Posts Tagged ‘1912’

Golf Teas the Latest Fad

August 20, 2012

Golf, tennis or croquet teas are popular. Outdoor exercise such as these games afford is somewhat exhausting, and hostesses are now serving refreshments under the trees to those who gather either informally or on invitation to play on their grounds. The idea is a delightful one, and it is a pity some one did not think of it long ago. Tea made in the 5 o’clock tea apparatus and served with tea cakes or tiny sandwiches between games keeps the enthusiasm of the guests away up for an afternoon, instead of gradually dwindling away after an hour or so. Tea, chocolate or cocoa is more refreshing than iced drinks.

Men and women both enjoy the informality of the outdoor luncheon, and the men are never seen to better advantage than when displaying a little extra thoughtfulness over the tea of some favored fair friends. It takes a heroism a little short of martyrdom for a hot, tired and thirsty man to stalk about distributing tea and sandwiches and seeing the last cupful disappear with the knowledge that he will have to wait until a second pot is brewed. A man who can patiently and politely endure such an ordeal is a good person for the average young woman to cultivate if he is still unattached and fancy free.

North Adams Transcript( North Adams, Massachusetts) Aug 29, 1899

HOW TO MAKE TEA CAKES.

Put three-quarters of a pound of dry flour into a basin, and rub one ounce of butter into it. Mix half an ounce of compressed yeast until it is quite smooth with rather less than half a pint of milk which is just warm, then add one ounce of castor sugar and a well beaten egg. Make a hollow in the middle of the flour and pour in the milk, etc., gradually, and mix the flour until a very soft dough is formed. Then turn it from the basin on to a floured board, and knead it for a few minutes. Butter some round cake tins of medium size. Divide the dough into two or four pieces, according to the size of the tins, and place a piece in each tin.

Stand the tins on a baking sheet, cover them with a cloth and put the baking sheet on the kitchen fender for about an hour. At the end of this time the cakes will have risen well, and they should be baked at once in a quick over for about half an hour. When nearly done, brush them over quickly with milk, and scatter some powdered sugar over them to give the tops a glazed appearance. The cakes can be served as soon as they are cooked, after being cut through and buttered, or they may be allowed to get cold and can then be toasted and buttered.

A small quantity of mixed spice or chopped candied peel added to the dough may be considered an improvement. In the event of no round tins of a suitable size being at hand, the dough may be shaped into the form of buns, which should be placed on a buttered baking tin, allowed to rise, and then baked according to the directions given above. IF the dough is to be sued in this way, rather less milk should be mixed with the yeast; otherwise the dough would be too soft to mold satisfactorily.

North Adams Transcript (North Adams, Massachusetts) Apr 14, 1899

BLUEBERRY TEA CAKE.

Four cups of blueberries, three cups of flour, half cup butter, one cup of sugar, three eggs, one cup milk, two full teaspoons of baking powder. Cream the butter and sugar, stir in the eggs, beaten very light, the milk, the flour, into which had been sifted the baking powder, and last, the berries, well dredged with flour. Bake in a thoroughly greased biscuit tin, split, butter and eat while warm.

North Adams Transcript (North Adams, Massachusetts) Aug 26, 1899

Dainty Tea Cakes.

Here are directions for making some dainty cakes for a home tea which are inexpensive and will be found delicious.

Beat two eggs to a froth in a cake bowl, add two cups of granulated sugar, one teaspoonful of vanilla extract, half a nutmeg grated, half a teaspoonful of salt, beat these to a cream, then ad a cupful of butter which is quite soft. Beat this well together with the other ingredients, then add a cupful of sweet milk, stir it well through the mixture, and last add two and a half cupfuls of flour sifted twice with three teaspoonfuls of baking powder and stir the whole to a smooth batter. Slightly butter the inside of your patty pans and put one generous tablespoonful of the cake batter in each patty and bake in a slow oven. This mixture will make over thirty little tea cakes. Cover the top of each with a frosting and put one blanched almond on the center.

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) May 27, 1912

INEXPENSIVE TEA CAKES

These can be baked while the potatoes bake.

One and one-half cups flour, 2 level teaspoons baking powder, 2-3 teaspoon soda, 1-4 teaspoon nutmeg or mace.

Sift together the flour, baking powder and soda and add three-fourths cup of granulated sugar. Put in a mixing dish and with a spoon make a hole in the center. In a bowl break a egg and put in three-fourths cup of sour milk; beat together and still this liquid into the flour mixture, quickly. Have melting in the small cake pans a piece of butter the size of an egg. When melted pour into the cake mixture and blend thoroughly. Pour into well greased small tins and bake. This cake requires no creaming of butter or beating of egg whites. Butter when warm.

