Category: Newspapers

This is the parent category for all individual newspapers.

  • Big Game Hunters

    From The Tacoma Times, February 12, 1913.
     By Berton Braley.
     
    
     We are looking, we are looking for the Masters of Finance,
     And it’s no use fleeing from us as we dauntlessly advance
     With a summons and subpoena and a warrant in our hand
     And with double-barreled questions and an air of stern command;
     We are trailing wily captains of the wicked system camp
     And the malefactors tremble when they hear our sturdy tramp;
     There are men of mighty millions who were never known to quail
     Till they heard us stepping softly as we hit upon their trail.
     
     Let the Wall Street powers thunder, we are not a bit afraid,
     We’re the bravest little hunters that you ever saw arrayed.
     We’ve been probing, poking, peeking through the jungle where they roam
     The fierce and savage monsters who are feared in every home;
     And when we’ve got ‘em captured through our skill and courage high
     We’ll put ‘em on the witness stand and make ‘em testify.
     We’re out for big game hunting—there’s a lot upon our list
     And when at last we’ve got ‘em, WE SHALL SLAP ‘EM ON THE WRIST!
  • When I Left School

    From the Bisbee Daily Review, February 11, 1913.
     By Roy K. Moulton.
     
    
     I remember, I remember the day that I quit school
         I got a nice diploma for minding every rule.
     I was the wisest mortal who ever left the place
         There was no person like me in all the human race.
     I had old Homer faded and Solomon as well
         The real reach of my knowledge would take too long to tell.
     And I was downright sorry. It really seemed a shame
         That I should have to go out and teach the world its game.
     For I was tenderhearted and couldn’t bear to see
         The looks of jealous anger when people heard of me.
     
     The teacher, to assure me, was kind enough to say
         The other folks would manage to get along some way.
     I couldn’t quite believe him. You see that was before
         I’d taken my first toddle outside the college door.
     Then I set forth to conquer the poor old easy world
         With wind and weather charming and every sail unfurled.
     ’Twas several long years ago, how many I forget
         But still I don’t mind ownin’ the world ain’t conquered yet.
     I remember, I remember the day that I quit school;
         Since then I have been learnin’ how not to be a fool.
  • His Day of Triumph

    From the Rock Island Argus, February 10, 1913.
     By S. E. Kiser.
     
    
     He left her at the gate, one day
         Because his plea she had denied;
     But as he turned to go his way
         His breast, though sad, was filled with pride.
     “Some time,” he said, “you shall regret;
         Some time the world shall grant me fame
     Upon a height my goal is set
         And well won honors I will claim.”
     
     She merely smiled and let him go.
         He went out in the world to strive.
     Though fortune dealt him many a blow
         He bravely kept his hopes alive.
     He toiled for years with all his might
         And thought of her and of his vow
     His goal still gleaming on the height
         And deep lines forming on his brow.
     At last his day of triumph came.
         He was rewarded with success;
     The world accorded him the fame
         Which he had sworn he would possess;
     Through ceaseless efforts he had won
         The crown of honor for his own;
     For splendid things which he had done
         His name o’er all the land was known.
     
     Then, having played a splendid part
         He turned from where his goal was set
     And started back to break her heart
         To overwhelm her with regret.
     He found her, but unhappily
         Discovered that she did not care.
     The crown of fame was his, but she
         Was married to a millionaire.
  • The Flow of the River

    From The Birmingham Age-Herald, February 9, 1913.
     By Dr. W. E. Evans.
     
    
     I have followed the flow of the river
     From the springs and the rills, where at first
     Through the grasses and ferns all entangled
     As a stream into sunlight is burst;
     I have followed its devious windings
     ‘Neath the bending of boughs interlaced
     And have marked how it deepened and widened
     As its course to the ocean was traced:
     And so wide and so deep is the river
     As it surges and flows to the sea
     That the springs and the rills are forgotten—
     E’en the place where it first came to be.
     I had often o’erbounded the river,
     With a sportive and boyishlike pride
     But today only line as of shadow
     Marks the far away opposite side.
     
     We were children, and stood by the river,
     Then a narrow and silvery band—
     I suggested we follow the water
     While we held one another by hand:
     Through the tall tangled grasses we wandered
     By the banks of the musical stream
     As it tinkled, and murmured, and cadenced
     Like the mystical tones in a dream:
     Ah, the day was so fair! I remember
     It was early in blossoming June
     And the soft vernal zephyrs were fragrant—
     All the world with its God was in tune!
     And I loved her—as man loves a woman—
     Not as boys often love and forget;
     I was old for my years and was thoughtful
     And I fancied she loved me, and yet—
     
     Through the tall tangled grasses we wandered
     As we each kept an opposite side—
     Loosing hands just a little-by-little
     Where the water was swifter and wide;
     Till at last only tips of the fingers
     Could be touched—then the hands idly fell
     And she merrily said as we parted—
     “We shall meet nevermore,” and “Farewell!”
     O, the long, lonesome walk by the margin!
     O, the piteous call to return
     To the spot where the stream had beginning
     ‘Mid the grass, and the vine, and the fern!
     But away in the distance she faded—
     Where the river drops into the sea
     And dividing us rolled the wide waters
     Leaving memory and heartache to me.
  • Cyrus Bottsford’s Candid Opinion

    From the Rock Island Argus, February 8, 1913.
     By S. E. Kiser.
     
