Tick-tock Goes the Clock

THE OLD CLOCK.

GUY CARLTON.

I.

The old clock croons on the sun-kissed wall –
Tick, tock! tick tock!
The merry seconds to minutes call:
Tick, tock! ‘Tis morn.

A maiden sits at the mirror there,
And smiles as she combs her golden hair;
O, in the light but her face is fair!
Tick, tock! tick, tock!

Far over the sea the good ship brings
The lover of whom the maiden sings;
From the orange tree the first leaf springs:
Tick, tock! tick, tock!

II.

The old clock laughs on the flower-decked wall –
Tick, tock! tick, tock!
The rose-winged hours elude their thrall:
Tick, tock! ‘Tis noon!

The lover’s pride and his love are blest;
The maiden is folded to his breast;
On her brow the holy blossoms rest;
Tick, tock! tick, tock!

O thrice, thrice long may the sweet bells chime,
As echoing this thro’ future time!
Still to my heart beats that measured rhyme –
Tick tock! tick, tock!

III.

The old clock moans on the crumbling wall
Tick, tock! tick, tock!
The drear years into eternity fall;
Tick, tock! ‘Tis night!

The thread that yon spider draws with care
Across the gleam of the mirror there,
Seems like the ghost of a golden hair;
Tick, tock! tick, tock!

The sweet bells chime for those that may wed;
The neroll-snow crowns many a head –
But tree and maiden and lover are dead,
Tick, tock! tick, tock!
– Life.

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) May 16, 1883

THE KITCHEN CLOCK.

(John Vance Cheney in The Century.)

Knitting is the maid ‘o the kitchen, Milly,
Doing nothing, sits the chore-boy, Billy:
“Seconds reckoned,
Seconds reckoned;
Every minute,
Sixty in it.
Milly, Billy,
Billy, Milly,
Tick-tock, tock-tick,
Nick-knock, knock-nick,
Knockety-nick, nickety-knock: –
Goes the kitchen clock.

Closer to the fire is rosy Milly,
Every whit as close and cozy, Billy:
“Time’s a-flying,
Worth your trying!
Pretty Milly –
Kiss her, Billy!
Milly, Billy,
Billy, Milly,
Tick-tock, tock-tick,
Now — now, quick — quick!
Knockety-nick, nickety-knock” –
Goes the kitchen clock.

Something’s happened; very red is Milly,
Billy boy is looking very silly:
“Pretty misses,
Plenty kisses;
Make it twenty,
Take a plenty.
Billy, Milly,
Milly, Billy,
Right-left, left-right,
That’s right, all right,
Skippety-nick, rippety-knock” –
Jumps the kitchen clock.

Night to night they’re sitting, Milly, Billy’
Oh, the winter winds are wondrous chilly!
“Winter weather,
Close together;
Wouldn’t tarry,
Better marry.
Milly, Billy,
Billy, Milly,
Two-one, one-two,
Don’t wait, ‘twont do,
Knockety-nick, nickety-knock” –
Goes the kitchen clock.

Winters two have gone, and where is Milly?
Spring has come again, and where is Billy?
“Give me credit,
For I did it;
Treat me kindly,
Mind you wind me.
Mr. Billy,
Mistress Milly,
My — Oh, Oh — my,
By-by, by-by,
Nickety-knock, cradle rock” –
Goes the kitchen clock.

The Bismarck Tribune (Bismarck, North Dakota) Sep 19, 1884

My Little Bo-Peep

By S.B. M’Manus

MY Little Bo-Peep is fast asleep,
And her head on my heart is lying;
I gently rock, and the old hall clock
Strikes a knell of the day that’s dying.
But what care I how the hours go by,
Whether swiftly they go or creeping?
Not an hour could be but dear to me,
When my babe on my arm is sleeping.

Her little bare feet, with dimples sweet,
From the folds of her gown are peeping,
And each wee toe like a daisy in blow,
I caress as she lies a-sleeping;
Her golden hair falls over the chair,
Its treasures of beauty unfolding;
I press my lips to her finger tips

That my hands are so tightly holding.
Tick, tock, tick, tock! You may wait, old clock,
It was foolish what I was saying;
Let your seconds stay and your minutes play,
And bid your days go all a-Maying.
O, Time — stand still — let me drink my fill
Of content while my babe is sleeping;
As I smooth her hair m life looks fair,
And to-morrow — I may be weeping.

The Wellsboro Agitator (Weillsboro, Pennsylvania) Jun 28, 1887

CHILDREN’S COLUMN.

TIC-TOCK.

Tick-tock, tick-tock,
Such a busy, busy clock,
All the year you go just so
Never fast and never slow.

Tick-tock, pretty clock,
And this is what you say:
“Never till tomorrow leave
What should be done today.”

You are always in your place
With your hands before your face;
Run and run, and never stop –
Tick-tock, tick-tock.

–[New York World.

Indana Progress (Indiana, Pennsylvania) Dec 2, 1891

The White Brigade.

The old hall clock goes hurrying on:
Tick, tock. 'Tis getting late!
Tick, tock, tick, tock, hark! one, two, three,
Four, five, six, seven, eight.

The white brigade is marching now,
In every town and street
You hear the patter, patter soft
Of little naked feet.

The girls and boys have left their toys,
And now with sleepy head
Each joins the throng (ten thousand strong,)
Going up stairs to bed.

Sandusky Regiser (Sandusky, Ohio) Feb 23, 1895

The Washington Post - Feb 21, 1913

MY CLOCK.

In the silence of the night,
If I waken with affright
From a dream that's full of terror and annoy,
There's a sound that fills my heart
With a melody of art
Fully of beauty, full of pleasure, full of joy.

'Tis the steady "tick, tick, tock,"
Of my sturdy little clock,
As it sits across the room upon a shelf,
And it says: "Don't be afraid,
For I've closely by you staid
While you were off in the land of dreams yourself.

"With a steady 'tick, tick, tick,'
I am never tired or sick,
And I count the minutes ever as they fly.
I'm the truest friend you've got,
And share your ev'ry lot,
And I'm ready to stand by you till you die."

It's a common sort of clock,
But I like its lusty "tock,"
And it fills my soul with courage by its song.
In the storm or cold or rain
I hear its bright refrain
As it faithfully pursue its path along.

For it tells me to be true
To each thing I have to do,
And no matter if the world applaud or scorn;
That full soon must pass the night
And the sweet and precious light
Be unfolded with the coming of the morn.
-- Hamilton Jay in Florida Times-Union.

Sandusky Register (Sandusky, Ohio) Jun 1, 1895

THE TALKING CLOCK.

Up in my room, when comes the dark,
My door with care I lock,
And sit down, all my company
My little talking clock.

With round, bright open face it stands
Upon my mantel shelf,
And "tick, tick, tick" -- how sweet and low!
Keeps talking to itself;

While loud and clear, that I may hear
When I am out of sight,
It calls to me twelve times each day,
And twelve times every night.

I always listen for its voice --
'Tis like a silver bell --
And just the thing I need to know
It will be sure to tell:

"Wake up! wake up! 'tis morning light!"
"To bed! the hour is late!"
"The minutes fly! make haste! make haste!"
"Have patience; you must wait!"

My faithful little talking clock!
O If I only knew
Exactly when I ought to speak
And what to say to you,

And could, when I had said enough,
Just stop, without delay,
I might, almost as calm as you,
Be happy all the day!

