lend.
Lend
not your books – ‘twere better far
To
know just how and where they are.
R.
by Times, Sun, Puck, Trans., Judge, N.Y.
Her.
787. Casting Reflections
In
going fishing nowadays
Success
or pleasure, I may state,
As
well as getting home again,
Depends
entirely on the bait.
R.
by Times, Puck, Trans., Judge, B. Life, Life, N.Y. Her.
788. What The Wild Waves Are
Saying
The
summer girl who wears her heart
Upon
her sleeve in pleasure mute,
What
does she with it when she bathes
In
her scant, sleeveless bathing suit?
R. by Judge, Ac. by Puck
Aug. 21, 06
789. Numerous
They’ve
seen him North, South, East and West,
Causing
no end of trouble;
There
must be lots of Stenstands else
Some
folks are seeing double.
R.
by Sun, N.Y. Her.
Paul O. Stensland (occasionally spelled ‘Stenstand’, as here), the ex-President of the Milwaukee Avenue Bank in Chicago (and friend of Theodore Roosevelt), was charged with stealing $1,500,000 from that institution. He fled, and a $5000 reward was put up for him. At the time this was written, he was still at large. The man was ultimate located in Tangiers (having fled through England) and – through a ruse misstating the treaties/laws concerning extradition – was retuned first to New York, then to Chicago, when he was tried and sentenced.
790. Notice To Swimmers
From so many drownings it would seem,
If you want to shake the loam,
The safest place to go bathing is,
In your little tub at home.
R. by Sun, Life, Trans, N.Y. Her.
791. The Season’s
Attraction
No
summer place just now
Has
really got the goods,
Unless
it can produce
A
“Wildman of the woods”.
N.Y. Her.
(This may refer to a reported
sighting of a sasquatch-type creature – later named ‘Old Yellow Top’ in
Ontario, Canada in Sept. 1909.) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_Yellow_Top
792. Fat Versus Thin
A
man has secured a divorce on the grounds
That
his wife is the owner of too many pounds;
No
doubt she is fat, which by the way is no sin,
But
I verily think the excuse is too thin.
R.
by Puck, Judge, Life, B. Life, B. Record, Trans., N.Y. Her.
793. Dog-gone It
We
have a mad-dog scare in town,
One
cur was pretty bad;
We’ve
had to muzzle all of them,
And
now they all are mad.
R.
by Sun
794. A Modest
Singer
I
do not care who makes the laws
Of
this great land of mine, ,
ahem!
If
I can only sing her songs
And
get well one bone per line. paid
for them.
R.
by Puck, Life, Trans., Sun. (Ac. by Judge)
795. The reason why so many workmen
Can’t
see why they’re at loss
Is
they keep one eye on the timepiece
And
the other on the boss.
R.
by S.E. Post, Judge, Life, Trans., Puck
796. There’s this about rubbers
That
generally suits:
You,
whenever you can wear them,
Don’t
have to slime your boots.
R.
by Life, Trans., Puck, Judge, S.E. Post
797. The trouble with some people is,
An’
we could name a score,
They
paste things in their hats and then
Don’t
wear their hats no more.
R.
by B. Life, Life, Trans., Puck, Judge,
S.E. Post
798. Oh what a blessing it is to be poor,
I’m
glad that I have no cash,
Because,
you see, I never will meet
With
death in an auto smash.
R.
by Judge, Life, Trans., N.Y. Her., Sun
799. The fish that bites
And
gets away,
May
bite your hook
Another
day.
R.
by Judge, Life, Trans., Sun
800. The Point Of View
The
biggest fish he gets away;
At
least that’s what the anglers say.
It
mayn’t be so, and yet it may;
No
doubt the fish they feel that way.
Pub.
N.Y.
Sun, July 25, ‘07
801. The seedless apple would be all right,
And
the boneless shad we never would veto,
But
we’d give them all, “lesses” great and small,
For
a sight of a noiseless mosquito.
R.
by Puck, B. Life, Judge, N.Y. Herald, Sun, Life
802. O, where does the mind go when it blows?
Is
a question old and funny;
To
continue the game we might ask the same
Concerning
our wafted money.
