Newspaper History

Month: December 2021

  • A Christmas Carol

    From The Birmingham Age Herald, December 21, 1913. By Willoughby Newton Claybrook.

    Gen. 9.27—“God shall persuade Japheth and he shall dwel in the tents of Shem.”

    Let the sons of Japheth gather to the goodly tents of Shem,
    For the Heavenly Host is singing o’er the heights of Bethlehem,
    For the King of Glory cometh as the Travail of the years,
    And Judea’s hills are sounding with the music of the spheres.
    Let the sons of earth rejoice in the song the Angels sing
    That “To all mankind is born today in Bethlehem a King.”
    Not a despot clothed in power, won by shedding human blood;
    But the Prince and King of Glory by the grace of doing good.
    Not a ruler swept to power as the hero of a day,
    But the King of men forever, by the Everlasting Yea.
    Not a King who by enslaving men, his glory hopes to find,
    But a King who knows no greatness but the service of His kind.
    Not a King to rule by terror of the chariot and sword,
    But the King of human nature, by the Spirit of the Lord.
    Not in pomp and dazzling power, as the world expects the great;
    Not bedecked in golden splendor and the majesty of state,
    Comes the Prince and Lord of Glory, and the King of all mankind,
    But an infant and His Mother in a manger you will find;
    Not to might, nor wealth, nor power, nor to cabalistic word,
    Are the battlements surrendered in the Kingdom of the Lord;
    But to gentleness and purity He opens wide His gate.
    All the greatest things are simple, and the simplest things are great,
    For the Lord’s not in the earthquake, nor in the thunder’s roll,
    But is ever in the silences within the human soul.
    Let’s arise and go to Bethlehem, and see this Holy Thing!
    Lo, the Baby wrapped in swaddling clothes, and helplessness is King!
    Let the wise men in their wisdom, make their journey from afar,
    And to Bethlehem be guided by the leading of a star.
    Let them come in awful reverence, and the threefold offering bring,
    For the Infant in the manger is their Prophet, Priest and King.
    He’s the Heir of all the ages and the promised of the Lord,
    The Redeemer and Restorer, by the power of His word.
    Let the hilltops of Judea shout for joy to Gallilee,
    Let the sacred flood of Jordan sing an anthem to the sea,
    Till the music of the Angels shall be heard in all the earth,
    And the world shall know the blessing of the Great Redeemer’s birth.
    Let the sons of Japheth gather to the goodly tents of Shem,
    For the Heavenly Host is singing o’er the heights of Bethlehem;
    For the King of Glory cometh as the Travail of the years,
    And Judea’s hills are sounding with the music of the spheres.

  • Bravery

    From the Rock Island Argus, December 20, 1913.

    The bravest man may not be he
        Who fights upon the bloody field,
    Nor one who ventures daringly
        Where waiting outlaws are concealed;
    The bravest man may not be one
        Who soars a mile above the earth,
    Nor one who, while his work is done
        Smiles hopefully for all he’s worth.
    The bravest of the brave may be
        The man who from temptation turns
    While knowing there is none to see
        The sinful profit that he spurns.

  • Head and Heart

    From The Washington Herald, December 19, 1913. By John Kendrick Bangs.

    When Heart says “Do,” and Head says “Don’t,”
    And Bill’s inclined to say “I won’t!”
    It may be wrong to follow Heart
    And from the paths of Head depart,
    But all the same I’ve heard much song
    On roads wise Head hath branded wrong,
    And sooner found the light that’s true
    On byways Heart hath brought to view!

  • Our Apartment House

    From The Topeka State Journal, December 18, 1913. By Roy K. Moulton.

    Cabbage on the second floor,
        Liver on the first;
    What is being cooked next door?
        Must be wienerwurst.

    Onions? You can bet two hats
        What a cook prepares
    Anywhere around our flats
        Everybody shares.

  • In the Country in the Winter

    From the Rock Island Argus, December 17, 1913. By Henry Howland.

    I am longing for the pleasures that the fields alone can give;
    I am sick of being crowded where the luckless millions live;
    I am yearning for the freedom that the farmer’s boy enjoys
    Out there where no busy builders are producing ceaseless noise,
    Where the frost has made the wattles of the troubled rooster blue
    And the kitchen door-step’s buried under snow a foot or two.

    I am sighing for the pleasure that the farmer doubtless feels
    As he wades out in the mornings to give Boss and Spot their meals;
    How I long to be there helping to haul wood upon the sled
    And to have the joy of chopping up the chunks behind the shed;
    I can hardly keep from turning from the city with its ills
    To go out and help the farmer who is doping for his chills.

    What a joy ‘twould be to never have to dodge or skip and jump;
    And how sweet in zero weather it would be to thaw the pump;
    How I hanker for such gladness as the farmer may possess
    While he has to do the milking when it’s ten below or less;
    I would say good-bye forever to the city if I could—
    Gee, I’d like to be a farmer in the winter—YES I WOULD!

  • Necessary Evils

    From The Seattle Star, December 16, 1913. By Berton Braley.

    In the days of old Rameses, when he ruled along the Nile,
    There were human sacrifices of a rather gory style.
    And if tender-hearted people at this sort of thing demurred,
    “It’s a Necessary Evil,” they were told, when it occurred.
    “For the mighty gods require it, and we mustn’t tell them ‘No,’
    Or the crops would cease to prosper and the Nile would cease to flow!”
    Yet in time this custom perished, ‘spite of priest and king and thrall,
    For a Necessary Evil’s no necessity at all!