Reno Evening Gazette (Reno, Nevada) Oct 4, 1912

Lima News (Lima, Ohio) Oct 13, 1920

Thief Defeated By Bullet

August 14, 2012

Image from American Firearms

THIEF DEFEATED BY BULLET THAT FELLS HIM IN HIS TRACKS

Onawa Merchant Shoots When Crook Orders Him To Throw Up His Hands.

Onawa, Ia., Aug. 13. — I.A. Blotcky, a local merchant, shot and killed a highwayman almost at the door of his home here at 10:30 o’clock Saturday evening. Mr. Blotcky had for some time made it a practice to carry Saturday’s cash receipts home with him in a sack, invariably holding a loaded .32 calibre revolver just under his coat in the other hand. At the time of the shooting he carried $1,200 in a bag.

Just as he was turning into his lawn, a man stepped out from behind a tree commanding Blotcky to throw up his hands. As he raised his hands, as if in compliance, Mr. Blotcky fired and the robber fell, the bullet having taken effect in the left eyeball and passed through his brain.

The unknown man died in half an hour. After the shooting, Blotcky informed Sheriff George Martin.

The would-be robber had been seen hanging around town for several days before the shooting. He had been with two companions and pretended to be seeking work in the harvest fields.

J.B. Richard and Gus Danielson, of the Sioux City detective force, have been here and procured pictures of the dead man in the hope of establishing his identity, no papers having been found in his pockets. Detective Richard found $50 in bills in a secret pocket.

Mr. Blotcky has been exonerated by a coroner’s jury. His father, Joseph Blotcky, of Sioux City, was here yesterday.

Bayard Advocate (Bayard, Iowa) Aug 15, 1912

Image from Wisconsin Historical Society

Young doctors working in the cause of science, now cut to bits all that is left mortal of the robber who was shot last week at Onawa when he attempted to hold up I.A. Blotcky, who carried $200. Society may be better off without him, as the papers say, but just the same, somewhere probably a mother is standing at the back gate watching the train’s arrival to bring home her wandering son.

Correctionville News (Correctionville, Iowa) Aug 22, 1912

Angus Mac Donald

July 9, 2012

Image from the University of Montana

I don’t know if this is the same Angus  Mac Donald in the following poem, but the Angus Mac Donald pictured above  also lived an interesting life.

ANGUS MAC DONALD

(By. J. HAMPTON MILES.)

When Arctic was a wilderness,
E’er foot of Pioneer
Had trod upon the velvet moss
That draped her golden lair;
When forest monarch reigned supreme
O’er mountain, lea, and dale,
E’er winter’s crested, crystal sheen
Was streaked with silver trail.

A white-winged sloop approached the coast,
Then fringed with gorse and teak,
Old Angus Mac., with miner’s pack,
Mushed up her glacier’d peak;
The red man’s snarling, wolfish cur —
The bear, and antler’d king,
With growl and wail, near camp and trail
Did nightly anthems sing.

In manhood’s prime, with giant’s frame,
Herculean bone and brawn,
Piercing the sylvan God’s domain
Into the frigid zone.
Thewed was he like the polar bear,
Living in glacier’d cave,
For fortune’s weal, with heart of steel,
He fought the Arctic wave.

Through forest wild, and herbage dense,
He moved and moved and moved,
With silent care toward the star
His spirit sought and loved;
Through endless waste, o’er mountain dome,
From surging ocean brine —
From Ketchikan to plot of Nome
He mushed and builded shrine.

Among the first to pierce the hue
Of Arctic circle’s ray,
The first to ride a bark canoe
O’er Yukon’s surging spray.
His camp-fires were the first to glow
In valley, dale and glen,
He broke the first trail through the snow
With white man’s moccasin.

When savage sought to take the life
Of wives and children dear,
He fought the red man knife to knife
And drove him to the rear;
In Wrangel camp, through winter’s cold,
Defended he the white,
When demon’s yell brave hearts did quell,
He ever fought the fight.

Through blinding mist of sleet and snow,
He paced from dark till dawn,
Each weary hour along the shore,
Protecting white man’s spawn;
Thus night by night, and day by day,
Did he the vigil keep,
Through rain and snows, without repose,
While others slept sweet sleep.

Beneath two flags he fortunes sought,
And fortunes whiled away;
Like other men he sold and bought
The pleasures of the day;
And be it said that never man
On whom the cruel fate
Had filled with dirt the golden pan
Turned hungry from his gate.

But sun of life moves on his course,
And Angus, old and gray,
With broken health and empty purse,
Is treading in its ray;
The days that’re gone and days that dawn
Are memories and care,
With broken health and vanished wealth,
He moves toward his star.