R.
by Puck, B. Life, Judge, N.Y. Herald, Sun, Life
803. Living And Giving
It’s
true God loveth a cheerful giver,
He
also loveth a cheerful liver;
For
if a man hath a cheerful liver
He’s
certain to be a more cheerful giver.
R.
by N.Y. Herald, Sun, Judge, Ac. by Puck,
Pub. in #1618
804. Look not upon the wine when it is red so people say;
Look
not upon it any time might be the better way.
R.
by N.Y. Herald, Judge, Sun
Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright.
Proverbs 23:21 (King James version)
805, The Modern Hero
The
chauffeur is the only man,
Here
let his praise be sung,
When
running down an enemy,
Declines
to use his tongue.
B. Life, Judge, Puck, Sun, Life
806. Rule Of The Road
Here
is the rule of twenty three,
Which
same is safe and true:
Whene’er
you see an auto skid
You
auto skid-do too.
R.
by Judge, Life, Trans., Sun, Puck
807. Blessed Woman
“Man
wants but little here below,”
The
old, erratic call;
Man
wants the earth and sea and sky,
But
woman gets them all.
R.
by Judge, B. Life, Sun, Puck, Life
808. Nature Faking
The
greatest nature faker in (‘fakir’)
Our
town someone declares,
Is
she who spends her precious time
In
hugging Teddy Bears.
R.
by Judge, B. Life, Life, Trans., S.E.P.,
N.Y. Her., Sun
809. Aspirations
I
want to be an actor star,
And
with the actors shine;
But
when it comes to “working up”,
Why
I’ll stay down for mine.
R.
by Judge, Life, Sun, Trans., S.E.P., N.Y.
Her.
810. Shades (‘Shades|’)
October
days of red and gold,
Autumnal
sunshine mellow;
We
wish we had less of the red
And
lots more of the yellow.
R.
by Life, Trans., S.E.P., N.Y. Her., Sun
The following are not in
the handwritten book/collection, but are included in his book(s) of clippings
(publications) of the same period:
It’s
mighty cur’us, so it is,
How
mortal skin doth itch for fame,
When
he who dwells within well knows
How
he must scratch to get the same.
(Pub.
in Camb.
Press, Aug. 6, ‘92)
Song Of The Mooder
I’d
sooner lose a hull month’s pay,
An’
stop a week frum eatin’
Than
stay away the last great day
Frum
Tylerville camp-meetin’.
Camb.
Press? , (Aug. 27, ‘92)
Gratitude
I’m
glad that Uncle Ned died long, long ago,
And
that the Old Arm Chair had an arm;
I’m
glad that Grandfather’s Clock has ceased to go,
And
that the Old Oaken Bucket is Down On the Farm.
Music
and Mirth, Dec. ‘92
The Old Arm-Chair
Eliza Cook (1818–1889)
I LOVE it, I love it! and who shall dare
To chide me for loving that old arm-chair?
I’ve treasured it long as a sainted prize,
I’ve bedewed it with tears, I ’ve embalmed it with sighs.
’T is bound by a thousand bands to my heart;
Not a tie will break, not a link will start;
Would you know the spell?—a mother sat there!
And a sacred thing is that old arm-chair.
In childhood’s hour I lingered near
The hallowed seat with listening ear;
And gentle words that mother would give
To fit me to die, and teach me to live.
She told me that shame would never betide
With Truth for my creed, and God for my guide;
She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer,
As I knelt beside that old arm-chair.
I sat, and watched her many a day,
When her eye grew dim, and her locks were gray;
And I almost worshipped her when she smiled,
And turned from her Bible to bless her child.
Years rolled on, but the last one sped,—
My idol was shattered, my earth-star fled!
I learnt how much the heart can bear,
When I saw her die in her old arm-chair.
’T is past, ’t is past! but I gaze on it now,
With quivering breath and throbbing brow:
’T was there she nursed me, ’t was there she died,
And memory flows with lava tide.
Say it is folly, and deem me weak,
Whilst scalding drops start down my cheek;
But I love it, I love it, and cannot tear
My soul from a mother’s old arm-chair.
Old Uncle Ned
Written & Composed by Stephen C. Foster
New York: Millet's Music Salon, 1848
Dere was an old Nigga, dey call'd him uncle Ned--
He's dead long ago, long ago!
He had no wool on de top ob his head--
De place whar de wool ought to grow.
