Government of the People, by the People, for the People…
and FROM the people — Federal Taxes
FROM the people — State Taxes
FROM the people — Local Taxes!
Ironwood Daily Globe (Ironwood, Michigan) May 6, 1933
PARODY ON HAMLET.
TO drink, or not to drink; that is the question;
Whether ’tis nobler that the body suffer
The parching burning, of outrageous thirst,
Or take a mug and put it to your mouth,
And, so by drinking end it? To drink — to thirst —
No more; and by a drink to say we end
The throat_ache, and the various tortures
Burning thirst is heir to, ’tis a consumation
Devoutly to be wished. To drink, to quaff,
To drink; perchance get drunk; aye, there’s the rub!
For in that draught, what spirit there may be,
When we have first drank off the foaming top,
Must give us pause. There’s the respect,
which makes us bear our thrift for so long time;
For who would bear the jeers and scoffs of men,
The tavern keeper’s bill, the bystander’s contumely,
The pangs of aching bones, and time’s delay,
The insolence of people, and the spurns
That those who are very drunk must always take,
When he himself might all those ills forego,
By drinking water?
NO plate had John and Joan to hoard,
Plain folk in humble plight,
One only tankard crown’d their board,
And that was filled each night;
Along whole inner bottom — stretch’d
In pride of chubby grace —
Some rude engraver’s hand had etch’d
A baby Angel’s face.
John swallow’d first a moderate sup;
But Joan was not like John;
For when her lips once touch’d the cup,
She swill’d till all was gone.
John often urg’d her to drink fair;
But she ne’er chang’d a jot;
She lov’d to see the Angel there,
And therefore — drain’d the pot.
When John found all remonstrance vain,
Another card he play’d;
And where the Angel stood so plain
He got a Dev’l pourtray’d.
John saw the horns, Joan saw the tail,
Yet Joan was stoutly quaff’d;
And ever, when she siez’d her ale,
She clear’d it at a draught —
John star’d with wonder petrefy’d,
His hair stood on his pate;
And “why dost guzzle now,” he cry’d,
“At this enormous rate?” —
“John,” she said, “am I to blame?
I can’t in conscience stop;
For then ‘twould be a burning shame,
To leave the Dev’l — a drop.”
The Centinel (Gettysburg, Pennsylvania) Sep 25, 1805
Image from the 2008 Additions and Comment blog, which gives some good background information on the cartoon and the Embargo Act. I don’t know that this poem/song is about the Embargo Act, but it is from the time period leading up to it.
From the STANTON EAGLE.
SELF-INTEREST — A SONG.
Tune — “Green grows the rushes O, &c.”
Rules in the constitution. O,
It is to man the end of want,
And all else is delusion, O.
O sovereign interest, O,
And O sovereign interest O,
The straightest course to human bliss,
Is best explain’d by interest O.
Self_interest’s a reigning God,
And main_spring of all action O,
Which we may find in all mankind,
Have full and free direction O.
O sovereign, &c.
Some swear, some lye and quarrel too,
And fight like dogs and vermin O;
We’ll search no laws to know the cause,
For int’rest will determine O.
O sovereign, &c.
Let charity, benevolence,
And friendship’s best devotion O,
Be all cast down and banish’d hence,
When int’rest is in motion O.
O sovereign, &c.
Let civil and religious names
Be lock’d up in the casket O,
And tender ties sink to the flames,
When int’rest pins the basket O.
O sovereign, &c.
Some know the rules of arithmetic,
As well as Henry Hogan O,
Can add and multiply so quick,
But int’rest cobs the noggin O.
O sovereign, &c.
What e’er we say, or think or do,
Is serious or in jest O,
A thousand ways we’ll twist and screw,
And sacrifice for interest O.
O sovereign, &c.
Some court the fair so debonair,
And swear they love like thunder O,
But de’l a hair for them they care,
If once they get the plunder O.
O sovereign, &c.
To take the land just as it stands,
As far as I have known ’em O,
Self_interest’s the great request,
And mighty summum bonum, O.
O sovereign interest, O, &c.
The Centinel (Gettysburg, Pennsylvania Nov 18, 1807
[From the Albany Register.]
BY WILLIAM RAY.
Wise moralists in vain have told
How sordid is the love of gold,
Which they call filthy trash;
Thou stranger to these eyes of mine,
Ten Thousand virtues still are thine,
Thou all-sufficient CASH!
Tho’ thy intrinsic worth be small,
Yet, money, thou art in all —
Tho’ transient as a flash,
In passing just from hand to hand,
The earth is at thy sole command —
It gravitates to CASH.