-- Marion Douglass in "Our Little Men and Women."

The Daily Northwesterm (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Nov 20, 1897

THE FAMILY CLOCK.

Old clock
So tall,
In your niche in the wall,
What is it you say,
As you tick all day,
With your smiling face,
And your polished case?
Tell me, I pray,
Is this what you say?

"Tick, tock,
I'm the family clock,
A hundred years old,
Of good old stock!
Tick, tock,
Good old stock,
A hundred years old,
The family clock!"

Old clock
So tall,
In your niche in the wall,
Have you memories faint
Of dear ladies quaint,
With high powdered hair,
Who tripped up this stair?
Tell me, I pray,
Is this what you say?

"Tick, tock,
I've seen many a frock,
And the witchery fair
Of a gleaming lock!
Tick, tock,
Many a frock,
And the witchery fair
Of a gleaming lock!"

Old clock
So tall,
In your niche in the wall,
Do you never feel affright
In the dead of the night
When the winds howl drear,
And strange noises you hear?
Or ell me, I pray,
Is this what you say?

"Tick, tock,
I'm a doughty old clock;
I know no fear;
Let them rage and knock;
Tick, tock,
Rage and knock;
I know no fear --
A doughty old clock."

Old clock
So tall,
In your niche in the wall,
Will you still tick away,
A hundred years from today,
With your smiling face
And your polished case?
And then, I pray,
Is this what you'll say?

"Tick, tock,
I'm the family clock,
Two hundred years old,
Of good old stock!
Tick, tock,
Good old stock,
Two hundred years old,
The family clock!"

-- Jane D?msfield, in the St. Nicholas

San Antonio Light (San Antonio, Texas) Apr 8, 1900

The Clock.

He stands in a corner from morning till night,
A patient old thing with no feet
His face is as solemn and round as a moon
And oh so exceedingly neat
From breakfast to supper,
Bright on through the day,
"Tick-tock, tick-tock, I am only the clock,
Tick-tock, tick-tock," he'll say.

His hands are quite tidy, they grow on his face
When I grow to be big I shall know
Why one is so long and the other so short
And one he moves fast, and one slow,
From breakfast to supper,
Right on through the day.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, I am only the clock,
Tick-tock, tick-tock," he'll say.

At night when I'm sleeping he keeps wide awake
To see what the little mice do,
He watches the brownie creep in through the blind
His little red shoes wet with dew
From night-time to daytime,
Right on through the day
"Tick-tock, tick-tock, I am only the clock,
Tick-tock, tick-tock," he'll say.

And when it comes morning I wish he would tell,
I ask him but never a trace
Of the wonderful things which he saw in the night
Does he show in his sober old face,
From breakfast to supper
Right on through the day
"Tick-tock, tick-tock, I am only the clock,
Tick-tock, tick-tock," he'll say.

Trenton Evening Times (Trenton, New Jersey) Mar 30, 1909

The Old Hall Clock.

What a store of information
You must have in stock,
Not a word of revelation
In your staid "tick-tock."
You have watched the decades passing as the ships upon the sea,
Stores of knowledge e'er amassing as the generations flee.
Can't you tell some of your secrets to a little boy like me
But the old hall clock
Answered just:
"Tick-tock,
Tick-tock,
Tick-tock,
Tick-tock."

Never changing the expression
Of your placid face.
Never making a confession
Any time or place.
Can't you tell me of the courting you have seen upon the stairs?
Of he stately wedding marches, of the ministers and prayers?
Of he good old squires and damsels who have come and gone in pairs
But the old hall clock
Answered Just:
"Tick-tock,
Tick-tock,
Tick-tock,
Tick-tock."

It's for history I'm seeking
And you've got to tell.
It's of father I am speaking
And you might as well.
When a youngster, was he always doing just exactly right?
Did he have to have a licking almost every single night?
Now, you needn't fear to trust me, for I'll keep it secret, quite,
But the old hall clock
Answered just:
"Tick-tock,
Tick-tock,
Tick-tock,
Tick-tock."

Bland recorder of the ages,
If you'll be so kind,
Turn ahead among Life's pages,
Tell us what you find.
When you look into the future, tell me what it is you see.
What in just another decade, is this old world going to be?
Tell me, what is going to come of just a little boy like me?
But the old hall clock
Answered just:
"Tick-tock,
Tick-tock,
Tick-tock,
Tick-tock."

Eau Claire Leader (Eau Claire, Wisconsin) Dec 19, 1912

Image from flickr - vera 1955

Jens Galtheen/Galthen was born about 1839 in Denmark, and immigrated to America about 1865. On June 24, 1879 he married Helen Lager. His was listed as a jeweler on the 1880 and 1900 census records and his shop was at 415 Water St. in Eau Claire, Wisconsin.

THE SILENT CLOCKS.

(By Violet Leigh.)
(In memory of Jeweler Galthen of Water St.)

Silent they stand in a row on the shelf,
Not one moves a hand alone by itself.
Not long ago the ormelu clock
Was merrily saying, "tick-tock, tick-tock";
And its dainty hands in a charming way
Pointed out the time of day.

The beautiful clock of porcelain
Was also ticking with might and main;
And all the other clocks in the row
Showed one another how to go.
But they're silent now as death itself
Standing there in a row on the shelf.

Where is the one who made them go?
Jeweler Galthen is lying low.
The pale clock-faces are not more white
Than the face of that aged man tonight.
And the hands of the clocks are not more still
Than his nerveless hands in the grave on the hill.

-- Eau Claire, Wis., Nov. 22, 1913.

Eau Claire Leader (Eau Claire, Wisconsin) Nov 26, 1913

UPDATE: I found an obituary for Mr. Galthen:

OBITUARY

Aged Jeweler Summoned

Jens Galthen, an aged jeweler, who has been carrying on a small business at 415 Water St., died very suddenly yesterday morning, some time between 8:30 and 11 o'clock.

Death is said to have been due to a stroke of appoplexy, the aged man surffering a like stroke some time ago. Mr. Galthen was seen at 8:30 o'clock in the morning at which time he appeared to be in his usual health and spirits. At 11 o'clock, the store was entered by Sidney Robillard, who found the body of the victim of the stroke of appoplexy lying on the floor face down.

The deceased was about 70 years of age. He was a widower and lived alone in the store, a screen separating his living apartment from the store. No known relatives reside in this country. It is learned that relatives live in Copenhagen, Denmark, and County Coroner R.H. Stokes will endeavor to get in communication with them to ascertain what disposition they wish to make of the body.

Eau Claire Leader (Eau Claire, Wisconsin) Nov 2, 1913

Image from http://www.123rf.com

THE CORRUPTED CLOCK.

By EDMUND VANCE COOKE

Some one has made the clock go wrong,
Not in its time, but in its song.
At twelve at night!
Its face is bright
And the sound of its stroke is a soft delight; –

“Tick! tock!
Oh, what a flock!
Flock of long hours that are left in the clock!
Time is unending,
Life is for spending;
What though I strike,
Do as you like!
Tick! tock!
Oh, what a flock!
Do what you will, but don’t look at the clock.”
Oh, kindly clock! had you a robe, I’d surely kiss its him;
Let us be friends forever, clock; aye, even at six A.M.!