    In the time of Mr. Nero, who was emperor of Rome,
    There were Necessary Evils which were very much at home.
    There were gladiators’ battles and a lot of other games,
    Such as feeding Christian martyrs to the lions or the flames.
    But the reign of Nero ended and he had his little day,
    And those Necessary Evils were completely swept away—
    Swept away like little sandhills in a sudden windy squall—
    For a Necessary Evil’s no necessity at all!

    There were good and kindly people who defended slavery
    As a Necessary Evil which was simply bound to be.
    Yet it’s washed away forever by the blood of noble men;
    It’s a Necessary Evil which will not come back again!
    So the Barroom and the Brothel, which are ever talked about
    As two Necessary Evils which we cannot do without—
    They shall go like those before them, they shall crumble to their fall—
    For a Necessary Evil’s no necessity at all!

  • A Successful Campaign

    From the Rock Island Argus, December 15, 1913. By Henry Howland.

    We’ve married sister off at last, and pa and ma are glad;
    The troubles that we had are past; we’ve all quit feelin’ sad;
    Now mebby I’ll have things to wear that wasn’t pa’s before,
    And none of us will have to care about expense no more.

    They say his father’s got a pile; he gave a house to sis,
    Where him and her will live in style, with servants, after this.
    Pa used to fret a lot about the price of meat and coal,
    But now his heart is free from doubt and joy is in his soul.

    We put on all the airs we could when he began to come.
    I acted as they said I should and pa quit bein’ glum.
    Ma, every chance she got, would tell about our pedigree,
    And made him think we had a swell and old, old fambly tree.

    We all pretended to believe that sis was somethin’ great
    And that we’d set around and grieve if she would meet her fate.
    Ma often got him coaxed aside and in a tremblin’ tone
    Would tell about the boys who’d tried to win her for their own.

    We went in debt to dress her well—of course he never knew.
    Gee, but we kept her lookin’ swell; she was outclassed by few.
    Pa cut my hair to save expense; we kept things clean and neat,
    And everything was cooked immense when he stayed here to eat.

    We’ve got her married off at last, and pa and ma are glad.
    The troubles that we had are past; we’ve all quit bein’ sad.
    It took all we could raise to dress her so she’d catch a prize;
    The way the plan worked out I guess it pays to advertise.

  • Making Sure of It

    From The Birmingham Age Herald, December 14, 1913.

    Where I went downtown with Mamma they had Santa in a store
    Dressed up like you always see him, walking up and down the floor;
    And they said if you would tell him what you wanted him to bring,
    When he came around on Christmas, you’d get every single thing.

    So I told him that I wanted most a nice big fancy doll,
    One with lots of pretty dresses, hat and gloves and parasol,
    And he said he’d see I got it, but I must be very good,
    And be sure to learn my lessons and mind Mamma as I should.

    Then we went a little further, to the next store in the square,
    And no sooner were we in it than we saw a Santa there.
    And it got me awful puzzled, till I stopped and thought it out,
    And I saw that just one Santa never would get all about.

    Course there must be plenty of them, like policemen on a beat,
    And I wondered if the first one that I told would have our street;
    Cause if they should send the other, how would he know what to do?
    So to have my doll for certain, why I told that Santa, too.

  • When Cupid Comes

    From the Omaha Daily Bee, December 13, 1913. By Kate Masterson.

    Today, upon the avenue, I met him face to face.
    His gray eyes sought my own of blue, beneath their film of lace.
    I passed him, flushing, through the throng, the while he poised his hat.
    The air sang in my ears a song—Freddie is growing fat!

    Ten years ago—ten years ago! ’Twas summer when we met,
    And roses bloom and breezes blow about that Junetime yet.
    So fresh, so lovely and so sweet; a tender, old, dead day!
    Now in the afternoon we meet—he’s wearing a toupee!

    No straight-front model bound his waist, vested in English style.
    His keen glance swept my bodice laced, his gray eyes seemed to smile;
    And yet his look was reverent, dim, o’er full with memory.
    But as I slowly measured him, he seemed to size up me.

    Ah, love and summer and romance! If we could but delay
    When time leads us a merry dance and steals our joys away;
    If, like a rose, we fade in truth, in the chill grasp of fate!
    But Cupid grins when love and youth begin to take on weight!

  • The Broader Horizon

    From the Rock Island Argus, December 12, 1913. By Henry Howland.

    He left the little town because he thought
        He needed a horizon that was wider;
    He fancied he had talent and he sought
        The city as a suitable provider
    Of opportunities such as he dared
        To think were all he needed to win glory;
    The little town, he solemnly declared,
        Was such an old and oft-repeated story.

    He sought the city with its rush and roar,
        And with its glare and glitter and its splendor;
    He thought about the little town no more,
        Forgot the friendships that had been so tender;
    He found his opportunity inside
        A cage where day by day he labored grimly,
    Where sweet, fresh air and sunlight were denied,
        Where hope loomed up sometimes—but very dimly.

    His home consisted of four little rooms,
        Within a building that was far from peerless.
    They were as dark as are Egyptian tombs,
        And just about as stuffy and as cheerless;
    Day after day he went the same small round,
        Nor ever found new scenes to rest his eyes on,
    But, sadly pinched, he fancied he had found
        Though high walls shut him in, a broad horizon.