Possessed of thee, we may defy
Nor death itself — but very nigh,
For when the tyrant’s lash
Is felt (and ah ’twas felt by me*)
It did — it will the vassal free —
Then who despises CASH?
By nature void of ev’ry grace,
If thou hast (reader! view thy face)
But this cosmetic wash;
‘Twill whiten and improve the skin —
Thy monkey nose, thy cheeks, thy chin,
Are beautiful by CASH.
And tho’ your mental pow’rs be weak,
(To you who money have I speak)
Ne’er fear to cut a dash;
For men of genius and sense,
If poor, will make a poor defence
Against the man of CASH.
Or should you for the basest crimes,
Become indicted fifty times,
This settles all the hash;
F??? ls which leave the poor no hope
I escape the dungeon, or the rope,
Are cancell’d, all, by CASH.
Nay ’twill be found that money can
The grovelling beast transform to man,
Tho’ diff’rent natures clash;
For ’tis a fact beyond dispute,
The miser’s far beneath the brute —
A lump of living CASH.
And yet what crowds around him wait —
Behold him cloth’d in pow’r and state —
The garter star and sash;
Fools fly before the potent nod
Of him whose flesh, whole soul, whole God,
Whole heav’n itself is CASH.
But, sons of Plutus, left you go,
To those infernal mines below,
Where teeth are said to gnash,
Give to the needy — bribe the grave —
O, If you wish your souls to save,
Be generous of your CASH.
*Mr. Ray was one of the American prisoners in Tripoli; and is now preparing a poem on that subject.
The Centinel (Gettysbug, Pennsylvania) Oct 14, 1807
WILLIAM RAY was born at Salisbury, in the county of Litchfield, Connecticut, December 9th, 1771. He wrote verses at about ten years of age, which the minister of his parish pronounced wonderful, and flattered the young author with the hopes of becoming as great a poet as Dr Watts. His father removed to the state of New York, and in the remote and solitary spot which he occupied, the youth had little chance to pursue his inclination for letters. At the age of nineteen, he went to reside in Dover, in Dutchess county, where he taught a school. This occupation he soon abandoned, and betook himself to trade, which he pursued for a few years, when he became bankrupt, and finding it impossible to obtain a release from his creditors, or support himself at home in any manner, he was forced to leave his wife, and set off for another quarter. He reached Philadelphia, with the prospect of finding a situation as an editor, but meeting with disappointment in this and every other attempt he made to provide for himself, and destitute of resources, he entered in a low capacity on board the frigate Philadelphia, according to his own statement, “without either inquiring or caring where she was bound.” She sailed in July, 1803, for the Mediterranean.
The Philadelphia was destined to join our squadron against Tripoli. After cruising in several ports of the Mediterranean, she fell in with an enemy’s ship off the harbor of Tripoli, on the 31st of October, and while giving her chase four or five miles from the town, the frigate struck on a rock, and in spite of all the efforts made to save her, was obliged to surrender to the Tripolitan gunboats. The crew were stripped, marched on shore, and set to hard labor. In their captivity, which endured more than a year and a half, they suffered great miseries, of which Ray has given us a very striking picture in his narrative.
Read the rest: (Google Book LINK) and more of his poetry from:
Title: Specimens of American Poetry. Vol 2 –Page 137-144
Author: Samuel Kettell
Publisher: S.G. Goodrich and Co., 1829
Image from We-News
WHEN Sorrow hangs the drooping head;
And Pain and Woe are near;
When all the hope and joy is fled,
How Sweet it Pity’s tear!
When friends desert, and foes assail,
When pride and scorn appear,
And innocence can nought avail,
How Sweet is Pity’s tear!
Oh, then, Sweet Pity, loveliest maid,
My wandering spirit cheer;
And when by foes or friends betray’d,
Oh Sooth me with a tear!
The Centinel (Gettysburg, Pennsylvania) Jun 19, 1805
Image from John Gushue … Dot Dot Dot
(A Little Rhymed Story.)
The wind was blowing over the moors,
And the sun shone upon heather and ‘ whin,
On the grave stones hoary and gray with age
Which stand about Haworth vicarage,
And it streamed through a window in.
There, by herself, in a lonely room —
A lonely room which once held three —
Sat a woman at work with a busy pen,
‘Twas the woman all England praised just then
But what for its praise cared she?
