Archive for June 20th, 2012

Swat the Fly, Iowa

June 20, 2012

GET AFTER THE FLIES.

That fly on your plate didn’t wipe his feet when he came in.
The chances are his last walk was in the filth of the street or the garbage pail.
Pleasant, isn’t it?
Then why put up with flies?
Keep flies out of your home.
Don’t trade at stores that tolerate flies.
Don’t eat at restaurants in which there are flies

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Protect the Sleeping Baby.

WHEN your children are out of doors and awake the fly is not so dangerous. You will very rarely see a fly on the face of a child walking or playing, but if your baby sleeps outdoors that is the danger time. He must be carefully covered with mosquito netting to protect him from the poisoned kiss.

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Swat! Swat! Swat!

When you wake up in the morning
And a fly is buzzing near
And you know he’ll soon be horning
Into your defenseless ear,
Wait awhile until you spot him,
Till you know he’s off his guard;
Then lift up your hand and swat him —
Swat that buzzer good and hard!

When within your office busy
You try hard to do your work
And a fly makes you so dizzy
‘Neath your desk you long to lurk,
Pause until in range you’ve got him,
Steel your heart, though mercy pleads.
Take the office clock and swat him
Right where Mary wore the beads!

There is lots of satisfaction
In the course that I suggest,
With each victim nerved to action
To abate this insect pest.
When you see a fly just pot him,
Nail him as, of course, you should;
Grab a baseball bat and swat him —
Swat him while the swatting’s good!

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STARVE THE FLY.

STARVING the fly was added to the swatting of it in Paterson, N.J. The board of health set apart a day for householders to wrap up their food so that the housefly will fail of sustenance.

It was even asked that all refuse food be well wrapped before it is put in the garbage cans.

In addition, every one of the 125,000 residents who was able to swat was asked to kill 200 flies.

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THINK OF IT!

Flies and dirt double the amount of sickness among New York city’s babies. This statement, made public by the department of social welfare of the New York Association For Improving the Condition of the Poor, is based on a two years’ investigation in more than a thousand families.

Don’t let that fly get away!

Kill him now!

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REALIZE YOUR DANGER,

SWAT THE FLY!

If you were to walk into a room and then be told that in it there were 7,000,000 chances of catching a deadly disease, how long would you linger? The chances are 100 to 1 that you would get out as quickly as possible. According to scientists and doctors, a fly may carry as many as 7,000,000 germs on its feet. Typhoid and tuberculosis are the most common of these germs.

Kill the murderous insect.

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Kill the murderous fly!

When we dwell on the great war in Europe words fail us.

Yet statistics show that disease transmitted by the housefly kills more than armies!

Swat the fly!

Starve the fly!

Adams County Free Press (Corning, Iowa) May 23, 1917

Impeach Him Now

June 20, 2012

Image from DRUDGE REPORT- The Executive Privilege

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THE GOAT

By Arthur Guiterman

If Wall Street grabbed your final cent,
That’s right, impeach the President.
If Europe seethes with discontent,
Denounce the cause — our President.
If China lacks a government,
Reprove our laggard President.
If industry seems hellward bent,
One can’t forgive the President.
You don’t see where your money went?
Investigate the President.
If all you had is rashly spent,
You’d best accuse the President.
If malefactors won’t repent,
Inveigh against the President.
If all the world is indigent,
Who made it so? Our President’
For droughts and wars are consequent
On blunders by the President.
So give your feelings proper vent
By growling at the President.
IT helps us all and pays the rent
To sit and blame the President.

Bessemer Herald (Bessemer, Michigan) Jun 17, 1932

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The Old Swimmin’ Hole

June 20, 2012

The Old Swimmin’ Hole

(“Greenfield, Indiana — James Whitcomb Riley’s Old Swimmin’ Hole has passed into oblivion, with the dedication of a modern bathing pool on the site.” — News item.)

Oh! the old swimmin’-hole! whare the crick so still and deep
Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep,
And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below
Sounded like the laugh of something we onc’t ust to know
Before we could remember anything but the eyes
Of the angels lookin’ out as we left Paradise;
Now I gaze at the spot and it makes me very glum
For the hole’s been replaced by a natatorium!

Oh! the old swimmin’-hole! In the happy days of yore,
When I ust to lean above it on the old sycamore,
Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tide
That gazed back at me so gay and glorified;
It made me love myself, as I leaped to caress
My shadder smilin’ up at me with such tenderness —
But now marble baths shine with bright nickle showers
And they’ve rules, regulations too, an’ set swimmin’ hours!

Oh! the old swimmin’ hole! In the long, lazy days
When the humdrum of school made so many runaways,
How pleasant was the jurney down the old dusty lane,
Where the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so plain
You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole
They was lots o’ fun on hand at the old swimmin’s hole.
But today modern plumbin’ mocks the scenes of old —
An’ it’s plastered with faucets readin’ “Hot” and “Cold!”

Now no bulrushes growed, and the cattails so tall,
Are gone with shadders that fell over all
And the worter so mottled with amber and gold
Now gushes from pipes that some steamfitter sold;
At one end o’ the place is a sign — man alive! —
That says in big letters to bathers, “DON’T DIVE!”
And no glad lilies rock in the ripples that roll
In the new bathin’ pool by the old swimmin’ hole.

Oh! the old swimmin’ hole! When I looked at the place
I shuddered to think just what time could efface;
A great marble structure now stands on the spot
Whare the old divin’ log lays sunk and forgot;
As I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be
There’s nuthin’ I see that’s familiar to me,
And there’s this that jest clutches my heart by the roots —
When the kids now swim there they must wear bathin’ suits!

Morning Herald (Hagerstown, Maryland) Jul 11, 1930

The original version from Poetry Foundation:

The Old Swimmin’ Hole

By James Whitcomb Riley

Oh! the old swimmin’-hole! whare the crick so still and deep
Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep,
And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below
Sounded like the laugh of something we onc’t ust to know
Before we could remember anything but the eyes
Of the angels lookin’ out as we left Paradise;
But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle,
And it’s hard to part ferever with the old swimmin’-hole.

Oh! the old swimmin’-hole! In the happy days of yore,
When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore,
Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tide
That gazed back at me so gay and glorified,
It made me love myself, as I leaped to caress
My shadder smilin’ up at me with sich tenderness.
But them days is past and gone, and old Time’s tuck his toll
From the old man come back to the old swimmin’-hole.

Oh! the old swimmin’-hole! In the long, lazy days
When the humdrum of school made so many run-a-ways,
How plesant was the jurney down the old dusty lane,
Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so plane
You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole
They was lots o’ fun on hands at the old swimmin’-hole.
But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow roll
Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin’-hole.

Thare the bullrushes growed, and the cattails so tall,
And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all;
And it mottled the worter with amber and gold
Tel the glad lilies rocked in the ripples that rolled;
And the snake-feeder’s four gauzy wings fluttered by
Like the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky,
Or a wownded apple-blossom in the breeze’s controle
As it cut acrost some orchard to’rds the old swimmin’-hole.

Oh! the old swimmin’-hole! When I last saw the place,
The scenes was all changed, like the change in my face;
The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spot
Whare the old divin’-log lays sunk and fergot.
And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be—
But never again will theyr shade shelter me!
And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul,
And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin’-hole.