But oh! at morning when I yawn
And much desire to slumber on,
Its white face stares,
Its eye-hole glares
And its lean hands point me down the stairs; –

“Tick! tock!
Knickety Knock!
Oh, but such laziness gives me a shock!
Time is for working;
Why are you shirking?
Now, as I strike,
Get up and hike!
Tick! tock!
Oh, what a shock!
Look at me! Look at me! Look at the clock!”
Oh, cursed clock! such two-faced talk I must, and do condemn;
You are so suave at twelve at night, so harsh at six A.M.!

(Copyright, 1919, N.E.A.)

Decatur Review (Decatur, Illinois) Aug 17, 1919

Gettysburg Times (Gettysburg, Pennsylvania) Jan 27, 1921

***

I sing of clocks that I have known,
In other years, now long since flown,
When I but just a little child,
For many hours was beguiled,
In listening to the tick, tick, tock,
Of one, to me, most wondrous clock.

My father bought that fine old clock
To quite complete our household stock,
When I was but one short year old,
It should be mine, I then was told;
When it wore out, its lovely case,
My little toys, in it to place.
The brilliant peacock on the door,
No bird like it since or before.
It’s good strong tick and ringing strike,
No other clock can sound the like.

Sometimes quaint old clock tinkers came,
To see if it was sick or lame;
They’d shine it up and set it back,
To tick and strike, as strong as ever,
Itinerant tinker were clever,
I would look on and sigh, alack,
“I’ll get my playhouse never, never.”

The years rolled on and strangely on,
Parents, brothers and sisters gone,
Still that old clock with calm, clear face,
Ticks for the remnant of our race;
Has struck the hours of death and birth,
For those dearest to me on earth.
Has through my four score years and one,
And still with undiminished strength,
Bids fair to wear me out at length.

Dear old home clock tick on and on
All my playhouses no ware gone;
I love to see your dear old face,
But no more now covet your case,
You’re worth to us, your weight in gold,
Tick on until your centurys old;
My playhouse I relinquish still,
So beat me to it, if you will.

One old clock with a friendly face,
Greeted me in my new home place;
Through many changing years it told,
Vicissitudes most lives unfold;
Reunions and each glad event,
That marked the way on which we went,
High hopes, and dreams that disappear,
And still that old bronze clock is here.

Another clock so plain and small,
It would not be valued at all;
Yet once it ticked the hours away,
For one who is no longer here,
It has been silent since that day,
A clock may hurt as well as cheer.

A welcome gift, a clock late come,
To wake it’s echoes in our home;
Welcome it is our home within,
It’s muffled strike to slumbers win.
Old clocks are like dear human friends,
They cheer life’s way until it ends.

The clock on old Northwesterns tower,
When chasing trains it marked the hour,
Warned us we would be all too late
Just as we reached the closing gate.
Old station clock of you I sing,
You were a kind and friendly thing.

Our bank clock, how we love its chimes,
Recalling other happy times;
And that one to so many dear,
Who made it possible to hear,
All over this old Arlington,
The echoes of its carrillion,
A treasure is that grand old clock,
May it abide firm as a rock.

There hangs a cheery little clock,
Here on the stairs, with quick tick tock;
It was a gift at Christmas time,
From one now gone to kinder clime
A bright, a cherry little thing
That through the passing hours will bring,
Sweet memories into the mind,
Of the dear giver, every kind.

There’s something odd and whimsical,
About old clocks that thrills us all
Yet no clock in our lives can come,
Like the clock in our childhood home.

– Elinore Crisler Haynes

The Daily Herald (Chicago, Illinois) Aug 10, 1928

A Football (player) Clock

The Times Recorder (Zanesville, Ohio) Nov 13, 1925

Good-Night Stories

By MAX  TRELL

Tick-tock,
Wind the clock.
Tick-tock,
Snap the lock.
Tick-tock,
Shut your eyes.
Tick-tock,
How time flies!

– Shadow Sayings.

The Athen Messenger (Athen, Ohio) Sep 19, 1930

Good-Night Stories

By MAX  TRELL

Tick-tock
Wind the clock
Knock-knock
Snap the lock,
Clack-clack
I won’t be back,
I’m taking the train
On the railroad track.

– Shadow Song.

Van Wert Daily Bulletin (Van Wert, Ohio) Aug 10, 1932

Memories of Minnesota Snow

Image from http://www.claytondeerparkhistoricalsociety.com

How mem’ries of the long ago
Are swarming through my brain today,
The times I used to shovel snow
In Minnesota far away.

It fell all winter long and blew
In drifts as high as Trompen’s form,
And all that time I never knew
The rest and joy of being warm.

My feet or hands were always cold;
And envy tortured me indeed
For sheep that huddled in the fold
While I was hustling hay for feed.

I now, in fancy, see the shed,
All covered o’er and banked with straw,
The cattle waiting to be fed,
The tons of hay we had to draw.

The prancing horses “fine as silk,”
Hitched to the sleigh that bore the rack,
The spotted cows I had to milk
With fingers numb when we got back.

All this before the twilight grey
Of morn broke over fields of snow –
Then breakfast and to school away;
This was the life of long ago.

 

Image from http://www.infomercantile.com

 

 

Dost wonder I now hate to see
The snow drifts piled along the street
So painfully reminding me
Of frozen ears and chill-blained feet?

Dost wonder that I shirk the task
Of walking out in such a sight
And much prefer to sit and bask
By grates of blazing anthracite?

I hope when life’s sad day is done
To find a land described like this:
A region of eternal sun
Set in a canopy of bliss.

Long, shady lanes, bedecked with flowers,
That wind through valleys wide and deep,
With here and there vine-covered bowers,
And clover beds on which to sleep;

Where balmy breezes ever blow
With odors of the rose and pine,
Where there is neither ice nor snow –
(I want no more of these in mine);

Where soft-toned harps can ever wake
Emotion that subdues, refines,
And no one cracks a lung to make
E flat above the ledger lines.

Nebraska State Journal – Dec 5, 1897

An Old-Time Gift

Image from http://www.imagestate.com

AN OLD-TIME GIFT.

In grim old Puritanic times
A heathen feast was Christmas thought.
They made no cheer, they rang no chimes,
There were no Christmas presents bought.

Yet Dorothy and Samuel,
Two centuries and more ago,
On Christmas eve at curfew bell
Stood close together in the snow.

And standing there so sweet and prim,
All quivering with fear and cold,
Her timid red lips gave to him
A Christmas gift worth more than gold.

I do not care for crochet ties,
Nor slippers made of brodered crash;
Tobacco pouches I despise
And poor cigars and silver trash.

But this the best of gifts would be –
Yet how dare I such treason tell?
If Gladys would bestow on me
What Dorothy gave Samuel.

– Life.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Dec 25, 1897

***

Word of the day:

crash (2)
–noun
1.
a plain-weave fabric of rough, irregular, or lumpy yarns, for toweling, dresses, etc.

Dictionary.com Unabridged
Based on the Random House Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2010.

“Brodered” — I would guess that might be a short/slang version/spelling of embroidered. Dictionary.com has an entry for “broider” listed as an archaic form of embroider.

Pearline – Don’t Wear Yourself Out Over the Washtub

Sandusky Daily Register -  Jan 30, 1891

As stated in this 1891 Pearline advertisement, the produce came into being about 1877. They seemed to have kept their illustrator pretty busy producing a wide variety of advertisements.