Fame can not dazzle or flattery charm
One who goes lonely day by day
On the lonely moors, where the plovers cry,
And the sobbing wind as it hurries by
Has no comforting word to say.
So, famous and lonely and and she sat,
And steadily wrote the morning through;
Then, at stroke of twelve, laid her task aside
And out to the kitchen swiftly hied.
Now what was she going to do?
Why, Tabby, the servant, was “past her work,”
And her eyes had failed as her strength ran low,
And the toils once easy, had one by one
Become too hard or were left half done
By the aged hands and slow.
So, every day, without saying a word,
Her famous mistress laid down the pen,
Re kneaded the bread, or silently stole
The potatoes away in their wooden bowl
And pared them all over again.
She did not say, as she might have done,
“The less to the larger must give way,
These things are little, while I am great;
And the world will not always stand and wait
For the words that I have to say.”
No; the clever fingers that wrought so well,
And the eyes that could pierce to the heart’s intent,
She lent to the humble task and small;
Nor counted the time as lost at all,
So Tabby were but content!
Ah, genius burns like a blazing star,
And Fame has an honeyed urn to fill;
But the good deed done for love, not fame,
Like the water-cut in the Master’s name,
Is something more precious still.
— Susan Coolidge, in St. Nicholas.
Edwardsville Intelligencer (Edwardsville, Illinois) Dec 26, 1888
Go Shopping with “Flapper Fanny”
NOW YOU CAN DRESS “FLAPPER FANNY”
Here She Is With Her New Pajamas and Next She’ll Dress for Her Shopping Tour;
Be Sure to Save the Sketch of “Flapper Fanny”
Get Mother’s scissors and your colored crayons and let’s help “Flapper Fanny,” popular newspaper feature star, pick out her new wardrobe. Of course you must shop carefully with “Flapper Fanny,” for she is known for her smart apparel quite as much as her smart sayings. To help you out, Gladys Parker, artist who draws “Flapper Fanny,” has designed six complete, brand new costumes for her and suggests color combinations for them.
First, paste the above figure of “Flapper Fanny” and the standard on heavy cardboard, and cut out carefully. Fold the standard on the dotted line and paste the smaller section to the back of the doll.
Next color “Flapper Fanny’s” cheeks pink, her hair brown and her lips very red. Now color the one-piece pajamas that just came from the store. The trousers are of green velvet and the full-sleeved blouse of yellow taffeta. Then cut them out and fold as indicated. You’ll find they just fit “Flapper Fanny.” Next you must dress her for her shopping tour.
Ogden Standard Examiner (Ogden, Utah) Nov 16, 1932
HERE’S “FLAPPER FANNY’S”
FROCK FOR SHOPPING TOUR
Here’s a bright new dress, sent out from the store, and just the thing for “Flapper Fanny” to wear on her shopping tour. She likes pretty clothes so color this little frock to look like a bright red woolen one. The full-sleeved little lapin jacket is brown and so are the tie and belt. “Flapper Fanny’s” little beret matches her dress, so make it a red one too. When the whole costume is ready, cut it out and fit it onto your paper doll “Flapper Fanny.”
Now she’s ready for her shopping tour.
Next she will pick out a pretty school dress.
Ogden Standard Examiner (Ogden, Utah) Nov 17, 1932
“FLAPPER FANNY” PICKS OUT
A CUNNING DRESS FOR SCHOOL
Here we are, shopping with “Flapper Fanny” and first of all she wants a school dress. So let’s have her try on this guimpe dress. Color the dress itself a deep blue and the guimpe white, leaving the bow and buttons black. Cut it out, now, and slip it onto little “Flapper Fanny.”
Doesn’t she look like a model little school girl? Right into her new wardrobe goes this dress!
Watch for the smart new dinner dress which “Flapper Fanny” will select tomorrow.
Ogden Standard Examiner (Ogden, Utah) Nov 18, 1932
HERE’S A GROWN-UP DRESS FOR
“FLAPPER FANNY’S” WARDROBE
“FLAPPER Fanny,” just like you, loves to play “grown-up.” So she must have a long dress that will make her look like a full-grown lady. And here it just the one! With your crayons, make the dress light blue, with the shining collar just a shade or two deeper or even a pink. Be sure “Flapper Fanny’s” cheeks are nice and red and her lips too.
For you want her new wardrobe to look just beautiful on her.
Tomorrow “Flapper Fanny” will pick out a lovely party dress.
