Newspaper History

Category: Harrisburg Telegraph

  • Jimmy’s Hair Cut

    From the Harrisburg Telegraph, March 15, 1915.

    Jimmy’s had a hair cut!
        How the folks all stare!
    It’s so short you see his skin
        Showing through his hair.
    ‘Twasn’t what he had before,
        Cut all round a bowl;
    It was in that barber store
        By the candy pole.

    Jimmy’s had a hair cut!
        We were there to see,
    Looking through the window pane—
        All the boys with me.
    He was worried there alone,
        Trying hard to grin,
    On a kind of great big throne,
        Wrapped up to his chin.

    Jimmy’s had a hair cut!
        Course it scared him some.
    All those shears and cups and things
        Sort of struck him dumb.
    Jimmy’s mother saved a curl—
        She feels bad, I know,
    That he wasn’t born a girl,
        And could let it grow.

    Jimmy’s had a hair cut—
        My! It made him proud!
    Walking out, while all of us
        Followed in a crowd.
    He got pretty rich that day,
        ‘Fore he went to bed;
    He made every fellow pay
        Just to smell his head.

  • The Death of a Favorite Cat

    From The Birmingham Age Herald, January 28, 1915. By Thomas Gray.

    ’Twas on a lofty vase’s side,
    Where China’s gayest art had dyed
        The azure flowers that blow;
    Demurest of the tabby kind,
    The pensive Selima reclined,
        Gazed on the lake below.

    Her conscious tail her joy declared;
    The fair round face, the snowy beard,
        The velvet of her paws,
    Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
    Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
        She saw; and purred applause.

    Still had she gazed; but ’midst the tide
    Two angel forms were seen to glide,
        The Genii of the stream;
    Their scaly armour’s Tyrian hue
    Through richest purple to the view
        Betrayed a golden gleam.

    The hapless nymph with wonder saw;
    A whisker first and then a claw,
        With many an ardent wish,
    She stretched in vain to reach the prize.
    What female heart can gold despise?
        What cat’s averse to fish?

    Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
    Again she stretched, again she bent,
        Nor knew the gulf between.
    (Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled)
    The slippery verge her feet beguiled,
        She tumbled headlong in.

    Eight times emerging from the flood
    She mewed to every watery god,
        Some speedy aid to send.
    No dolphin came, no Nereid stirred;
    Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard;
        A Favourite has no friend!

    From hence, ye beauties, undeceived,
    Know, one false step is ne’er retrieved,
        And be with caution bold.
    Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
    And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;
        Not all that glitters, gold.

  • Kindness

    From the Harrisburg Telegraph, January 6, 1915. By John Boyle O’Reilly.

    “What is the real good?”
        I asked in a musing mood.
    Order, said the law court;
        Knowledge, said the school;
    Truth, said the wise man;
        Pleasure, said the fool;
    Love, said the maiden;
        Beauty, said the page;
    Freedom, said the dreamer;
        Home, said the sage;
    Fame, said the soldier;
        Equity, the seer.
    Spake my heart full sadly,
        “The answer is not here.”
    Then within my bosom
        Softly this I heard:
    “Each heart holds the secret—
        Kindness is the word.”

  • The Ancient Spell

    From the Harrisburg Telegraph, November 3, 1914. By Berton Braley.

    When a ship puts out to sea
        Swinging slowly from the quay,
    Somehow warm enchantment gleams
        From each mast and stack and spar
    As she takes the trail o’ dreams
        Where all brave adventures are.
    Life seems big and blithe and free
        When a ship puts out to sea.

    Slaves of time and circumstance,
        Humdrum folk and dull are we,
    Yet we sense the old romance
        When a ship puts out to sea,
    And we watch her flag unfurled
        To the wind that sweeps the world,
    Watch her dim and fade and then
        Sighing, turn to toil again.

    Yet, although we may not be
        With her on the deeps that call,
    We can feel the mystery
        And the glamour of it all—
    When a ship puts out to sea.

  • Trees

    From the Harrisburg Telegraph, October 17, 1914.

    However little I may be
    At least I too can plant a tree.

    And some day it will grow so high
    That it can whisper to the sky

    And spread its leafy branches wide
    To make a shade on every side.

    Then on a sultry summer day,
    The people resting there will say—

    “Oh, good and wise and great was he
    Who thought to plant this blessed tree!”

  • When He is Wrong

    From the Harrisburg Telegraph, September 2, 1914.

