Newspaper History

Category: Perth Amboy Evening News

  • Expectations

    From the Perth Amboy Evening News, November 19, 1914. By James J. Montague.

    The kid that lives next door to me
        Is talkin’ mighty queer.
    He says that Santa Claus won’t be
        A-comin’ round this year.
    He says we’re poorer than we was
        An’ that’s why he is sure
    That Santa Claus won’t come, because
        He doesn’t like the poor.

    I guess I know we’re poor, all right.
        My dad ain’t got no job,
    An’ all my mother does at night
        Is lay awake an’ sob.
    But I should think old Santa’d know
        That ‘count o’ this here war
    Us kids that’s boosted for him so
        Would need him all the more.

    He must be rich as rich can be,
        For every Christmas day
    The papers tells about how he
        Gives loads o’ toys away.
    I ain’t expectin’ him to bring
        A very awful lot,
    But gee! I’d like some little thing
        To show he ain’t forgot!

  • Lady’s Slippers

    From the Perth Amboy Evening News, April 21, 1913.
 

 Deep hidden in the green of woods,
     Where rain of sunlight, sifting through
 The woven layers of the leaves
     Makes diamonds of the dew,
 There is a secret nook I know
     Where yellow lady’s slippers grow.
 
 And I have seen from day to day
     (Though new ones come to take the place)
 How soon they seem to wear away
     And lose their first day’s grace.
 And I have often mourned that they
     Should be so quick to fade away.
 
 It’s strange I never guessed this thing
     Before, but now I know,
 Because I found a fairy ring
     Beside the place they grow—
 The moss, which is the fairies’ lawn,
     With toadstools that they sit upon.
 
 The fairies put the flowers there
     Of course. They never grew by chance.
 At midnight each one takes a pair—
     They wear the slippers when they dance.
 And with the peeping of the sun
     They hang them on their stalks and run.

  • Many Books

    From the Perth Amboy Evening News, March 6, 1913.
 By Walt Mason.
 

 They turn out books a-plenty, they print ‘em by the mile, and one, perhaps in twenty is worth a reader’s while. So many books are dizzy, so many books are flat; so many keep you busy a-guessing where you’re at; so many books are sporty, so many books are vile, and one, perhaps in forty, is worth a reader’s while. Translations from the Germans, translations from the Swedes, and masquerading sermons the weary victim reads; translations from the Spanish, translations from the Finns, translations from the Danish, and other bookish sins; and native authors nifty print volumes by the pile, and one perhaps, in fifty, is worth a reader’s while. We’ve books by four time winners who would expound the truth, and books concerning sinners pursued by wondrous sleuth; and we have problem novels and books about the slum, where, down in filthy hovels fierce people live on rum; and we have volumes weighty, and some that make us smile, and one, perhaps in eighty, is worth a reader’s while. We’ve books about the toiler, and books about the dude, and books about the spoiler, and books that shock the prude; and we have books that worry about our modern ways, and other books that hurry us back to ancient days, to lady on her pillion, to knight who scraps in style; and one in fifty million is worth a reader’s while.

  • Walk Cleaned

    From the Perth Amboy Evening News, January 20, 1913.
 By Bosco.
 

 He held her hand, the hour was late,
 ‘Twas time for him to go.
 It was a wintry night outside
 And it began to snow.
 
 Still he stayed on, his ardent love
 With burning words to tell.
 The storm increased, the whirling snow
 Faster and faster fell.
 
 He still remained and eloquent,
 He praised his Heart’s Delight.
 The snowdrifts ever deeper grew,
 The town was buried quite.
 
 At last her father called: “Young man,
 You seem to like to talk!
 But you can stay to breakfast if
 You’ll shovel off the walk!”

  • Good Resolutions

    From the Perth Amboy Evening News, January 10, 1913.
 By Walt Mason.
 

 At 8 o’clock on New Year’s day,
 I heard Bill Wax, my neighbor, say:
 “This year will see me leave the hole
 In which I’ve long immersed my soul;
 That hole is Debt, and from its deeps
 I’ll drag myself, this time for keeps.
 My bank account must be enlarged;
 I’ll buy no goods and have them charged;
 Collectors won’t be on my track,
 Nor bailiffs camped around my shack.
 I’ll cut out porterhouse and pie,
 And pay for everything I buy,
 And when the year is growing gray
 I’ll have a bundle put away.
 This vow I surely won’t forget—
 I’m bound to take a fall from Debt!”
 For many years on New Year’s day
 Old William Wax has talked this way;
 He’s asked the gods to witness vows
 As rigid as the law allows,
 And for two weeks or maybe three
 Old Bill’s as righteous as can be.
 And then he sees a watch or gun
 He needs so bad! He has no mon,
 And so he has the blame thing chalked;
 And then, such weary roads he’s walked,
 He buys a horse to rest his frame,
 And gives his note—the same old game;
 And when the year is growing old
 The merchants clamor for their gold,
 And Bill’s afraid to go out doors
 To be run down by creditors.
 Alas for Bill! Alas for all
 Who have their backs against the wall,
 Their noses on the grinding stone,
 Because they can’t let Debt alone!

  • Jimmy’s Diagnosis

    From the Perth Amboy Evening News, January 3, 1913.
 

 My pa says, “Step lively, son,
     An’ do as you are bid.”
 My sister, too, the biggest one,
     Calls out, “I want you, kid!”
 Ma wants some kindlin’ from below
     Or somethin’ else like that,
 An’ grandpa’s goin’ out, an’ so
     I’ve got to hunt his hat.
 
 If I start out to go an’ play—
     It doesn’t matter when—
 Somebody ‘fore I get away
     Will call me back again.
 An’ when they git me back about?
     The only thing they do
 Is look at me an’ holler out,
     “I’ve got a job for you!”
 
 It makes no difference how I try,
     Them jobs is never done.
 ‘Cause ‘fore I git one finished, why,
     They find another one.
 An’ if I have some doggone task
     An’ go to play instead
 They all say they’re surprised an’ ask,
     “Whatever ails the kid?”
 
 You bet I know what ails me too.
     I ain’t no reg’lar dunce.
 They always want that I should do
     Too many jobs at once.
 But I don’t see why they should call
     Me “lazybones.” Well, yes,
 The thing that ails me most of all
     Is too much folks, I guess.