Newspaper History

Tag: James J. Montague

  • The Children Santa Claus Forgets

    From the Newark Evening Star, December 14, 1914. By James J. Montague.

    When the happy little children, up along the avenue
    Hark for Santa Claus’s coming down the yawning chimney flue,
    There’ll be other little children, in another part of town
    Where the streets are dark and grimy and the houses tumble down,
    Looking through the dingy windows toward the snowflake speckled sky,
    Wondering if they will see him when he comes careering by.

    Ragged, dirty little children, yet as eager for the joys
    That will come to countless houses with the Christmas morning toys,
    As the vastly happier children who awaken every year
    To the news from down the staircase: “Mr. Santa Claus was here!”
    Gaunt and pallid little children, oh so pitiful to see,
    But as hungry to be happy as all children ought to be.

    Such a little would delight them, just a trifling toy or two,
    Just one real old-fashioned Christmas that would make their dreams come true.
    Tell old Santa Claus about them, show the old man where they live,
    Let him leave them all the good things that he likes so well to give,
    Then go ‘round on Christmas morning, and you’ll find it’s well worth while;
    For the best of all investments is to buy a baby’s smile.

  • The Blessings of Hard Times

    From The Topeka State Journal, November 23, 1914. By James J. Montague.

    When Farmer Jones’ Berkshire hog was living on the farm
    His personality was gross, his manner had no charm;
    He daily wallowed in the mud, he guzzled from his trough,
    And grew a mass of embonpoint which nothing could take off.
    And while his body waxed so great that he could hardly crawl,
    His brains became so dull and thick he couldn’t think at all.

    But when one day the farm burned down, the Berkshire hog got loose,
    And had to put his thickening brains to very active use.
    Nobody came to feed him now; he had to hustle ‘round,
    And use his nerve and judgement to provide his daily found.
    And soon new muscles thewed his flanks instead of flabby fat,
    And his once soggy countenance became worth looking at.

    There is no startling moral to this tale of Jones’s swine,
    Except that when one has to work before one sits to dine,
    And has to keep expenses down, the life he learns to lead
    Is pretty sure to keep his brains from running all to seed.
    And though no doubt it will surprise a lot of soft-raised men,
    A little pinch of poverty won’t hurt them—now and then.

  • 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!

  • The Peasant Soldier

    From The Topeka State Journal, September 22, 1914. By James J. Montague.

    He has no hope for conquest; he has no lust for power;
    His bosom does not burn to share in triumph’s glorious hour;
    He bears no hatred in his heart against his brother man;
    Unlearned he is in strategy or statesman’s scheme or plan.
    But when throughout the troubled land there rings the battle cry,
    Unknowing and unquestioning, he marches forth to die.

    No prizes are there to be gained for his too common kind;
    He wins no splendid spoils of war for those he leaves behind.
    Whatever glory there may be, the great ones of the earth
    Will never yield to his mean kin, all folk of peasant birth.
    But when he sees upon the hills the battle banners fly
    He marches calmly to his death—nor thinks to wonder why.