Since I ran across some “Hints for Housekeepers,” while looking for the Pearline ads, I am including them. Some are entertaining, some might be useful, and some are rather dangerous, and come with a cautionary warning:

Galveston Daily News – Jul 13, 1888

***

Can you tell it was election season when this next one ran?

Daily Northwestern – Nov 27, 1888

***

These hints don’t appear to be serious:

Handy Hints for the Housekeeper.

A perplexed housekeeper wants to know what she shall do with the tin cans that from day to day accumulate about the house — fruit cans, meat cans — of all kinds cans, cans, and a thousand cans. Well, if you keep a boarding house, you might throw them into the street, right in front of the house as a bait for the homeless man seeking a boarding house, If you have a home, however, you might utilize the cans in many ways.

You might take the tomato cans, fill them with soft, rich earth, and plant them, and by and by a whole handful of all sorts of weeks would come up. Then you could take the can to the pottery and have the potter twist a nice terra cotta vase about it so as to completely hid the can, and thus at a trifling expense, not over a few dollars, you could utilize your old tomato can as a garden vase.

Or you could take a lobster can, and bore three holes at equal distances in the sides, close to the open end. Then cover the can as thickly as you need with fine plastic material used in the manufacture of cheap statuettes, and employ some good artist to fashion ?? in graceful shape and beautiful designs. Then fasten bright brass chains in the three holes and hang it in a hook in the porch roof, and you will have a handsome hanging basket that need not cost you more than $5.

If you should break a kerosene lamp, save the foot of it, and with a bit of red flannel and merino and some white crochet make a pin cushion of it, stuffing the flannel and merino out in a large, irregular shaped sphere and with the crochet cotton work “lOve thE giVEr” on it. Then set it in the spare room on the dresser, care being taken to have the cushion fastened on so loosely that it will cant a little to one side. Then, when the guest wakes up in the night and sees that awful apparition in the moonlight, he will confess all his sins, put on his clothes hindside foremost, and dropping himself out of the window will flee in terror into the wilderness and never come back to spoil your best pillow shams with his bear’s oily head again.

“It isn’t what you get,” they say down in West Virginia, “that makes you rich, it’s what you save.” A few cents here and there in household expenses are not noticed at the time, but at the end of a year they aggregate enough to pay the for a steam thresher.

Fort Wayne Daily Gazette (Fort Wayne, Indiana) May 7, 1881

Sandusky Daily Register – Aug 8, 1889

Sandusky Daily Register – Mar 3, 1890

***

This one even mentions Pearline in its hints:

Hints for the Housekeeper.

If you think the kitchen is a hot place be easy on the cook.

Lard applied at once will remove the discoloration after a bruise.

A rug under one’s feet is restful when long standing is necessary, as in ironing or washing dishes.

Whites of eggs may be beaten to a stiff froth by an open window when it would be impossible in a steamy kitchen.

Mrs. Emma Ewing avers that not book knowledge alone but cook knowledge is needed in this broad nation of dyspeptics.

Cistern water that has become foul may be purified with powdered borax or alum. A quarter of a pound of each will cleanse twenty-five or more barrels.

Put a little pearline in the greasy pots and roasting pans and it will greatly facilitate cleaning them, especially if you stand them on the range to heat the water.

Most vegetables are better cooked fast, excepting potatoes, beans, peas, cauliflower and others which contain starch. Cabbage should be boiled rapidly in plenty of water; so should onions, young beets and turnips.

William Galvani learned from experiments that by cooking most fruits and vegetables lose their natural flavor, which he says in “Food, Home and Garden,” is after all, more delicious than any that can be artificially supplied.

You can prevent your pretty new ginghams from fading if you let them lie for several hours in water in which has been dissolved a goodly quantity of salt. Put the dress in it while it is hot, and after several hours wring it out dry and wash and usual.

The pretty woman fades with the roses on her cheeks and the girlhood that lasts and hour; the beautiful woman finds her fullness of bloom only when a past has written itself on her, and her power is then most irresistible when it seems going.

When a warm bath is taken, if the whole body from the crown of the head to the soles of the feet is instantly sponged with cold water there will not be danger of taking cold. The cold water closed the pores naturally. They are left open unnaturally after a warm bath.

Commonplace but important is the suggestion, “Be careful of fire.” Never take risk of lighting fire in stove or furnace not known to be ready and safe. In building or repairing see that the pipe holes in the chimney are tight and well protected from lath and siding by use of clay pots made for the purpose.

The Mountain Democrat (Placerville, California) Jan 2, 1892

Sandusky Daily Register – Jul 21, 1890

Sandusky Daily Register – Dec 12, 1890

***

PLAIN TALK.

Every Day Hints for the Practical Housekeeper.

The oil of white birch bark, which gives to Russia leather its peculiar aromatic and lasting qualities, when dissolved in alcohol is said to be excellent for preserving and waterproofing various fabrics. It renders them both acid and insect proof, and in no way destroys their pliability.

Tea and coffee stains will usually come out of linen if put into water at once or if soon washed. IF the yare of long standing rub pure glycerine on them, and then after washing this out, wash the linen in the usual way.

Prick potatoes before baking so that the air can escape. This will prevent their bursting in the oven.

Bad breath or offensive breath may be removed by taking a teaspoonful of the following mixture after each meal. One ounce liquor of potash, one ounce chloride of soda, one and one-half ounces phosphate of soda, and three ounces of water.

A good formula for layer cakes is as follows: One cupful of sugar, one-half cup of butter, one-half cup of sweet milk, the beaten whites of four eggs, two cupfuls of flour and a heaping teaspoonful of baking powder.

The Housekeeper gives the following hints: To take ink out of linen, dip the spotted parts immediately in pure melted tallow, the wash out the tallow and the ink will have disappeared.

Lima Daily Times (Lima, Ohio) Aug 16, 1892

Sandusky Daily Register – Jul 15, 1892

***

This next one is kind of creepy:

Sandusky Daily Register – Oct 11, 1892

***

Let the men wash!

Fort Wayne Gazette – Apr 30, 1895

***

Here are the household hints that come with the warning. The dangerous hints are mostly at the end of the list:

HINTS FOR THE HOUSEKEEPER.

The following directions for removing stains, spots, etc., must be used with exceeding caution, Chloroform, benzine, turpentine, kerosene and gasoline are all dangerous substances unless handled with extreme care.

Sponge a grease spot with four tablespoonsful of alcohol to one of salt.

Sprinkle salt over the spot on a carpet and sweep all up together.

Rub finger marks from furniture with a little sweet oil.

Put a lump of camphor in an air-tight case with silverware to keep it from discoloration.

Remove paint spots from a window by rubbing a copper cent over them.

Sprinkle salt over fresh claret stains.

Wash ink stains in strong brine and then sponge with lemon juice.

Hold a fruit stained article over a bowl and pour boiling water through the cloth.

Rub egg stains on silver with salt on a damp cloth.

Use wood ashes on discolored tableware.

Clean steel knives with raw potato dipped in fine brick dust.

Rub brass with hot vinegar and salt and scour with fine ashes.

Clean a carpet with a broom dipped in a very weak solution of turpentine in hot water.

Cleanse grained woodwork with cold tea.

Scour ironware with finely sifted coal ashes.

Soak mildewed clothes in buttermilk and spread on the grass in the sun.

Wash rusty gilt frames in spirits of wine.

Wash oilcloth with a flannel and warm water; dry thoroughly and rub with a little skimmed milk.