But not the star of which he dreamed
In cycles past and gone,
When golden sun rays on him streamed
From dawn till balmy dawn.
But will our flag — the Stripes and Stars —
Forsake his silver head?
Forsake the son who forged her crown,
And weaved her silken thread?

Fairbanks Daily Times (Failbanks, Alaska) Dec 24, 1912

Image from the Hudson Bay CompanyLearning Center

*****

From Scots in the American Northwest:

Angus MacDonald from the Isle of Skye entered the service of the HBC in 1838 and proved so skillful in obtaining Indian furs that in 1852 he was appointed head of the extensive Colville district, including all traditional posts north of Walla Walla, Washington, far into British Columbia. MacDonald held this position until 1871, when the HBC finally gave up its last posts in the United States, and lived the rest of his life as an American in Montana Territory.

At HistoryLink, an essay about Christina McDonald, Angus’ daughter, includes some fascinating recollections:

Angus MacDonald from the Isle of Skye entered the service of the HBC in 1838 and proved so skillful in obtaining Indian furs that in 1852 he was appointed head of the extensive Colville district, including all traditional posts north of Walla Walla, Washington, far into British Columbia. MacDonald held this position until 1871, when the HBC finally gave up its last posts in the United States, and lived the rest of his life as an American in Montana Territory.

…..

Christina McDonald, the second child of Angus McDonald  and his wife, Catherine Baptiste (1826-1902), was born on September 20, 1847, near the Hudson’s Bay Company’s Fort Hall (present-day Idaho), where her father was employed as a clerk. A native of Scotland, Angus McDonald had immigrated to Canada in 1838 to work in the fur trade and had served his apprenticeship in the Snake River country, where he met Catherine. Christina later wrote: “My mother was of mixed blood. Her father was an Iroquois Frenchman, long in the employ of the Hudson’s Bay Company. Mother was a cousin of  Eagle-of-the-Light the Nez Perce chief” (Williams, Daughter, 107).

…..

Looking back on her relationship with her father, Christina explained that “as I grew older, I became his special companion and acted as interpreter for him most of the time” (Williams, Daughter, 109). Fluent in at least four languages, she became a valuable asset in his business dealings throughout the Northwest. She kept the books for him, and would accompany him and the company brigade to Kamloops each year to deliver furpacks, carrying the records in a buckskin sack. The first part of the journey was along a trail up the Kettle River (present-day Ferry County), and at one point the horses had to be swum across and a raft built to carry the goods.

…..

Read the complete essay at the link above.

Evidently, the Museum of Northern Idaho has a book for sale about Angus McDonald  [review excerpt]:

Quirky exploits, life and death challenges, his wide-ranging celebrity status, intimate victories and continental-sized disappointments were all enjoyed by this frontiersman from Ross-shire, Scotland. Included in this was a marriage to Catherine, a young Métis girl of royal Nez Perce lineage, and McDonald’s rotation through Hudson’s Bay Company’s York Factory, Fort Colvile, Fort Hall and Fort Connah. Throughout the book, author Steve A. Anderson “has allowed the unique and sympathetic voice that emerges from McDonald’s narratives, poetry and native stories, to throw light on the unheralded richness of the time” notes Bruce M. Watson, Canadian biographer and author.

In this description, it does sound like it could be the same Angus MacDonald as in the poem, however, in  a Google review, I found the following:

McDonald has been confused with others of the same name for a century. Anderson has clearly separated this Angus form the others in very scholarly fashion.

Life in the Hills

July 6, 2012

LIFE IN THE HILLS.

Oh! give me the life among the hills,
A life of careless mien,
Among the rocks and laughing rills
And the fronding clusters green;
The life that the happy song birds live
As they flit from tree to tree —
Where Nature’s God has life to give;
It’s the only life for me.

Oh! give me the life where crocus blooms —
Where the wild bees cloister stands
‘Mong garlands wove in the living room
By the sylvan God’s own hands.
In the vicinage of the moonbeam nymphs
And the water sprites play ground;
‘Mong the clustered tress of the fronded cress,
In the valley’s crystal pond.

Oh! give me the life where the spruce trees wave
In Alaska’s balmy breeze,
Whose compound robs the yawning grave
Of victory it would seize;
Where nature’s gyves are the only bonds
That binds the life and soul,
And the climbing vine the trees entwine,
That shades my longed for goal.

Oh! give me the life among the hills
When the frost is in the air —
When zephyrs cold the living chills
And snow lays everywhere.
When winter’s king crowns mountain spire,
And hangs o’er misty dells,
And glaciered vale where runs the trail,
Is clothes in snowy swells.