Den lay down de shubble and de hoe,
Hang up de fiddle and de bow:
No more hard work for poor Old Ned--
He's gone whar de good Niggas go,
No more hard work for poor Old Ned--
He's gone whar de good Niggas go.
His fingers were long like de cane in de brake,
He had no eyes for to see;
He had no teeth for to eat de corn cake,
So he had to let de corn cake be.
Den lay down de shubble and de hoe,
Hang up de fiddle and de bow:
No more hard work for poor Old Ned--
He's gone whar de good Niggas go,
No more hard work for poor Old Ned--
He's gone whar de good Niggas go.
When Old Ned die Massa take it mighty hard,
De tears run down like de rain;
Old Missus turn pale and she gets berry sad,
Cayse she nebber see Old Ned again.
Den lay down de shubble and de hoe,
Hang up de fiddle and de bow:
No more hard work for poor Old Ned--
He's gone whar de good Niggas go,
No more hard work for poor Old Ned--
He's gone whar de good Niggas go.
"My Grandfather's Clock"
Henry Clay Work, 1876
My grandfather's clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor;
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a pennyweight more.
It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride;
But it stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
His life's seconds numbering,
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
It stopp'd short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,
Many hours had he spent while a boy;
And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know
And to share both his grief and his joy.
For it struck twenty-four when he entered at the door,
With a blooming and beautiful bride;
But it stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
His life's seconds numbering,
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
It stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
My grandfather said that of those he could hire,
Not a servant so faithful he found;
For it wasted no time, and had but one desire —
At the close of each week to be wound.
And it kept in its place — not a frown upon its face,
And its hands never hung by its side.
But it stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
His life's seconds numbering,
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
It stopp'd short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
It rang an alarm in the dead of the night —
An alarm that for years had been dumb;
And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight —
That his hour of departure had come.
Still the clock kept the time, with a soft and muffled chime,
As we silently stood by his side;
But it stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
His life's seconds numbering,
(tick, tick, tick, tick),
It stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
The Old Oaken Bucket
Samuel Woodworth
How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view!
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew!
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it,
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell,
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it,
And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well-
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well.
That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure,
For often at noon, when returned from the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing,
And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell;
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.
How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As poised on the curb it inclined to my lips!
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
The brightest that beauty or revelry sips.
And now, far removed from the loved habitation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,
And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well!
Down On the Farm
Gustavus Du Bois
When I was a boy I used to dwell
In a home I lov’d so well,
Far away among the clover and the bees;
Where the morning glory vine,
Round the cabin porch did twine,
And the robin red-breast sang among the trees
There were brothers young and gay,
A father old and gray,
And a mother dear to keep us from all harm;
There I passed life’s golden hours,
Running wild among the flow’rs,
In my boyhood’s happy home down on the farm.
Many weary years have passed
Since I saw the old place last,
But the memory still steals o’er me like a charm;
Ev’ry old familiar place,
Ev’ry kind and loving face,
In my boyhood’s happy home down on the farm.
And today, as I draw near
The home I love so dear
A stranger comes to meet me at the door;
Round the place there’s many a change,
And the faces all seem strange,
Not a lov’d one now to greet me as of yore.
My mother dear, is laid;
‘Neath the elm trees pleasant shade,
And the golden summer sunshine’s bright and warm;
In the old familiar place,
I can see a stranger’s face
In my father’s old arm chair down on the farm.
Many weary years have passed
Since I saw the old place last,
But the memory still steals o’er me like a charm;
Ev’ry old familiar place,
Ev’ry kind and loving face,
In my boyhood’s happy home down on the farm.
(Recorded on an Edison wax cylinder by Edward Clarance circa 1893
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9_zkTmWKn9w )
O
authors blest of days agone
With
purpose pure and loty mind,
Thanks
to the art preservative
Your
heart and voice you left behind.
Transcript,
Apr. 22, ‘93
Improvements On William
He
who steals my purse steals trash,
Insomuch
as it containeth no cash,
And in itself is valueless.
Courier, June 3,
‘94
Drops? (2 stanzas) Courier June 3, ‘94
Under A Bushel Aug 19 94 (poem?)
An’
when at las’ my ghostly voice the awful stillness broke,
I
slunk intew the dressin’ room, an’ thet wuz how I spoke!