Purify jars by soaking hem in strong sodawater.

Wash blackened ceilings with sodawater.

Rub white spots on furniture with camphor.

Rub a stove zinc with kerosene.

Cleanse bottles with hot water and fine ????s.

Remove fruit stains from hands with weak oxalic acid.

Clean jewelry with prepared chalk.

Wash hair brushes in weak ammonia water.

Rub stained hands with salt and lemon juice.

Remove ink from wood with muriatic acid, after rinsing with water.

Wash japanned ware with a little warm soda.

Rub mirrors with spirits of wine.

Apply spirits of salt to ink stained mahogany.

Use sulphuric acid, wash off with suds, for medicine stains on silver.

Remove all stains from wall paper by powdered pipe clay moistened.

Use gasoline for removing paint.

Use jewelers’ rouge and lard for rubbing nickel plating.

Wash willow ware with salt water.

Clean hard finished walls with ammonia water.

Rub whitewash spots with strong vinegar.

Rub soft grease over tar and then wash in warm soda water.

Dip a soft cloth in vinegar and rub on smoky mica.

Sponge faded plush with chloroform.

Take paint out of clothing by equal parts of ammonia and turpentine.

To remove machine oil from satin use benzine. Be careful about having a light in the room as it is very explosive.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) May 27, 1894

Fort Wayne Gazette – Dec 30, 1895

***

Pearline gets violent:

Fort Wayne Gazette – Jun 12, 1896

***

HINTS FOR THE HOUSEKEEPER

A PAN of borax and sugar, kept under the sink, will discourage roaches.

Plenty of hot water and washing soda put down the sink pipes will keep them clear, and lessen the plumber’s bill.

A piece of lime or charcoal in the new refrigerator will prevent the “new” odor and taste from clinging to eatables.

To successfully bake a piecrust without its filling, line it with paraffin paper and fill it with uncooked rice.

Enameled ware that has become burned or discolored may be cleaned by rubbing with coarse salt and vinegar.

A teaspoonful of lemon juice to a quart of water will make rice very white and keep the grains separate when boiled.

A tablespoonful of borax is an agreeable addition to the dishwasher, and helps to keep the hands soft instead of irritating them, as soda does.

The Anaconda Standard (Anaconda, Montana) Dec 1, 1907

***

Curse Monday, Wash Day:

Nebraska State Journal – Oct 25, 1897

***

The late 1890s must have been desperate times; this  woman is slashing with a dagger:

Eau Claire Leader – Jul 6, 1898

***

Hints for the Housekeeper.

A soft clean cloth dipped in melted paraffin will give the stove a smooth, attractive surface. Kerosene-oil on a soft lintless cloth may be used on the nickel afterward to effect a polish.

Put two worn blankets together, cover with silkolene and stitch with worsted. Thsi makes an attractive comforter, if you choose the silkolene and worsted to harmonize with the color scheme of the bedroom.

Brushes should be hung up. They should never be allowed to stand on their bristles as this mats them and tends to make the bristles fall out. In using a broom, sometimes use one side and sometimes the other; this will make it wear evenly and so last longer. An oil mop will wear longer if it is not hung too near the heat after washing it. The bristles of a carpet sweeper or a vacuum cleaner can be well cleaned of hairs with a buttonhook or a pair of scissors.

Fine china nicks particularly easily when it is warm. A towel in the bottom of the dish pan will save much danger of chipping. Use a mild soap in washing painted or gilt-edged china and wash one piece at a time. Avoid using water that is too hot, in washing dishes and put plates into it edgewise so that both sides will expand with the heat alike. Much fine china, especially that which is made in China, is rough on the bottom. When the dishes are stacked in the closet, soft paper, or flannel pads should be kept between them to prevent the decoration on the front from being scratched, worn or chipped.

– Delineator.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) May 27, 1922

Nebraska State Journal – Aug 16, 1897

***

Hints For The Housekeeper

A Model Floor Waxer

I haven’t a floor waxer, so will tell how I wax my floors. I lay down a piece of cloth, put on the middle of it the amount of wax it will take, then place a warm flatiron on the wax, gather the cloth all up on the handle of the iron and proceed to iron the floor. As the iron cools change for a warmer iron. The wax goes go much faster this way and soaks in better, because it is warm. I wait about half an hour, then put a large piece of old woolen goods in the mop and then polish the floor. Try it on your Congoleum rugs and see how much brighter they are.

Save On Cleaning Candlesticks

Instead of scraping the wax from brass or silver candlesticks, plunge the metal part in hot water and thus melt the wax. Candlesticks are often scratched when the wax is scraped off. By melting off the wax much time is saved and you will not run the risk of marring the candlesticks.

Sheboygan Press (Shepoygan, Wisconsin) Jan 7, 1927

In Nebraska

It is warm outside today,
In Nebraska,
Very like the first of May
In Nebraska;
Eastern men I know will start
At the statement, but dear heart,
You can’t tell the months apart
In Nebraska.

You can hear the wild birds sing
In Nebraska,
Any time from fall till spring
In Nebraska;
But the pride and joy of all
Is that cornstalks grow so tall
And the snows melt when they fall
In Nebraska.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Dec 11, 1897

The Nebraska State Historical Society has many wonderful old pictures on their website. These two images  are from the Kimble County Album, but there are several collections to look through at the main link.

Weather Forecasts for Nebraska:

December 11th: A balmy 28 degrees!

December 17th:  A little cooler, with a high 16 degrees. Definitely still flip-flops and shorts weather.

Creston, Nebraska (Image from /www.usgennet.org)

There are tons and tons of snow
In Nebraska,
And the cold winds do not blow
In Nebraska,
Like a blanket on a floor,
Seven inches deep or more,
Rests the snow at every door
In Nebraska.

It is packed and solid now
In Nebraska,
And when farmers come to plow
In Nebraska,
What a joy to stir the soil
softened, as it were, with oil –
There’ll be crops next year to spoil
In Nebraska.

How the winter wheat will boom
In Nebraska,
How the trees will bud and bloom
In Nebraska;
We can stand the ice and snow
For next summer, don’t you know,
We shall hear the glad corn grow
In Nebraska.

One more year of golden crops
In Nebraska,
Will exterminate the pops
In Nebraska;
Fusion, now has lost its grip,
Cannot make another trip –
Let us not give up the ship
In Nebraska.

Better days are now in sight
In Nebraska;
Day dispels the long dark night
In Nebraska;
Let us hail the rising sun –
Bryan only is undone
And his old “sixteen to one”
In Nebraska.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Dec 24, 1897

Daniel Freeman - First Homesteader -1863 Beatrice, Nebraska (Image from Wiki)

Homesteading is back! Pack up the wagons and head for Nebraska — or one of the other fine states offering free land.

Beatrice, Nebraska 2006

Image from Dan Kalah’s Motorcycle Trip Reports (trip 16)

According to the Yahoo article, 7 Towns Where Land is Free:

The Homestead Act of 1862 is no longer in effect, but free land is still available out there in the great wide open (often literally in the great wide open). In fact, the town of Beatrice, Nebraska  has even enacted a Homestead Act of 2010 .

 

Curtis, Nebraska 2007

This image also from Dan Kalal’s Motorcycle Trip Reports (trip 11)

From the same Yahoo article:

This 3.266-square-kilometer community of approximately 832 persons in southern Nebraska’s Medicine Valley has the Nebraska College of Technical Agriculture and an airport three minutes away.

