Newspaper History

Category: Newspapers

This is the parent category for all individual newspapers.

  • Real Joy

    From the Richmond Times Dispatch, May 15, 1915.

    There are lots of simple pleasures,
        Caught in nature’s ebb and flow,
    That will multiply life’s treasures,
        If your heart’s attuned to know;
    There is one joymaker granted
        Quite the sweetest ever found—
    When the green things you have planted
        Show their heads above the ground.

    There are sunsets, limned with glories
        By the Master Artist’s brush,
    And at morn the soft love stories
        Of the mocking bird and thrush.
    There are streams that seem enchanted,
        There are beauties all around—
    And just now the hopes you’ve planted
        Spring in rapture from the ground.

  • The Arrow and the Song

    From the Evening Public Ledger, May 14, 1915. By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

    I shot an arrow into the air,
    It fell to earth, I know not where;
    For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
    Could not follow it in its flight.

    I breathed a song into the air,
    It fell to earth, I know not where;
    For who has sight so keen and strong
    That it can follow the flight of song?

    Long, long afterward, in an oak
    I found the arrow, still unbroke;
    And the song, from beginning to end,
    I found again in the heart of a friend.

  • Spring Rain

    From the Grand Forks Daily Herald, May 13, 1915. By Robert Loveman.

    It isn’t raining rain to me,
        It’s raining daffodils.
    In every dimpled drop I see
        Wild flowers on the hills.
    The clouds of gray engulf the day
        And overwhelm the town—
    It isn’t raining rain for me
        It’s raining roses down.
    It isn’t raining rain to me,
        But fields of clover bloom
    Where any buccaneering bee
        May find a bed and room.
    A health unto the happy
        A fig for him who frets—
    It isn’t raining rain to me
        It’s raining violets.

  • The Night and I

    From the Evening Public Ledger, May 12, 1915. By James Stephens.

    The night was creeping on the ground,
    She crept along without a sound
    Until she reached the tree, and then
    She covered it, and stole again
    Along the grass up to the wall.

    I heard the rustle of her shawl
    Inside the room where I was hid;
    But no matter what she did
    To everything that was without,
    She could not put my candle out.

    So I peeped at the night, and she
    Stared back solemnly at me.

  • Wishes

    From the Newark Evening Star, May 10, 1915. By Howard Arnold Walter.

    I would be true, for there are those who trust me;
        I would be pure, for there are those who care;
    I would be strong, for there is much to suffer;
        I would be brave, for there is much to dare.

    I would be friend to all—the foe—the friendless;
        I would be giving, and forget the gift;
    I would be humble, for I know my weakness;
        I would look up—and laugh—and love—and lift.

  • The Fairy’s Invitation

    From The Sun, May 9, 1915. By Lillian MacDonald.

    Dear child, I’ve brought a toadstool,
        It’s a table for our feast,
    And a cowslip (such a bargain—
        Worth three daisies at the least!)

    With five small cups upon it,
        Full of sparkling, shining dew,
    And of violets for perfume
        We will scatter just a few.

    We’ve pollen in a rose leaf;
        Other dainties, more or less;
    For it takes such choice refreshments
        To make parties a success.

    Please come at half past midnight;
        I’ll send Glowworm to attend.
    Until supper time, believe me,
        Your devoted Fairy Friend.

  • Little Boy Blue

    From The Detroit Times, May 8, 1915. By Eugene Field.

    The little toy dog is covered with dust,
        But sturdy and staunch he stands;
    And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
        And his musket molds in his hands.
    Time was when the little toy dog was new,
        And the soldier was passing fair;
    And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
        Kissed them and put them there.

    “Now, don’t you go till I come,” he said,
        “And don’t you make any noise!”
    So, toddling off to his trundle bed,
        He dreamt of the pretty toys;
    And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
        Awakened our Little Boy Blue—
    Oh! the years are many, the years are long
        But the little toy friends are true!

    Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
        Each in the same old place,
    Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
        The smile of a little face;
    And they wonder, as waiting the long years through
        In the dust of that little chair,
    What has become of our Little Boy Blue
        Since he kissed them and put them there.

  • Inspiration

    From the Newark Evening Star, May 7, 1915. By Berton Braley.

    Though the world is harsh and the game goes wrong
        And the skies are far from clearing,
    And out of the vast uncaring throng
        There’s never a word that’s cheering;
    Though fortune shun me soon and late,
        And destiny jolt and shove me,
    I’ll keep my nerve and I’ll laugh at fate,
        While I have a friend to love me!

    If I have one friend who is leal and true,
        One friend who will not alter,
    I’ll fight the world and the devil, too,
        And never my heart shall falter.
    Though I know despair and I know defeat
        And the clouds hang black above me,
    I’ll fear no fate that is mine to meet
        While I have a friend to love me!

  • Grandmother’s Dream

    From the Evening Star, May 6, 1915. By Sydney Dare.

    Mamma said, “Little one, go and see
    If grandmother’s ready to come to tea.”
    I knew I mustn’t disturb her, so
    I stepped very gently along, tip-toe,
    And stood a moment to take a peep,
    And there was grandmother, fast asleep.

    I knew it was time for her to wake
    And thought I’d give her a little shake,
    Or tap at her door, or softly call,
    But I hadn’t the heart for that at all.
    She looked so sweet, and so quiet there,
    Lying back in her high armchair,
    With her dear white hair and a little smile
    That means she’s loving you all the while.

    I didn’t make a speck of noise,
    I knew she was dreaming of little boys
    And girls, who lived with her long ago
    And then went to heaven (she told me so).

    I went close, but I didn’t speak
    One word, but I gave her on her cheek
    The softest bit of a little kiss,
    Just like a whisper, and then said this:
    “Grandmother, dear, it’s time for tea.”
    She opened her eyes and looked at me
    And said, “Why, pet, I have just now dreamed
    Of a little angel who came, and seemed
    To kiss me lovingly on my face.”
    She pointed right at the very place.

    I never told her ’twas only me,
    But took her hand and we went to tea.

  • War Risks

    From The Birmingham Age Herald, May 5, 1915. By C. Fox Smith.

    “Let’s go aft”… and out she slides,
    Pitching when she meets the tides…
    She for whom our cruisers keep
    Lordly vigil in the deep…
    Sink or swim, lads, war or no,
    Let the poor old hooker go.

    Soon, hull down, will England’s shore,
    Smudged and faint, be seen no more;
    Soon the following gulls return
    Where the friendly dock-lights burn…
    Soon the cold stars, climbing high,
    March across the empty sky…
    Empty seas beyond her bow,
    (Lord, she’s on her lonesome now.)

    When the white fog, stooping low,
    Folds in darkness friend and foe…
    When the fast great liners creep
    Veiled and silent through the deep…
    When the hostile searchlight’s eye
    Sweeps across the midnight sky,
    Lord of light and darkness, then,
    Stretch Thy wing o’er merchantmen!

    When the waters known of old
    Death in dreadful shape may hold…
    When the mine’s black treachery
    Secret walks the insulted sea…
    (Lest the people wait in vain
    For their cattle and their grain),
    Since thy name is mercy, then,
    Lord, be kind to merchantmen!