Oh! give me the life among the hills,
Where God is judge and law —
Where nature’s joy the sad heart fills
And feeds the human maw;
Where nature bathes the throbbing brow,
And sets the soul care free;
Where you live a life that’s free from strife —
It’s the only life for me.

— By J. HAMPTON MILES.

The Alaska Citizen (Fairbanks, Alaska) Nov 11, 1912

According to a mention in The Fairbanks Weekly News-Miner, Nov. 12, 1920, J. Hampton Miles was a member of the Alaskan engineering commission’s office, He wrote several poems that were published in the Alaska newspapers in 1912-1913.

Story of Our Flag as Told by Nina Barwise

July 3, 2012

Image from BergerFine Arts

Story of Our Flag as Told by Nina Barwise

At the flag ceremony this morning Miss Nina Barwise read the following history of the Stars and Stripes.

It is not generally known and comes as a surprise to many Americans to realize that the Stars and Stripes is the oldest National flag in existence. Although the colonists frequently used devices of their own, the English flag was the flag of the country for more than one hundred and fifty years.

So different were the symbols of the colonies, regiments and ships that Washington, in 1775 wrote “Please fix some flag by which our vessels may know each other.”

In 1777 Congress appointed a committee consisting of General Washington, Robert Morris and Colonel Ross, “to designate a suitable flag for the nation.”

This committee as all the world knows conferred with Mistress Betsy Ross and afterwards recommended a flag in which the stripes recently introduced were retained, but in which the crosses, the symbol of British authority, gave place to the stars which were henceforth to shine for liberty.

This committee having reported on Jun 14, 1777 in old Independence Hall, Congress adopted the following resolution: “Resolved that the flag of the thirteen United States be thirteen stripes, alternate, red and white; that the Union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new constitution. The stars to be arranged in a circle.”

Enter here the Star Spangled Banner with thirty-seven years to wait for the song that was to immortalize the name.

The flag was not changed until 1795, when two stripes and two stars were added for Vermont and Kentucky. By 1816 four more states were in the family. Realizing that there must be a limit to the stripes, it was recommended that the flag be permanently thirteen stripes, representing the thirteen original states and that a new star be added for each state, as admitted. Since then a star has  been added to the flag on the Fourth of July following the admission of states to the Union.

The flag at the time of the resolution had thirteen stars. In the war of 1812 fifteen, in the Mexican war, 29, in the Civil war 35, and in the Spanish-American war 45; the number today 48.

When about to sail from Salem, Mass., in command of the big “Charles Doggett,” Captain Driver was presented with a large American flag. As it was went aloft and broken out into the air, he christened the beautiful emblem “Old Glory,” and this was the name he ever more used for it.

Ah, folks of white and scarlet; ah blue field with your silver stars! May kind eyes welcome you, willing feet follow you, strong hands defend you, warm hearts cherish you and dying lips give you their blessing.

Ours by inheritance, ours by allegiance, ours by affection; long may you float on the free winds of heaven, the emblem of liberty, the hope of the world.

Unfurl bright stripes shine forth, clear stars swing outward to the breeze.
Go bear your message to the wilds, go tell it to the seas;
That poor men sit  within our shade and rich men in their pride;
That beggar boys and statemen’s sons walk ‘neath you side by side.
You guard the school house on the green, the church upon the hill;
And fold your precious blessings round the cabin by the rill.
While weary hearts from every land beneath the shining sun,
Will work and rest and home  beneath the flag of Washington.

Wichita Daily Times (Wichita Falls, Texas) Jul 4, 1912

**The Flag of Washington – by F.W. Gillett

Excerpt in above (not cited by Nina) – complete poem can be found in:

Title: The American Flag in Prose, Poetry and Song
Published: 1916
Page: 50

Swat the Agitator

June 27, 2012

Country Is In Need of Rest From Agitators

By GEORGE B. HUGO, President of the Employers’ Association of Massachusetts

OUR  COUNTRY UNDOUBTEDLY NEEDS A REST FROM PROFESSIONAL MISCHIEF MAKING AGITATORS AND UNIVERSAL FIXERS OF EVERYTHING — MORAL, POLITICAL AND ECONOMIC. IT DOES NOT  NEED A REST, THOUGH, FROM THOSE HONEST AGITATORS WHO VIGOROUSLY ATTACK EXISTING ABUSES AND ADVOCATE DESIRABLE REFORMS.

The pure food agitation, for instance, deserves every encouragement. The “swat the fly” movement is also productive of general good. But because it is it DOES NOT FOLLOW THAT WE SHOULD SWAT EVERYTHING THAT FLIES, CRAWLS OR WALKS. We see, though, to have entered into a NATIONAL SWATTING CONTEST, evident in may diverging lines of endeavor. Some of these, while not productive of good, are NOT DANGEROUS TO THE PUBLIC AT LARGE.