Ogden Standard Examiner (Ogden, Utah) Nov 19, 1932
NOW AN EVENING DRESS JOINS
“FLAPPER FANNY’S” WARDROBE
OF course at parties you must look your best — and so must “Flapper Fanny.” And she most certainly will in this pretty evening dress she finds in the store today. Gladys Parker, who draws “Flapper Fanny,” suggests you use your crayons to color the dress light blue, leaving the cape white, for it is white fur. Now dress your “Flapper Fanny” doll in it.
A very stylish miss, isn’t she?
Tomorrow she will select a “Sunday — go-to-meetin’ ” coat and it must be as smart as the rest of her wardrobe.
Ogden Standard Examiner (Ogden, Utah) Nov 20, 1932
“FLAPPER FANNY’S” OUTFIT IS
COMPLETE WITH “SUNDAY COAT!”
FOR “Sunday-go-to-meetin’ ” “Flapper Fanny” deserves to look her best. It was a lucky moment when the saleslady brought out this gray coat with a great big fur collar that any girl would love. With your crayons, color the coat and then put some gay color into the bow tie. Cut out the dress and you’ll have “Flapper Fanny” all ready and waiting for the rest of the family.
If you have saved all the cutouts, “Flapper Fanny” now has a stylish new wardrobe.
Ogden Standard Examiner (Ogden, Utah) Nov 21, 1932
Image from the Smithsonian American Art Museum
A COWBOY’S THOUGHTS.
They haven’t got much use fur us them high-toned city fellers
Togged out in hifalutin clothes almighty slick and fine
With bokays in their button holes, an’ blossoms on thir smellers
That shows familiarity with somethin wuss than wine
They seem to think the riders from the ranges an’ the ranches
Are sort o cactus weeds among the flowers o the land —
Jest harum-scarum renegates an wilder than Commanches
An’ in a gun perceedin’ allus keen to play a hand.
Aristocrats is good enough I reckon, in their places,
Referrin’ to the wimmen jest the same as to the men
The feminines I will admit are purty in their faces
But haven’t no mo’ muscle than a dominecker hen
Give me the little rancher gals with faces like the roses
An figgers that the Venus ‘d be mighty proud to own
Build solider than three-year-olds from hoofs clar up to noses
With Indy-rubber sinews, an’ a spring in every bone.
I never yet could see the fun in fashionable dancin
Whar men an’ wimmin slide about on unambitious legs
Jest go a potterin around an’ never do no prancin
As if they was afeared the floor was made of brittle eggs
I like the western style whar thar ain’t never any shirkin
My pard a snappy-muscled gal as sensible as sweet
When to the fiddlin’ we git our every joint to workin’
An spank the dust o’ the floor with never-tirin’ feet.
Fur me refined society hain’t got the least attraction
The pinch of a claw-hammer coat ‘d keep me in a fret
An’ I could never glide around with fashionable action
Too easy-goin in its style to even raise a sweat
Give me the jolly country dance whar fun is jest a poppin
Whar boys and gals is full o’ snap, an’ makin pleasure climb
An’ keep it up the hull night long without a thought o stoppin’
Until we hear the ringin o’ the bells at breakfast time.
Thar ain’t no jealousy in me about the city dandy
I wasn’t built to ornament a suit o’ tailor clothes
An’ feed the upper story gals on taffy talk an’ candy
An’ bow an’ smile an’ smirk an’ grin an’ all sich things as those
Give me the free an easy life among the herds o’ cattle
Aboard a lively bronco that is techy to the quirt
An’ I’ve a sort of idee at the closin’ o’ life’s battle
I’ll stand as squar’ a show as if I wore a varnished shirt.
— Denver Post
Nebraska State Journal – Dec 2, 1897
Frederick, Maryland image from the Son of the South website
YE ANCIENT INN.
When Mistress Kimball kept the inn on Patrick street, due west,
In all the country side about it was the first and best.
Before her stoop each day there paused the coaches, drawn by four,
That up the dusty highway came with rattle and with roar.
While passengers, with beaming smiles, were happy to alight
And test the good dame’s famed cuisine or spend the winter night.
Full many a curtsy greeted them, the foaming steeds were ta’en
To sip the water from the trough, and fresh, with curried main,
Pranced back to take the Westward way, while far the music rang
Of gay postilions as some snatch of airy song they sang.
It was a good y hostelry, and there full many a time
The statesmen of the old regime held forth in courtly prime.
With kerchief folded o’er her breast, and cap of glossy white,
She gave the mark of matron grace, attentive and polite.
Her table’s snowy linen shone, the glass was polished clear,
And on her ancient willow ware she doted fond and dear.