?
, Sept. 23, 94
Quatrains
Love
Love has
taught me how to live,
To
receive and how to give;
Love has
brought me Heaven’s glow,
Love has
taught me all I know
Act Today
‘Tis not
enough to eat and drink,
Philosophize,
instruct and think;
We needs
must act, and that today,
To fill
our role in life’s swift play.
Joseph Andrews Cone
Cambridge,
Mass.
Boston Courier, Dec. 2, ‘94
To Voters
“Count
that day lost whose sun descending low,”
Sees not
upon your ballot a cross which meaneth “no”.
Boston
Weather
Can’t
reckon on the weather here in Borston nowadays;
Weather
changes ev’ry minute ‘fore we git used tew her ways;
We start
tur go tur meetin’ with our last year’s Easter pants,
An’ the
weather drops tur zero, an’ it’s back we hev tur dance!
B. Courier, Feb. 24, 1895 (typed as lyric)
Mary
And Her Lamb
If Mary had a little lamb, and people say
she did,
I
shouldn’t want to be the clam, Oh, no, my pen
forbid,
to say to have that lamb was wrong, and
hurt her
girlish pride; it’s no affair of mine so long
as May
was satisfied.
B. Courier, Mar. 10, ‘95
Busy Lives
These
days they glide along so fast,
That when the night stealeth o’er,
We find,
instead of all things done,
One extra burden more.
Joseph Andrews Cone
Transcript Apr. 15,
‘95
A
Hint In Season
He
Sing a
song of May-time, flowers rare and sweet;
Flowers
for you, darling, let me strew them at your feet.
She
Sing a
song of May-time, save your shekels, dear:
Guess you
have forgotten June is getting pretty ner.
B. Courier
May 12, 1895
We
Did Not Understand
We met,
we loved, and life was full,
Then clouds obscured our “Promised
Land”;
We
quarreled, parted, and fore’er,
Because we did not understand.
Yankee Blade, Mar. 22, ‘95
Spring Is Comin
Spring is
comin, spring is comin, we kin read it in the air;
We kin
read it in the medders, we kin read it everywhere.
We kin
read it in the dresses, we kin read it on the bonnet.
But we
allus read it sooner in the vusses written on it.
Lyric
Red
An Rosy June
Oh red an
rosy June time, the pride uv all the year;
When
lovers lose their senses, an the maidens act so queer.
Our song
it may be noisy, but we kennot stop the tune,
‘Cuz
we’re set on gittin married in the red an rosy June.
B. Courier
June 9 ‘95
Fallen Among Thieves
I saw a
wondrous sight today,
While in the mountain fair;
I chanced
to see a large hotel.
And so I halted there.
B. Courier, (June 23, ’95)
With
summer girls and their mammas
The place did swarm, I heard;
And now
the wondrous truth I’ll state:
“A man has registered!”
In Memoriam*
(Little Johnny died July 4th)
•
• • •
• • •
July,
•
• • •
• • •
did buy;
•
• • •
• • •
to try.
•
• • •
• • •
one eye.
•
• • •
• • •
did die.
•
• • •
• • •
come nigh.
•
• • •
• • •
on high,
•
• • •
• • •
and cry,
•
• • •
• • •
good bye,
•
• • •
• • •
July.
*Much
words needless here.
B. Courier,
July 7, ‘95
A Scene In Midsummer
The bly
is skue, the grields re feen,
We hear
the mickerty clowing shamine;
Skies and
mofleetos skace the preen,
And vy in
train to tweeze besqueen.
Changed His Mind
There was
a man in Boston town, and wondrous
wise was
he; he jumped off from a trolley car, a
going
like the D. And now that he has come to life,
midst
pillows soft and props, he says hereafter
he will
wait until the trolley stops.
B. Courier,
(Sept.
29, ’95)
The Spinster
Ah me,
says she, leap year is near,
As at her glass she casts a glance;
And I
must catch a man next year,
It is my last and only chance.
Courier, (Dec. 29, ‘95)
For
Love Is Blind
She
whispered me that love was blind;
Then
answered I, “To love be kind;
We’ll
guide him gently as we go,
And
love him more because ‘tis so.
J.A.C.
B.
Transcript, Aug. 10, ‘97
No comments:
Post a Comment