But this cannot be said of that type of agitators, inciters of class hatred, advocates of lawlessness and violence, who frankly declare, “The question of right or wrong does not concern us.” They attack by this teaching the very fundamentals of morality and are therefore a positive MENACE TO THE COUNTRY.

Wichita Daily Times (Wichita Falls, Texas) Aug 6, 1912

Image from American Gallery – Robert Koehler

The Socialist Menace

The socialist is usually the worst menace to the country in which he resides when it is at war. The real socialists — the ones with brains enough to understand their own propaganda — are opposed to violence, but attached to them is always a group of extremists who are in favor of anything that savors of mischief and even bloodshed.

Laredo Times (Laredo, Texas) May 13, 1917

Swat the Fly, Wisconsin

June 26, 2012

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Jun 1, 1921

DO IT NOW

by Berton Braley

We must show no ruth or pity
To the fly!
In the country or the city,
He must die!
Do not cherish, do not pet him;
When you see him, go and get him,
Swat him quick and do not let him
Multiply!

Oh, he flits in all the breezes,
Does the fly,
Bringing various diseases;
That is why
We should slay him very quickly
Lest he swarm about us thickly
And we suddenly grow sickly —
And we die!

There’s not one redeeming feature
To the fly;
He’s an evil, loathsome creature,
None deny;
And the only way to treat him
Is to fight him when you meet him —
Smash, abolish, and delete him —
Swat the fly!

He’s a menace — we must pot him,
We must swat and swat and swat him,
While we shout our battle cry,
“Swat the Fly!”

(Copyright, 1921, by The Sheboygan Press.)

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Jun 1, 1921

FLITTING from dish to dish, taking his morning bath in baby’s milk, regaling himself in the butter and preening himself on the sugar bowl, the house fly again is with us. His feet covered with millions of disease germs, he goes on his way leaving death in many forms in his trail. Scientific experiments have shown that musca domestica, the ordinary house fly, is the most industrious and persistent spreader of contagion in the world. Countless thousands have been numbered among his victims and his toll of death among infants is appalling.

War to the death must be waged against this death-dealing insect. No other duty is so important to the housewife as the extermination of the fly. And the task is much easier now than it will be later when the breeding process has multiplied his numbers.

Swat the fly!

On of the most remarkable advances in modern medicine and sanitary science has come from the knowledge of the fact that many of the most murderous diseases of man and animals are caused by the bits of infected blood-sucking insects. The pioneers in this discovery were Theobald Smith and Kilborne, who showed a quarter of a century ago that the deadly Texas fever of cattle was caused by the bite of a fly — the Boophilus bovis, which had become infected by sucking the blood of affected cattle. This great discovery was soon followed by that of the relation of the mosquito to malaria and yellow fever, the relation of the tsetse fly to sleeping sickness and other forms of trypanosomiasis, the relation of the tick to tick fever, of the bug to relapsing fever, of numerous ticks to anaemic diseases in cattle causing vast economic losses.

In temperate climates it would appear that man is largely immune from blood-sucking infected insects. Recently, however, the house fly has been found to be a danger if in a manner somewhat different in so far as it is unable to penetrate the skin owing to the construction of its mouth apparatus. Whatever disease germs it carries it is a passive process, the chief danger being the contamination of foods by bacteria carried on the surface of its body or in its bowels. Of all insects the house fly is the most constant companion of man, tasting his food by day and frequenting his abode by night whether in the far north or the far south, whether on the land or on the steamers that ply on the great oceans. Its very name, Musca domestica, suggests its relation to man.

If the fly were a cleanly insect he might perhaps be tolerated, but from the double life he leads there is no question that he should be exterminated hip and thigh, for he spends half his day in the latrine or manure heap amid the most foul putridity that it is possible to imagine, amid dead, decaying and diseased matter, from which at intervals he comes to bathe in our mild jug or to poise himself on your pat of butter or your meat. Many of his habits have until recently been a riddle but are now becoming understood, and in consequence his presence is as much feared as many of his congeners who have forsaken the dunghill for a meal of good human or animal blood.

All modern experiments concur to show that the principal breeding place of the house fly is the moist, warm manure heap, cesspool, or latrine, although perhaps it must be admitted that some flies are more fastidious. If collections of filth were destroyed the fly plague would be kept largely in abeyance. As things are he can breed in countless numbers and at a great rate.