    
     There’s a lot of folks who always keep a-growlin’ at the rich;
     Every man who has a million they’d have put in boilin’ pitch;
     They will not forgive a person who contrives to get along
     But I don’t believe that havin’ lots of cash is always wrong.
     
     Mind I don’t pretend to argue that the rich are always right;
     There are lots of men with millions that have souls as black as night;
     But I’ve studied the thing over, and I guess there’s one thing sure:
     It’s no sign a man is noble just because he’s keepin’ poor.
     
     I’ve a sort of crazy notion that there may be here and there
     Some rich man who’ll go to heaven and secure a crown to wear
     For I’ve met some wealthy people as I’ve traveled round about
     That I don’t believe that heaven can afford to do without.
     
     And I’ve got another notion which I’d like to have you know-
     All the poor may go to heaven; I can’t half believe it, though.
     There are poor men who are worthy, but I can’t help feelin’ sure
     That you’ll not get past St. Peter just because you have been poor.
  • The Indian Rancher

    From the Washington Standard, February 7, 1913.
     
    
     My fathers roamed the prairie
         In the days when men were free,
     But a hundred and sixty acres
         Is the home that must do for me;
     I must master the plow and reaper,
         Nor look at the winding trails,
     And thousands there are to jeer me
         In case the red rancher fails.
     
     My fathers dwelt in the open,
         But I have a stifling shack;
     I dream of the shining tepees,
         But the morn brings sharply back
     The fences that clip one’s freedom—
         The ranch and the toil that waits—
     And I say farewell to my fathers
         When I open the barnyard gates.
     
     But visions still overwhelm me
         In spite of my will to win
     And the fences and buildings vanish
         And the village comes trooping in;
     The tepees gleam in the meadow
         The children shout by the stream
     But I wake at the clank of the harness—
         ’Tis only a red man’s dream!
  • Bedouin Love Song

    From The Birmingham Age-Herald, February 6, 1913.
     By Bayard Taylor.
     
    
     From the desert I come to thee,
     On a stallion shod with fire;
     And the winds are left behind
     In the speed of my desire.
     Under thy window I stand,
     And the midnight hears my cry;
     I love thee, I love thee,
     With a love that shall not die
     Till the sun grows cold,
     And the stars are old,
     And the leaves of the judgement
     Book unfold!
     
     Look from thy window, and see
     My passion and my pain;
     I lie on the sands below,
     And I faint in thy disdain.
     Let the night winds touch thy brow
     With the heat of my burning sigh
     And melt thee to hear the vow
     Of a love that shall not die
     Till the sun grows cold,
     And the stars are old,
     And the leaves of the judgement
     Book unfold!
     
     My steps are nightly driven
     By the fever in my breast,
     To hear from the lattice breathed
     The word that shall give me rest.
     Open the door of thy heart,
     And open thy chamber door,
     And my kisses shall teach thy lips
     The love that shall fade no more
     Till the sun grows cold,
     And the stars are old,
     And the leaves of the judgement
     Book unfold!
  • When Pa Was My Age

    From the Rock Island Argus, February 5, 1913.
     By S. E. Kiser.
     
    
     When pa was my age he was glad
         To do just as they told him
     He never made his parents sad
         They never had to scold him.
     He never, never disobeyed
         Nor punched his little brother
     And day and night he always made
         Things pleasant for his mother.
     
     When pa was my age he would clean
         His shoes when they were muddy.
     He never thought his folks were mean
         Because they made him study.
     He always tried his best to be
         For goodness celebrated
     And he was praised by all—but, gee!
         How pa’s degenerated!
  • Parcel Postludes

    From The San Francisco Call, February 4, 1913.
     
    
     O’er many a weary, aching mile
         The parcel postman ambled
     And when he reached our domicile
         The eggs he brought were scrambled.
     
     The hat he left for Mabel, too,
         Caused her poor heart to flutter;
     ’Twas saturated through and through
         With some one’s melted butter.
     
     And Brother Bill is tearing hot
         He doesn’t think it’s funny
     The socks and ties and shirts he got
         By mail were smeared with honey.
     
     But father’s smile is soft and bland;
         We all know by that token
     His snake bite cure, though contraband,
         Came through the mail unbroken.
  • Grand Opry

    From The Topeka State Journal, February 3, 1913.
     By Roy K. Moulton.
     
    
     Grand Opry as a form of entertainment can’t be beat.
     I love to cough up ten good bones and buy myself a seat.
     To hear some howling tenor from some low-browed foreign land
     Come forth and yell a lot of stuff that I can’t understand.
     
     I simply dote on listenin’ for several mortal hours
     While them high-priced sopranners exercise their vocal powers.
     I think I get my money’s worth. Oh yes, of course I do
     And I am always sorry when the jamboree is through.
     
     There’s nothing I like half so well and for a chance to go
     I’d walk five miles in my bare feet right through the ice and snow.
     I know what you are thinking, I’ve got your thought wave quite-
     You’re thinking I’m a liar and I guess you’re thinking right.