Evidently, the folks in Curtis, Nebraska  are offering two different land deals, which are briefly described in the article linked above.

Song of the Shirt Waist

Stenographer's Room - 1897 (Image from http://www.officemuseum.com)

SONG OF THE SHIRT WAIST.

How should a stenographer dress? –
Second to none.
With fingers nimble and strong,
With eyes that are  sparkling and keen,
A young woman sits in a womanly rig
With her pencil, her pad and machine.

Scratch, scratch, scratch,
With speed; not fussy with haste;
No poverty plaint, nor even a patch
Or smirch on her neat shirt waist.

Write, write, write,
From the business hour of nine;
And write, write, write,
Till time to lunch or to dine.

Then it’s oh, a jolly laugh!
With a bone of a turk to pick,
Where sister workers meet and chaff
In the respite hour from click.

Click, click, click,
Merrily, line upon line;
Click, click, click,
And the shirt waist wavelets shine.

Quick-witted to catch the thought,
To correct each grammatical lapse,
Not sentimentally taught
By Balzac; but better, perhaps.

Click, click, click,
As eager at work as at play.
Click, Click, Click,
The sheet rolls up and away.

E’s and S’s and Y’s,
Y’s and S’s and E’s;
Picking them up with her twinkling eyes,
And rattling them off the keys.

Write, write, write,
All womanly work elevates;
Write, write, write,
Esteem on faithfulness waits.

Oh, women with brothers dear,
Oh, women with husbands and sons
Heed not their sneers
At your sisters and peers,
Nor the talk of the morbid ones.

Right! right! right!
A just independence to gain,
And right! right! right!
Be it yours to help her attain.

–New York Sun.

Fort Wayne News (Fort Wayne, Indiana) Apr 18, 1896

Where Dirt Gathers, Waste Rules

Image from http://graphicsfairy.blogspot.com

A GREAT HORROR DONE AWAY WITH.

House cleaning is a great horror to nine men out of every ten. When that time comes the “men folks,” as a rule, give the domestic hearth a wide birth. Oceans of suds — the product of tons of soap — fairly flood every part of the house. The women, from the mistress down, labor as they never worked before, and what with the discomfort, the smell of suds and the dampness, and not unfrequently sickness, the product of colds and overwork, matters are generally disagreeable. The simple use of Sapolio instead of soap does away with all this discomfort. It lightens the labor a hundred per cent, because it removes dirt, grease, stains and spots, with hardly any labor, with but little water, and in one-tenth the usual time.

Sandusky Daily Register (Sandusky, Ohio) Sep 1, 1873

San Antonio Express (San Antonio, Texas) Mar 14, 1890

Carroll Sentinel (Carroll, Iowa) Feb 5, 1894

San Antonio Express (San Antonio, Texas) Jan 24, 1890

*****

AN ACT OF CRUELTY.

Chapped hands and face are the most serious annoyances that farmers, and persons who labor much outdoors, experience from exposure. Exposed persons, especially children, repeatedly suffer intensely from great cracks upon the hands that often bleed. It is cruel to allow one’s self or others to suffer in this way, when the means of positive prevention are so easy to be had, and so cheap as to pay ten cents for a cake of Hand Sapolio. Hand Sapolio is not only better than the costliest soap for removing dirt, but it prevents chapping, and renders the skin soft and pliable. Sold everywhere.

Sandusky Daily Register (Sandusky, Ohio) Sep 10, 1873

Carroll Sentinel (Carroll, Iowa) Mar 16, 1894

San Antonio Express (San Antonio, Texas) Feb 21, 1890

*****

A HINT TO HOUSEWIVES — HOW TO KEEP KITCHEN WARE CLEAN AND BRIGHT.

Every housewife of neat and tidy habits takes especial delight in keeping all the tin, copper and iron ware of her kitchen as clean and bright as painstaking labor can make them. A pride in this direction is commendable, and always meets the smiling approval of the “tyrant man” who pays the household bills. Remember that SAPOLIO is the only thing on earth that will make an old tarnished tin pan or rusty kettle shine as bright as new. And by the use of Sapolio it is the quickest and easiest thing in the world to keep every utensil in a high state of polish.

Sandusky Daily Register (Sandusky, Ohio) Sep 12, 1873

Newark Daily Advocate (Newark, Ohio) Aug 1, 1894

San Antonio Express (San Antonio, Texas) Apr 1, 1890

*****

A WORD TO WORKING PEOPLE OF BOTH SEXES.

Mechanics, artisans, factory hands and people who labor for a living, find it very difficult if not impossible to keep the hands free from stain. Hand Sapolio will not only remove every particle of stain, ans what is called “grained in dirt,” but it will also keep the skin soft and pliable, rendering the muscular action as quick and easy as is the case with those who do not perform hard labor. It is only 10 and 15 cents a cake, according to size. Every mechanic should use it constantly in place of all other soaps.

Sandusky Daily Register (Sandusky, Ohio) Sep 22, 1873

Carroll Sentinel (Carroll, Iowa) Feb 25, 1896

San Antonio Express (San Antonio, Texas) Apr 8, 1890

*****

HOW TO REMOVE STAINS AND SPOTS FROM MARBLE FURNITURE, ETC.

The only stain which Sapolio will not remove is a “stain upon the character.” But from marble mantels, tables, china, table-ware, carpets, furniture of every description, or any article of household ornament or use, the deepest dyed stain can be instantly washed out forever by the use of Sapolio. It is as cheap as ordinary bar soap, and will always do exactly what is claimed for it, if the simple directions are followed.

Sandusky Daily Register (Sandusky, Ohio) Nov 13, 1873

Carroll Sentinel (Carroll, Iowa) Sep 6, 1897

San Antonio Express (San Antonio, Texas) May 2, 1890

*****

HOW TO LIVE ECONOMICALLY.

The problem of how to economize in living is one that engages the serious attention of a great many people. “Many a little makes a mickle,” was one of Benjamin Franklin’s “Poor Richard” truisms that summarizes the whole system of popular extravagance. If you wish to save money economize in little as well as in large items of expenditure. For all the household purposes for which polishing powders, bath brick and soap are usually used, excepting the one thing of washing clothes. Sapolio is by many times the cheapest article that can be employed. To say nothing about its great superiority to all other substances, it is, on the score of money alone, by far the cheapest. Remember this fact and save many dollars every year.

Sandusky Daily Register (Sandusky, Ohio) Nov 24, 1873

Carroll Sentinel (Carroll, Iowa) Dec 27, 1897

Carroll Sentinel (Carroll, Iowa) Mar 28, 1898

Carroll Sentinel (Carroll, Iowa) Jun 1, 1899

San Antonio Express (San Antonio, Texas) Apr 14, 1890

Image from http://www.victorianweb.org

SISSY JANE.

Allays — mornin’, noon an’ night,
Rose o’dawn or candlelight,
She was toilin’ in the house,
Creepin’ round’, jes like a mouse;
Washin’ kittles, pots an’ pans,
Runnin’ erran’s in the rain,
Lots o’ work fer her small han’s –
sissy Jane.

Had to work er’ she’d get spiled,
Bein’ jes a char’ty child;
Them’s the kind that folks despise –
Kind o scary like brown eyes,
Hair that  fell without a comb,
Like a yearlin’ colt’s rough mane,
‘Cause she hadn’t any home –
Sissy Jane.