The evolution of the house fly is complex, for from the moment that the female deposits her eggs in warm purtrefying manure the young go through various stages of development. Within a matter of hours the egg splits and a minute grub creeps out. At the end of twenty-four hours it moults and passes into the second larval stage, which in a day or two moults again and finally becomes a sort of chrysalis. At the end of three or four days of chrysalis life the case opens and the fly emerges to commence its life work. Within ten days or a fortnight it may be sexually mature and commence to lay great batches of eggs. As a rule breeding goes on rapidly between June and October, although under certain circumstances it may go on all the year round. It is a common observation that flies seem to disappear in winter. This must be explained by their ability to hibernate, the first warm day waking them from their slumbers.

It is a fortunate circumstance that they are liable to various forms of destruction, for apart from the magnificent work carried out by the bird, by the spider, and other insects, the fly is subject to devastating diseases, particularly an infective condition set up by a fungus, the Empusa muscae. This plant, in the form of a spore, lights on the surface of the fly and begins to grow, throwing out a slender process which makes its way between the fly’s scales, and thus gains entrance to its body. In the course of a few days the fungus has invaded all its organs and tissues, and now sick unto death the fly may be easily caught or may drop dead where it has alighted.

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Apr 21, 1915

As was said above the chief danger of the fly is that it may be a carrier of foul putrefactive or disease germs to articles of diet consumed by man. This is not a figment of the brain of the medical scientist; it is a proved fact. Indeed, long before accurate experiments proved this to be the case it was already supposed that the fly stood in some relation to typhoid fever, especially the typhoid of military stations and camps. There seems to be no doubt that much of the typhoid in the Spanish-American and South African wars were explicable on no other theory. In America this belief became so current that it was spoken of as “the typhoid fly.”

Accurate experiments carried out in this country and elsewhere have demonstrated the disease-carrying propensities of the Musca domestica. Typhoid germs have been recovered from its body days after it was infected. In the case of some germs it has actually been found that where the larva is infected the infection may persist throughout the moultings and be present in the adult or imago stage as late as nineteen days. Not only as a typhoid-carrier, the fly is also believed to carry the disease germs of tuberculosis, cholera, dysentery, and summer diarrhea of children, a disease which sweeps away vast numbers of bottle-fed children in every civilized community at the present day.

The necessity of removing or destroying all putrid organic matter and filth comes home to us when we remember that the fly is capable of long and rapid flights. In actual experiments marked flies were released and were captured half a mile away within forty-five minutes. That flies carry filth on their bodies can be readily shown by taking one from any place and allowing it to walk over the surface of a sterile nutrient jelly. Within a day or two masses of bacteria will have grown wherever its feet have touched. Picture to the mind the gross contamination which will occur when a fly weary with its half-mile flight from a dunghill takes its morning bath in your jug of milk at breakfast. This will bring the problem home to all, and by concerted effort the doom of the house fly will be sealed.

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Jul 3, 1912

The fly-swatting crusade has been taken up seriously by a number of large cities, either officially or by self-constituted committees of public-spirited citizens. In Cleveland a two-weeks campaign against the fly has just been closed. The warfare was conducted under the direction of a citizens’ committee of fifty-five. A scale of prices was arranged to be regulated by the supply. The market opened at 10 cents a hundred and went down to 10 cents a quart when the swatters got to going right.

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Jul 8, 1912

The artistic fly swatter was guaranteed a profitable market under this scale of prices, while 10 cents a hundred as the top limit made it impossible for a Napoleon of fly fiances to fill the cold storage warehouse with flies and ever after have champagne for breakfast. As it takes 10,000 flies to make a quart, the price per quart ranged from 10 cents to $10. A similar range in price in stocks within two weeks would set the country by the ears. The Cleveland plan gives the gambler chance enough, and the rights of the consumer and producer are safeguarded.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Sep 27, 1911

Ten cents a quart was the price established in Washington two years ago, but hat was a September price. One female crawling out of a warm corner in the month of April will start a family tree which, without casualties, would have a September membership of about three trillions.

A decrease in the price of flies from $10 a quart, the May figure, to ten cents. the September figure may seem great, but we must remember that the supply may have increased three trillion times.

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Jun 3, 1912

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) May 15, 1912

Walker Victory is Something to Crow About

June 5, 2012

Alton Democrat – Nov 9, 1912

Appleton Post Crescent – Jan 10, 1922

OUR TIME

We live in ages, ours a time
Too close to us to seem sublime,
For only when our time is past,
The pattern made, the metal cast,
We know, whatever world it brings,
We then were doing larger things
Than we supposed, not changing these
Brief days, but moulding centuries.

Think not our time a passing phase,
That we experiment with days,
For we are building longer years
Than in the building now appears.
We speak of laws, we talk of change,
As if our time we re-arrange,
and yet our children’s children’s fate
Is settled as we legislate.