    I am not a sage or seer,
    There are many problems here
        That I couldn’t solve correctly if I tried.
    That I’m not so very wise
    Is a fact I recognize,
        And it’s something that I do not try to hide.
    But in riding to and fro,
    I have noticed as I go
        Men engaged in worldly conflicts loud and long,
    And a dollar or a dime
    I will wager every time,
        The fellow with the loudest voice is wrong.

    On the trolly cars you’ll find
    Men of every sort and kind,
        And they settle every problem that is known.
    They will quickly put to rout
    Every questionable doubt,
        And they mock at every answer but their own.
    I’ll admit that I don’t know
    Half the things they say are so,
        That I’ve doubts on many questions that are strong;
    But I’m sure it’s safe to bet,
    If a wager you can get,
        That the fellow with the loudest voice is wrong.

    When a man begins to shout
    And waves his arms about,
        When he voices his opinion in a shriek;
    When he works with lungs and jaw
    And he tries to overawe
        His brothers who are mild and sane and meek,
    When he tries to advertise
    To the world that he is wise,
        And he seeks to get the notice of the throng
    By the volume of his chatter;
    What the subject doesn’t matter,
        It is always safe to wager that he’s wrong.

  • Speculators

    From the Harrisburg Telegraph, August 31, 1914.

    He’d nothing but his little job
        And she her rosy cheek,
    But love still lives on bread and cheese
        And kisses twice a week;
    And so the speculators went
        To get the license out—
    And what’s the use to try to preach
        When the wind of love’s about!

    He’d nothing but his manly will
        And she her gentle grace;
    But, oh, the world and all to him
        Was in her glowing face;
    And so these speculators took
        The problem all must fight—
    And what’s the use to fret and scold
        When all comes out so right!

    He’d nothing but his youth and gleam
        And she her laughing eyes;
    But they were in the vale of dreams
        Beneath the singing skies;
    And so these speculators chose
        Their nest as others do—
    And what’s the use to raise a fuss
        When they only did like you!

  • Too Hot to Eat

    From the Harrisburg Telegraph, July 25, 1914. By Wing Dinger.

    Why is it that this time of year
        With such good things to eat,
    We’re stopped from eating all we want
        By the excessive heat.

    Take chicken corn pie, say, than which
        A better dish there’s not.
    But, gee, you can’t eat all you want,
        Because it is too hot.

    Fresh vegetables of all kinds
        Are thrown into the pot,
    But when they’re served, though we would like
        To eat them, it’s too hot.

    For months I’ve hungered for fresh things—
        Green corn and beans and such—
    They’re here now, but it is so hot
        I can’t eat very much.

  • It Can’t Be Done

    From the Harrisburg Telegraph, May 14, 1914. By Wing Dinger.

    The editor is yelling
        For my poem to-day,
    And as it is nine thirty
        I’ll write it right away.

    Now let me see, what subject
        Will likely bring a smile.
    I have it—but excuse me
        For just a little while.

    Someone came in to see me
        On business, that was why
    I asked you to excuse me,
        And now to write I’ll try.

    I’ve got to do some hustling,
        Because it’s half past ten.
    Well, here goes—but pray pardon,
        There is my phone again.

    I have just two more minutes
        To write this verse of fun,
    And I’ve forgot my subject—
        By jove, it can’t be done.

  • Dat’s Da Life

    From the Harrisburg Telegraph, May 6, 1914. By Wing Dinger.

    They make-a greata beega noise
        In deesa town to-day,
    Da crowds all leesten to da tune
        Da beega brass band play.

    I ask, “What ees dees fuss about,
        Why do dey yell hurray?”
    And some one tell me, “Why, you boob,
        Da season starts to-day.”

    I follow to da park dey call
        Da baseball field, and pay
    My leetle quart for one small tick
        To see da two teams play.

    Da players throw da ball about;
        Da crowds dey yell and shout;
    Some times da man day call da “ump”
        Says “safe,” and sometimes “out.”

    And when he say “you’re safe” to one
        Of da home team, he’s right,
    But if he say “you’re out,” da bunch
        Gets mad enough to fight.

    I wouldn’t want to be da ump,
        He’s got one nasty job;
    No matter what he says da crowd
        Calls him one great beeg slob.

    But seeng of love for chickens, cows
        And war, with all eets strife,
    To seet upon da bleachers at
        A ball game, dat’s da life.