Finerly she sort o’ failed,
Cheeks got sunken like an’ paled,
Eyes kep gettin’ bigger, too,
Elbow jints come crowdin’ through.
So she up and died about
Time the men was cuttin’ grain.
Reckon she got tired out –
Sissy Jane.

– Chicago Herald.

Sandusky Daily Register (Sandusky, Ohio) Apr 14, 1890

Your Football Name is MUD

Image from http://www.lib.ku.edu

Football and Poetry combined….complete with boasting, betting and jail.

It was a most delightful day
For fine athletic fun,
When Woodruff’s team came here to play
Against a stronger one.
It grieved me when I saw them strive,
To break our strong defense,
Which proved their famous tandem “drive”
Of trifling consequence.
Their lame assaults removed my fears,
I knew we couldn’t fail,
But I was almost moved to tears
When Harmon went to jail.

The man had staked his little all
On Woodruff’s idle boast;
He saw his padded heroes fall,
He heard the rooters “roast.”
A melancholy seized him, then,
His pocketboot was slim
And much he feared his fellow men
Were bent on robbing him.
I laughed to see him so oppressed
From hoisting too much sail,
But, honestly, I felt distressed
When Harmon went to jail.

Here was a student of the law,
(A theme for kinder verse)
Who left his home beside the Kaw
With money in his purse,
By fickle fortune rudely slapped,
Caught in his own old net,
He had to either walk home strapped
Or get back what he bet.
Against a suit for its return
His friends could not prevail;
The midnight lamps had ceased  to burn
When Harmon went to jail.

The Kansas football team has gone,
A sad, crest-fallen lot,
But Kleinhans still is taking on
And Woodruff, too, is hot.
They think it is a burning shame
To cook them to a turn,
Who strove so hard to steal a game
Their players couldn’t earn.
They well deserve the pain and woe
That comes to chumps who fail;
I laughed at them, but couldn’t crow
When Harmon went to jail.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Nov 16, 1897

The rest of the article can be found HERE (Library of Congress link to the Kansas City Journal – Nov 15, 1897)

Image from http://www.lib.ku.edu

Coach Woodruff says it was a “scheme” –
His players couldn’t fail –
For had he not announced the team
A solid match for Yale?

They couldn’t lose for, sakes alive,
Each player knew his biz,
And yet the score was six to five
Against those pets of his.

O, Woodruff, let us learn from this
A lesson all men need;
The fastest horse will sometimes miss
Its wonted burst of speed.

The greatest man will live to see,
No matter what his score,
Some other man as great as he
And maybe three or four.

Great Bonaparte his armies took,
To win and never lose,
And all the hosts of Europe shook
Inside their wooden shoes.

He scored a hundred battles won –
The world said that would do,
His guard fell when the sun had set
That night at Waterloo.

So with that team you coached, you know,
And praised throughout the land;
The Skeedunk players stood no show
Against so strong a band;

The Skeedunk whoppers also fell
And struck the long descent,
And poor Iowa went to — well,
No matter where she went.

Flushed as Napoleon was flushed,
You came to Lincoln then,
and slopped around the town and gushed
About your famous men;

“Invincible?” Of course they were,
And not to be suppressed;
They wouldn’t hardly need to stir
To beat us at our best.

So, when they heard the umpire call,
They jauntily began;
The great high kicker kicked the ball,
The others laughed and ran.

They who had smiled to hear you brag,
Went forward with delight
And ran against a solid snag
Too much for them that night.

They couldn’t break the Lincoln line,
Nor stop the rush “for blood;”
Excuse this mirth, friend of mine,
Your football name is Mud.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Nov 17, 1897

*****

KU Football: the First Seven Decades

Massacre of St. Mary’s

Rebels Gather (Image by sunface13 on flickr)

The Massacre of St. Mary’s.

A TRUE STORY BY ART BRIDWELL.

Many tragedies have been enacted on the bloody soil of Kansas. When on the verge of the most thrilling scenes, actors let fall many humorous bits which give relish to the play. But on the stage of the world, one little thinks of the scenes that may follow.

In the little settlement of St. Marys in the western part of Douglas county, Kansas, a Home Guard had been organized. Rumors had been circulated through the country, and every one was on the alert for the coming of the Border ruffians. The brawn of the settlement came together to drill at the little Catholic church on Saturday. The captain, Billie Baldwin, was one of the “Indiany” settlers who, seemingly grave at all times, possessed the deep imbred sense of humor, characteristic of the “Hoosier.”

As the little band marched and counter-marched, there was one among them that seemed to take especial pride in his military maneuvers; and when the command, “Rest,” was given, the boastful brogue of Pat _______ might be heard above the quiet talk of the American and German settlers.

“Faith, Ii’ll droive the darty brats from Kansas loik me namesake St. Patrick sint the snakes skedaddlin’ from ould Oirland.” “Oh, come now, Pat, don’t you mane they will droive you?” said Richard Kelley, imitating the Irishman. “Ye’re mighty brave, ain’t you? when they ain’t no one around to fight,” put in another “Vot yow dink you do?” cried Joe Michael, in his taunting Dutch accents.

Then followed a steady stream of gibes and jests. This manner of carrying on took place nearly every Saturday. At last the word came that a band of “borderers” were coming from the southwest where they had been seen along the Marias des Cygne valley. Word was sent to all the members of the company. By noon, the little church was crowded with women and children, while in front stood the men ready to vault into the saddles at the command. Fear was pictured on the pale faces the women who watched the prairies, half expecting to see the galloping forms of the ruffians rise over the tops of the hills at the south and west. Some of most devout knelt in the church and offered earnest petitions for the safety of the home guards and for their own preservation.

Soon the order to mount was given and the little band rode away to the southwest, and were lost to view amid the undulating billows of the tall prairie grass. Stern hearts beat under their home made garments. No word, no sound save the steady beat of hoofs escaped from the body of horsemen.

Several miles to the west was a deep gulch with a few scattered trees which had outlived the annual prairie fires. The slough grass, here, grew to such a height that a horseman, by dismounting, might easily have concealed himself without the least chance of being discovered. Imagine, if you can, the feeling one would have as he passes through such a place, not knowing at what moment he may be attacked by an unmerciful foe. But through Lonely Hollow, as it was called by the settlers, they passed and on to the southwest went, but still no signs of the enemy. The depression of spirits soon passed away as they rode on. At first the two riding side by side began to talk to each other. Then one in advance would turn to speak to his neighbor in the rear. Their actions became free as the novelty of the situation died away.

But what of Pat? At the rear of the  troop, he might be seen. Occasionally he would dismount and look at his horse’s foot, with the remark, “Sure an’ the crather is limpin’ a bit, Oi do belave.”

“Yaw, you show how you was prave?” tauntingly responded Michael.

“Don’t you think your horse will hold out till you get back home, Pat?” called out another.

“Sure, an’ Oi don’t belave it’s good for much more,” replied Pat.

At this the whole troop burst out into laughter, for it was evident that the Hibernian’s parade bravery had deserted him now that he was to have a real chance to assert it.