A world is in the making; all
We do is great, and nothing small —
If good, yet hard to follow through,
If evil, harder to undo
We talk of time, call this our own,
While casting metal, shaping stone,
And yet are making, well or how,
The world a hundred years from now.

(Copyright, 1933, by Douglas Malloch.)

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Nov 15, 1933

The Chronicle Telegram (Ohio) Dec 8, 1933

Appleton Post Crescent – Nov 5, 1925

TWICE AS MUCH

It’s twice as hard to make things pay
Today as it was yesterday
To make a profit with a store
Is twice the job it was before,
OR if a service you would sell,
You have to work just twice as well,
Once almost anything would do,
But twice they now expect of you.

The easy days are done and gone,
Yet some keep right on climbing on,
Need twice the time to climb as far,
And yet, in time, up there they are.
Whatever man may sell or make
Takes twice the work it used to take,
Takes twice the thought, as all men know,
IT did a few short years ago.

The road of life is twice as hard,
Yet twice the pleasure afterward,
Yes, twice as hard, yet one, somehow,
Feels twice the satisfaction now,
Though twice the study it requires,
Though often twice as much it tires,
IF hard the task, when you start in,
It’s then just twice the fun to win!

(Copyright, 1933, by Douglas Malloch.)

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Nov 16, 1933

San Antonio Light (Texas) Nov 3, 1908

Wisconsin Rapids Daily Tribune –  Aug 28, 1928

THE TRUTH

Men like to play at making laws,
Yet not a paragraph or clause
If new is good, if good is new.
Upon experience they drew,
The only good the common good,
Not clan nor class, nor neighborhood,
The laws that God Himself made plain,
Or all their laws are made in vain.

Men like to play at writing acts
To alter earth’s established facts,
But still the sturdy forests rise
Much as they did in Paradise,
And still the brooks the ocean find
Much as creation first designed,
And still the blossoms bud and bloom
Much as they did by Adam’s tomb.

Men like to play with things sublime,
The better teacher always time,
For little new they need to learn,
But rather to the old return
Good laws are but the writing out
Of things men never need to doubt
With all the theories of youth,
No human law can change the truth.

(Copyright, 1933, by Douglas Malloch.)

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Nov 21, 1933

Abilene Reporter News (Texas) Jul 13, 1949

The Daily Northwestern – Jul 22, 1931

!   *   !   *   !   *   !

Spring’s Offering

April 3, 2012

The Dawn of Spring

By OLIVER RUTTER

There’s a swish, there’s a whirr —
A bright flashing of wings!
There’s a sweet woodland myrrh,
That caressingly clings,
and the oriole signals love’s tenderest call,
Delightfully increasing Spring’s charm over all.

Now down where rushes grow,
Thrilling blackbirds are heard;
And soft, while the winds blow,
An overture is allured,
Till our troubles vanish, when the song sparrow sings,
As we gather violets like the blue-bird’s wings.

In the morning or noon,
Where the bushes swing low,
Pretty pictures are strewn
On the brook’s mirrored flow,
If, dreamily, we wander in love’s tender plight,
Through the thorn-bushes blossoming, of pink and white.

Over here, over there,
The rivalry is keen,
Though the bidding seems fair,
There is beauty unseen.
Low ‘neath the brambles, near the sweet smelling sod,
Are beauties we may liken to the smile of God.

Far away, far away,
Through a dim, purpled haze,
Taunting clouds are at play,
With the sun’s warming rays,
Ah! what seems as pleasant as the years that are gone,
When the charms of Springtime we are gazing upon?

Life is dear, life is queer,
Life is stubbornly wrong;
Life is sere, life is drear,
When it might be a song!
Ah! who paints the flowers, and the beautiful skies?
Who causes the dead, in new glory to rise?

Morning Herald (Uniontown, Pennsylvania) Feb 28, 1936


Old Sol the Magician.

When April’s tears turn into snow
And nip spring in the bud,
Old Sol is anything but slow,
And soon its name is mud.

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) Apr 3, 1912


Springs’s Offering.

We sweetly sing
The new laid egg.
Your fond attention
We would beg
As in a lay
Of praise we greet
The finest thing
On earth to eat.

Behold the modest
Little hen
That’s getting in
Its work again,
And making up
For what we lost
In days of laziness
And frost.

The days when all
There was on hand
Was the suspicious
Storage brand,
That, in responding
To our call,
Came scrambled if they came at all.

Now, wholesome, fresh
And at our taste,
We have them on
The table placed.
The number that
We eat unnamed,
So many, though
We are ashamed.

— Duncan M. Smith.

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) Apr 6, 1909

It’s Curious!

