Month: October 2020

From the Rock Island Argus, October 8, 1912.
By Duncan M. Smith.
 

 Oft in the stilly night
 When the cats begin to fight
 On the fence behind the lot
 Then I form a little plot
 As the window wide I throw
 And the yard I knee-deep sow
 With lots of bric-a-brac
 That was resting on the rack.
 
 Do the cats in wild alarm
 Run lest I should do them harm?
 Do they let the concert slide
 And proceed in haste to hide?
 No; they do not seem to know
 As I throw and throw and throw
 That a single thing is wrong
 With their piercing midnight song.
 
 Then I heave a pair of shoes
 That I wouldn’t care to lose,
 And I throw a kitchen chair,
 Followed by my wife’s false hair,
 Books and tables, sofa, rugs,
 Pots and kettles, pans and mugs,
 Writing pads, my rubber stamp,
 The piano and the lamp.
 
 Then the bedding and the bed
 From the tail piece to the head
 All are hurled into the gloom
 Till there’s nothing in the room.
 But the cats are good as new
 On the job when I am through.
 Nor do they a moment pause.
 They regard it as applause.

From the Rock Island Argus, October 7, 1912.
By Duncan M. Smith.
 

 I took my little hopeful
   And sat him on my knee
 And tried to get the six-year-old
   To take advice from me.
 “I want you,” I said softly,
   “Always to be polite,
 And with the rude and naughty boys
   You must not scrap and fight.
 
 “With others do not quarrel
   And do not in your play
 Get angry with another boy
   Who wants to have his way.
 Give in without protesting,
   For you will always find
 That lasting friendships you will win
   By being true and kind.
 
 “Thus by your good example
   The other boys will see
 That it is better to be good
   And with their mates agree.
 Should one be so forgetful
   As to be rude or rough
 Turn on your heel and go away
   And he’ll feel bad enough.”
 
 ’Twas thus the lesson ended,
   And then I asked him, “Now,
 What would you do if some rude boy
   Should try to pick a row?”
 He thought about a minute,
   Then answered plain and clear:
 “I’ll tell you if you want to know.
   I’d biff him on the ear!”

From the Rock Island Argus, October 5, 1912.
By Duncan M. Smith.
 

 And this woman, soft of voice,
   Of whom the poets sung,
 Who in the ages long ago
   Was forced to hold her tongue.
 Good sooth but she is making up
   And paying back the debt
 Piled up through all those silent years!
   Behold the suffragette!
 
 Our mother sat around and smiled
   When men in meeting rose,
 And when they grandly aired their views
   Her tongue was in repose.
 But now the words so long suppressed
   No longer clog her throat.
 She fires them out with emphasis
   And says she wants a vote.
 
 No longer will she sit at ease
   And let him have his way
 About affairs of church and state,
   For she will have her say.
 For when there is a talking fest
   You find her in the swim,
 And oftentimes, to his dismay,
   She knows as much as him.
 
 Yes, woman, you have grown a bit
   And learned a lot of things.
 You fly as high as any one
   Since you have spread your wings.
 Is it for better or for worse?
   We can’t exactly say:
 But, though man is a little dazed,
   He likes you anyway.

From the Rock Island Argus, October 4, 1912.
By Duncan M. Smith.
 

 There’s no use in moaning
 In weeping and groaning.
 The sun may be shining
 Ere yet it is noon.
 His warm rays may cheer you
 And hope nestle near you,
 So cease your repining
 And look for it soon.
 
 Make end to the sighing
 For swift years are flying
 And joy at your casement
 Is calling to you.
 Make haste, then, to meet it.
 Go smiling to greet it.
 Give care its effacement
 And hide it from view.
 
 Oh, turn your face sunward
 And listen for one word,
 A message of sweetness,
 Of love pure and true!
 Be happy, my dearie;
 Be smiling and cheery,
 And then with completeness
 Will joy come to you.