Along the Santa Fe trail they went but heard nothing of the “borderers.” They had received a false alarm but at last they concluded to go on for a few miles to the 110 Trading Post. This was long before the days of prohibition in Kansas, so here some of the men stocked up with whiskey. After having stopped a short time, Billie Baldwin decided to divide the company in two parts; one of which would follow down the 110 creek to the Marias des Cygne valley, thence along the river, and return to the settlement from the southeast; the other was to go back the same route they had come. Among the latter were Richard Kelley, Joe Michael and pat, while the captain with about fifteen of the men struck off to the southeast.

By this time Pat’s horse had lost all of its lameness, and as they rode along, once more the Irishman could be heard enlarging on what would have been done if they had only met the “blackgards” from Missouri. Kelley suggested that they had better thake their time going home as they had ridden hard, “It will be moonlight any way.”

The sun was just sinking behind the hills as they came to the west side of Lonely Hollow. A haziness filled the valley with an indistinctness almost supernatural. A lone wolf away to the north howled. It was answered by the screach of a prairie owl.

“Och, Holy Mather, what if the dirty brats be a waitin us here!” exclaimed Pat.

The rest of the company begain to play on the fears of the poor Irishman. “I dink ve beter get our guns ready,” spoke Joe Michael in a low tone. “Hist, what’s that?” said Kelley in an undertone. “Oh! that’s nothin’,” spoke up another in a cheerful manner. So down into the hollow they rode, joking until they themselves began to feel a “creepy” sensation.”

Marais Massacre scene from Wikipedia

Pat, ,who had been in the lead while on the homeward way, now dropped back into the bunch of horsemen as they broke into a sharp gallop. There is a movement in the tall grass, south of the beaten trail. Hark! is it some cattle that have strayed off into the valley? No. In another place the grass stirs, and another and another.

The report of a volley of rifles cracks through the stillness of the evening. Every horse save Pat’s is now riderless. Tragedies have been enacted, but where could a more fitting place be found than here in a lone valley on the bleak prairie. Pat up spurs to horse and ran. How his horse ran! As the shots were fired he thought he felt something hit him but now he was sure of it. He sank the spurs into the flanks of the horses which was running its best. How his back hurts him! The rest had been killed and he was wounded. Is that the sound of hoofs behind? Yes, They are pursuing. No. It is but the throbbing of his head. He thinks he can feel the blood throbbing down his clothing. Yes. He is het. Will he fall from his horse? He clings to the saddle horn in desperation. He will try to reach the little church before he dies. Oh! heavens, he hears the sound of hoofs! He is sure of it! Now they are lost. Yes, again they come. If he can only reach the church! How his past floods his mind! The evil deeds that he has done, how he sees them all! He can no longer hear his pursuers. He listens intently. Surely they have given up the chase. Yes, he is sure of it. Oh, how his back hurts! Will he bleed to death before he can reach the church? Now he can see the spire siloutted against the eastern sky. Now over the rise he can see the light in the church. He wonders if he ruffians will see the light and follow him there. How his horse runs! Will it hold out? The foam fairly covers it and drops from its reeking sides. He thinks of the ugly wound which must be in his back. Now the church is only a few yards distant. The people, hearing the hastening hoofs, run out see what is the matter. Who is it? What is wrong? “Och, holy mather! sure an’ the dirty varmints hav kilt all the rist; and sure an’ Oi’m that bad hurt that Oi can hardly brathe! Sure an’ tear he shirt off of me back, for its hit that Oi am!” cried Pat as he burst into the building.

What a commotion there was. Some of them in their terror, fell down on their knees and prayed. Others rung their hands and wept. Their sobbing and prayers mingled in a strange melody. In their fear, they opened their hearts and showed their secrets. “Oh Lord, forgive me, I called John a coword this very morning,” came the wail of one. “Mercifu God, spare us!” “O Lord, forgive me!” “Blessed virgin, guard us!” “O, Fader, vatch ofer us!” “O, holy mother, we have done wrong! Forgive us, O, blessed virgin!” Such comingling of prayers. What a scene of terror. Some of the German women forgot their newly acquired English and their cries in German were mixed with the weapings and wailing of the American born.

Pat removed his shirt and stood waiting for some one to dress his wound, when the sound of approaching horsemen were heard above the noise in the room. “Why, Pat, there is nothing the matter with your back,” said Mrs. Baldwin in a wondering manner.

“Sure now an’ don’t you s’pose that a man can feel himself –” In at the door rushed the body of Home Guards who who could no longer restrain themselves. How the little church rang with laughter which mingled with the prayers of the women. It was some time before they could convince the women that it was not a band of border ruffians.

Having seen what a coward Pat really was, the company had divided so that one part could get in ahead of the one with which Pat went, and conceal themselves in Lonely Hollow. Michael and Kelley who had helped to get up the scheme, told the rest of the men as they rode along, so that at the first fire, they all dropped from their horses and grabbed the reins. At the same time Kelley, who rode close to Pat, had thrown a stone which hit him in the back. It is needless to say that Patrick could no longer stay in that part of the country. He moved to Lawrence, where he was killed during Quantrell’s raid.

Lawrence Daily world (Lawrence, Kansas) May 7, 1897

Foes of the Wheel Have Trotted Out Another Scarecrow

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BICYCLE VOICE NOW.

Enemies of Wheeling Say It Affects the Vocal Chords.

All the talk of the bicycle face having practically died out, the foes of the wheel have now trotted out another scarecrow claiming that as a result of wheeling women are becoming loud talkers, with an unpleasant quality of voice. They assert that wheeling, especially with the mouth open, has a detrimental effect on the vocal chords, and when to this is added the strain to which the voice is subjected in an effort to keep up a conversation while cycling the danger seems something more than a shadow. Some persons who have made voice culture a life study are inclined to fall in with these views, asserting that exercise on the wheel is responsible for an apparent alteration in the voices of women. One vocal teacher says:

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“While bicycle riding people frequently fill their lungs with dust, and this is, of course, injurious. Then the exercise leaves the system exhausted and unable to resist the bad effects of excessive perspiration. A severe cold is detrimental to the speaking voice, and when these colds are frequent, as they are with bicyclists, they will ultimately result in permanent injury. If women would ride but a few miles at a time and would keep their mouths closed there would be no danger, but I find that many of my pupils cannot refrain from overdoing the sport. Professional women realize the harm that bicycling does to their voices, but they say that they cannot bear to give up wheeling. Calling to one another as wheelwomen frequently do cannot help but strain the voice is persisted in.”

Another vocal instructor hold totally opposite views. Said she: “I am strongly in favor of cycling for women. It is a most healthful exercise, and so cannot fail to be beneficial to he singing and speaking voice. I do not believe the old-fashioned theory of things affecting the vocal chords directly. Of course it is possible to strain the voice but I should think this most unlikely when wheeling. The very tendency of the wheel is to keep the rider quiet. If riders should call from one to the other when outdoors their speaking voices might be affected, but the most strident speakers are often the sweetest singers. The soft, well-modulated voice of the English girl does not give us as many brilliant examples of the song bird as the less pleasant and somewhat nasal tones of the American. Nine out of every ten successful singers abroad to-day are Americans. This is because the other girls are never allowed to expand their lungs with the same delightful freedom. A good digestion is the first requisite toward good singing. I should say poor cooks have more to do with spoiling the voice than all the wheels in Christendom. A theory has been advanced that the rapid breathing necessary when riding the wheel is injurious. This is wrong, as the vocal chords are completely protected when not in use.” — Philadelphia Press.

Reno Evening Gazette (Reno, Nevada) Aug 5, 1897