It’s curious kind o’ weather when you come to make it out;
One minute winds is blowin’ all the blossoms roundabout,
An’ sunshine’s jes’ a-streamin’ from the blue and bendin’ skies,
An’ dreamin’ — jes’ a-dreamin’, like the light in woman’s eyes!

But jes’ when all is lovely, an’ the wind with music floats;
When the birds is makin’ merry an’ a-strainin’ of their throats;
An’ the sunshine’s like a picnic in the blossmes, pink an’ white,
A cyclone strikes the country an’ jes’ swallers all in sight!

It’s curious kind o’ weather — jes’ the worst you ever felt;
You don’t half git through freezin’ ‘fore the orler comes to melt!
An’ you can’t quite say it’s winter, an’ you ain’t half sure it’s spring;
So’ keep on with the whistlin’ an’ thank God for everything!

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) May 13, 1893

Spring Fever.

The time of year
Again is here
When wifey aims to make home neater,
And hubby knows,
When home he goes,
He’ll have to wield the carpet-beater.
With leaden feet

Along the street
He plods his way, sad-hearted, weary.
Well he doth know
That tale of woe
With wife’s n. g. — of such she’s leary.
Useless for him

A yarn to spin,
Pretending illness — can’t deceive her.
To him she’ll say,
In heartless way,
“Come off — it’s nothing but spring fever.”

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) Mar 13, 1908

No Doubt About It Now.

Sunshine on the river —
Bird songs in the air!
Green leaves all a-quiver —
(Spring is mighty near!)

Reckless roses springing —
Brown bees here and there;
Lazy plowboy singing —
(Spring is mighty near!)

Easy to detect her —
Stormy skies or clear;
Easter bill collector —
(Certain spring is near!)

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) May 9, 1895

The Spring Affliction.

Oh, that blessed tired feeling
Which about the first of May
O’er the soul of man comes stealing
Like a burglar in a play,
Making him so fine and laze,
Kin almost to pure delight,
Calling up a vision hazy
Of a lake where fishes bite.

Winter with its weather bracing
Gave him energy and vim,
But spring has no trouble chasing
All those notions out of him.
When the birds begin to twitter,
Then in chaste and classic slang
He desires to be a quitter
And to let the work go hang.

He has tugged away like fury,
Buckled to it every day.
Now he things the judge and jury
Would prescribe a spell of play,
Would encourage him in slipping
From the busy haunts of men
And across the fields go tripping
Feeling almost young again.

Trading off the tired feeling
For the springy step of youth,
Finding nature’s gentle healing
More than advertised in truth,
Giving him an added vigor,
Keyed just right, not overdone,
Like the delicate hair trigger
On a forty dollar gun.

— Duncan M. Smith

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) May 15, 1914

SPORT

The merry waves dance up and down and play,
Sport is granted to the sea;
Birds are the quiristers of the empty air,
Sport is never wanting there;
The ground doth smile at the spring’s flowery birth.
Sport is granted to the earth;
The fire its cheering flame on high doth rear,
Sport is never wanting there.
If all the elements, the earth, the sea,
Air, and firs, so merry be,
Why is man’s mirth so seldom and so small,
Who is compounded of them all?

— Abraham Cowley

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 27, 1936

SPRINGTIME

One cloud a hue of lazylite
Flanked by spray of misty white
Gave way to sublimate of gray
A storm cloud hovered on the way.

Springtime, blythe and very gay,
Her banner throws athwart the sky
That she will not her claim deny
Cold winter must vacate and fly.

— M.W. Beebe, Black Wolf Point.

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Apr 1, 1938

Melancholy Days of Spring…Cleaning

March 29, 2012

Image from Vintage Homemaking

A Housecleaning Carol.

The melancholy days have came, the saddest of the year;
The carpet’s on the clothesline, and incessant whacks we hear;
The bedding’s in the kitchen, and the beds are in the hall;
The pictures are upon the floor, while someone dusts the wall;
We eat cold meat and crackers from a wobbly kitchen chair,
“Tis housecleaning time — so free from toil and care.
The neighbors line their windows and a hasty census take
Of all the bric-a-brac we have and calculations make —
If it was bought with ready cash or on installment plan;
And life is gay and careless like; it makes one want to roam —
To hie away — because the folks are cleaning house at home.
The melancholy days are here, the days of soap and dust;
Stove polish daubs the table ware; there’s pie on Wagner’s bust;
Piano holds some frying pans; the bathtub’s filled with books;
The woman folks, ah, who could tell who they were by their looks?
Sing hey! The glad housecleaning time, the time of dust and soap;
It is a gladsome sight to see — through a big telescope.

Suburbanite Economist (Chicago, Illinois) Apr 5, 1912