The punch bowl held its ample state, and there the toddy drew
Its sparkling comfort fit to warm the weary travellers through.
There came the Colonel Washington, to take h’s meals and rest;
And then at Mistress Kimball’s inn, on Patrick Street due West,
The grace of all her goodly skill came forth on such a day
To set her cheery house in trim with adequate display.
Dame Barbara’s borrowed service helped to set the table forth,
And there, my lords, the gentlemen, proclaimed her trusty worth.
Her heart with fluttering pride best loud’ her house was honored true,
And to and fro among her guests the gentle lady flew.
The roast, the baked potatoes brown, the turkey stuffed with spice,
The cookies and the crullers baked with art both fine and nice,
The punch in which Jamaica’s gem of rich distilling dwelt,
Not only flavored to the taste, but so it seemed and smelt.
Ah, happy days that came and went and now she’ll come no more,
When footsteps of the Nation’s great trod o’er her sanded floor,
When laud the hoofs of prancing steeds down dusty highways rang,
The couriers sped, the stage coach came, with rumble and with clang,
To pause for dinner or for rest, or changing mail and steeds,
In times when all the country grew to greatness and great deeds.
Ah, happy days, when inns were kept and statesmen rode about
In rambling vehicles that rolled along the unsoiled route.
When Franklin, with his beaming eyes, and Washington, rode up
To test the service, dine and rest and drink a jocund cup.
When of all inns the favorite, first, the goodliest and the best
Was kept by Mistress Kimball, fair, on Patrick street due West.
— The Bentztown Bard.
The News (Frederick, Maryland) Oct 30, 1897
Image from The Historical Marker Database
From the City of Frederick website (PDF link):
In 1806 the Thomas Jefferson administration began the construction of a federal highway that would lead to the newly acquired Louisiana Purchase lands comprising most of the central portion of the United States. The “National Road” began in Cumberland, Maryland and led to Wheeling in Virginia (West Virginia) and later on to Terre Haute, Indiana. The main wagon road from Baltimore to Cumberland, a collection of privately owned and operated turnpike segments, was eventually upgraded and consolidated to become part of the National Road.
Frederick-Town’s location and importance as a regional center assured its place along the “National Road.” Actually a section of the Frederick and Baltimore Turnpike, a privately financed toll road, part of the series of routes connecting to the National Road at Cumberland, the road passed through the center of Frederick-Town along Patrick Street. Chartered in 1805, the Frederick and Baltimore Turnpike was completed by 1808….
The National Road became one of the most heavily traveled east-west routes in America with traffic passing all hours of the day and night. Stage coaches, freight wagons, herds of swine, geese and cattle headed to market, plus individual traffic passed along the pike. Taverns, inns and hotels were an important part of the travel-generated economy. Also important were blacksmith shops, wagon shops, and leather and harness shops.
Indeed, Frederick-Town, already known for its inns and taverns, developed a number of hotel establishments that would define the character of Patrick Street for decades. Mrs. Kimball’s tavern, located on the corner of Patrick and Court (Public) Street had probably been in operation for decades when Anne Royall visited in 1828, calling it “the oldest and best stand in Maryland….”47 That same year, Joseph Talbott, already established as a Frederick innkeeper, purchased Mrs. Kimball’s tavern, changing the name to Talbott’s Hotel. The hotel was best known as the City Hotel, under which name it continued to operate as late as the 1897 Sanborn Insurance Co. map and was eventually replaced by the Francis Scott Key Hotel in the twentieth century.
Image from VintageObscura
Gathered from Garbage.
A machine has been put in use in New York to sift from house refuse and street-sweepings all rags, old iron, broken glass, etc. The machine is described as being a vast rag and bone-picker of many Italian power, working by steam. Its daily capacity is 150 loads of 1,800 pounds each. The oscillator moves to and fro 250 times a minute, while two or three Italians stand alongside and pick all rags and scraps of paper out of the mass. What is then left, after the dust has fallen below, is passed into a washer, in which all straw, leather, vegetable refuse, or other light material rises to the surface of the water, and is removed and burned. The coal, iron, glass and other heavy objects fall to the bottom of the water, are washed in another vat of water and are sold.
Out of 150 loads of refuse but thirty are conveyed away as waste. The rags bring about $30 per ton, the old iron 40 cents per 100 pounds, the glass 30 cents per 100 pounds; the bones are the most valuable and about 400 pounds of coal and cinder are obtained from a load of 1,800 pounds.
The News (Frederick, Maryland) Dec 1, 1884